The Problem with Cats

All of my pets are certifiably insane. Rosco, Tibby, Swayze: these are the members of the nationally aclaimed Schramm's Ward for Emotionally Vulnerable Mammals. Although all three are complete basket cases, today we focus our psychoanalysis upon Rosco.

Enjoying life on a hippy farm commune, Rosco was a kale-loving feline who often could often be found purring over some contraband catnip. His human subjects housed Rosco in a rickety barn loft with his siblings, meowing of peace and love and harmony until the cows literally came home. Then it all ended. I infiltrated the Woodstocky hollar to capture their beloved Rosco, and I offered him the chance to be the king of my urban shanty. Rosco, offended by my suggestions of mainstream hierarchy, lashed his spider-like legs and cried his petulant moans until the the curves of the broken Southern roads lulled him to sleep.

Weeks later, I still refused to fathom that I had commandeered such an immature, frustrating creature for my own. Rosco's aloof personality agreed with the city, but his heart remained with the gravel and chickens of down yonder. The backyard and beyond was his kingdom, and he came inside only for the drab yet mandatory meetings with the Purina bowl. Although our feud had reached a stalemate, Rosco knew that he had a clear advantage from the beginning. Only then did he realize that his personal situation was not going to improve unless he himself intervened.

Days passed, yet a solution had not been reached between girl and cat. I petted him, picked him up, fed him, only to be ignored or even scratched. Tibby, the reigning Schramm feline, was perfectly friendly with Rosco; the question was, "Why can't I?" That answer was locked within the impenetrable walls of Rosco's dysfunctional mind. I began to believe that our relationship was a lost cause, a burnt fuse put out by ignorance and disconnection. After all, were these traits not what humans are burned by in the real world without the help of cats?

Rosco and I are friends now. I came to understand that Rosco is Rosco and Larkin is Larkin, and they will get along if they truly want to. My other option was to become a lofty, catnip-smoking feline, but not everything is possible in this world.