On paying attention.

When I came downstairs today, my cat Alistair was curled up on the couch, looking despondent.  This is nothing new, really.  He gets this faraway look in his eyes when his face is mooshed into the cushion; the look of ennui etched into his ailuran mien like a Frenchman looking out over the Seine is both adorable and hilarious.  But he didn't immediately jump up, chirruping madly with wide, hungry eyes like he normally does when he knows food is coming.  I noticed it, but didn't think much of it.

I showered and went out, hitting the co-op and dropping my car off at the mechanic.  And when I came back, he hadn't moved from his spot.  I went over to him and started petting him, and he still seemed a little sluggish in response.  He didn't immediately start purring and kneading the cushion before him like he normally did.  So naturally, I began to panic.  Was he sick?  Was he depressed?  What was wrong?  I couldn't tell if he had eaten his breakfast or if Zevran was just a pig.  And I couldn't exactly ask him what was up.  Or I could, but I couldn't expect a sensible answer.

I firmly believe the world is made up of patterns.  Maybe it's how your cat acts, or how a sitcom writes its episodes.  Maybe it's the order in which your mailman delivers to your street, or how your significant other ends a text conversation.  And when these patterns break, that usually means something happened.  More often than not, it means something's wrong.

Patterns exist for a reason.  Familiarity is how we know everything's okay.  A friend of mine came back from visiting a boy she was seeing, a visit that did not go well.  She had her own patterns, her own rituals, and in such close proximity in unfamiliar territory, her patterns were disrupted.  Her mood turned, her outlook shifted.  And, simple as that, what should have been lovely time spent turned into a grueling stretch of discomfort and angst.

I guess what I'm saying is pay attention.  Take the time to recognize the patterns around you, the patterns in your own life, and stay sharp when they shift.  Maybe they'll point to a boyfriend indulging in a little subterfuge, or help you figure out what's wrong when you're in a shitty mood.  Maybe you can tell your boss is about to lay you off, or your favorite sandwich shop is about to change its hours.

Or maybe it'll just help you get to know someone better, to understand what they need to hear or see you do to make them smile.  And maybe that's the greatest reason to pay attention of all.

(Alistair seems to be doing better, by the way.  Pettings have led to happy purrings and sleepy kneading.  I'm still going to have to keep an eye on him at dinnertime, but I think the little guy's all right.)