Do Something Even if It’s Wrong — Yes, You Too — I Dare You

My mother was wise in her own twisted way. She told us “Do something, even if it’s wrong,” and “You will have fun whether you like it or not.”

And we always did the latter. She wasn’t completely serious about the first one, although she did use it to get us moving when she was fed up with us moping around the house. Or when we couldn’t make a decision and held up the entire family or anyone else around.

I wrote about these sayings of Betty Joy’s and how they serve me. But then Frida Katlo — not the famous painter, but rather the cat of an infamous humor writer — chimed in and wrote, “We do Not HAVE TO DO SOMETHING.”

She is a cat, so I get her point. Cats have perfected lying around looking cute. I give that a try every so often myself. It’s been known to work. So I can’t dispute the value of alluringly doing nothing.

However, Trixie Minx, owned by another infamous humor writer — ahem, me — strongly disagrees with Frida.

Trixie is genetically incapable of lying still looking cute for long. Oh, she can do it. Just not long. If cats can have ADHD she does.

Trixie’s zoomies aren’t normal cat zoomies. If anything about cats can be considered normal.

Her zoomies start in my bedroom, flash through the dining and living rooms, squeal into my office, and race up to the top of the cat tree. All in one motion. She then zooms down and starts over. And over.

Playing fetch is something else she does over. And over. And over. Regardless of what I, her designated toy thrower, am doing or need to do.

I’m writing? She brings a toy — more often a wadded-up receipt or canceled check — plops it next to my office chair and stares. If that doesn’t elicit my attention, she makes a twirpy sort of meow. If that doesn’t wrench me away from the earth-changing words I’m painstakingly typing, she rears up and gently swats my arm with her paw.

Once I give in I’m doomed to playing fetch into infinity. And beyond.

She also does this while I’m seeing clients. They are as trained as I am by princess Trixie. They go on with what they’re saying, while watching me dip, turn and throw. I’ve also perfected the over-the-shoulder throw, which, if I slip it in fast enough, they don’t even notice. With practice, I’ve become adept at the over-the-shoulder stealth throw. Trixie has trained me well.

When I’m in the depths of experiential therapy with a client and cannot be distracted, she sits at my feet staring up at me with an unblinking stare — at least I’ve never caught her blinking — and waits impatiently until I sign off and shift my attention back to her. She counts on her unyielding stare to eventually force me to do her will.

When she isn’t insisting on my being her playmate, she harasses her sister cat until Quila relents and chases her around the house and under furniture. When she can’t be antagonized into action, Trixie plays with whatever she can find that makes noise.

This is clearly not a ‘do nothing’ cat. Sorry Frida Katlo. You can lie around or on top of your person all you want. Trixie chooses to live out loud.

Now I live by her example.

Her very ownership of me proves that. My son said, “Hey mom, wanna go play with some kittens my friend is fostering?”

Sure, what could go wrong?

Thanks to

Gary Chapin

and his feline Frida Katlo for the prompt and the chance to rebut. And to Gary for editing. I assume Frida was “helping” by lying on his lap.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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