Me? Worry? Maybe Just A Little...

I’m a worrier. This doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone, does it? I may not worry out loud about everything to everyone, but I do worry. And not about a lot of things, necessarily, but about certain specific things. For instance, I don’t worry about whether or not I’ll make it to work tomorrow, but I do worry about whether or not my truck will have working AC come summer. I think my two biggest worries are my kids and money. Of course, the money worry covers a lot of issues. The kids, though, I worry about them a lot. And last night, I realized that I worry about them all differently. I’ve never really thought about it before, but I guess it makes sense. I’m sure that parents worry more about their sick or “special needs” kids more than they do the healthy or “normal” ones. Not that they don’t love them all, just that some kids have more problems, so there’s more to worry about.

Anyway. Last night, I got home from work around 6:30. The dogs weren’t at the kitchen window, but that’s not too unusual for that time of night. By the time I got my mail and went inside, Duncan was bouncing around the front door. But Reyna wasn’t. And that’s very unusual. So, instant worry. Where’s Reyna? Is she okay? Did she have an allergic reaction or a seizure? Is she outside in the cold; is she sick, unconscious, dead? Poor Duncan probably couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t all excited to see him, why I kept asking him where his sister was. I got my stuff put down and was getting ready to head outside when Reyna came flying through the dog door, perfectly fine. She’d probably just been taking a potty break. But it struck me that, when she isn’t where I expect her to be, or if she doesn’t act the way I expect her to, I instantly assume the worst. When Duncan doesn’t greet me at the door, I just wonder what the goofy boy is out doing. If he skips a meal, I just put his food away. Now, if he skips two meals in a row, I start worrying. But one? No problem. Reyna skips a meal? I spend the next 10-12 hours stressing, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s going to eat her next meal, or if I need to call the vet and let him know we’re on our way.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I’m like that with the cats, too, but to a lesser extent. I don’t worry about the three younger ones at all, except when Per’la’s eye gets really nasty, and even then there’s nothing I can do to treat it so we just wait it out. The older ones, though, I worry about a bit more, but not in the same way. I worry about Mikey when he seems bummed, or when he’s so deeply asleep that it takes several minutes to wake him up (but that’s only because I thought I’d smothered him a few years ago when I rolled over on him one night and he didn’t even twitch). Loki, I don’t worry about so much. Belle, though, I do worry about. She’ll be 11 in April, which is fairly old for a cat. When her mood seems off, or when I don’t think she’s eating, I watch her more closely.

Rationally, I know that the odds that Reyna has collapsed outside are much, much lower than the odds that she’s just out pottying. But knowing that doesn’t keep me from worrying when she doesn’t meet me at the door. Last night’s episode, from opening the front door to Reyna running inside, took maybe 30 seconds. But that was still plenty of time for my emotions to veer from happy to be home, to minor concern, to panic mode, to overwhelming relief. Because you know what? The odds may be low, but there’s still that possibility...