Oral surgeons have two doors at their offices. One is for incoming patients–a nicely-appointed waiting room with magazines and such. And then there is the exit to the parking lot, for those who have had extractions under general anesthesia.
A week ago, my husband had a cracked wisdom tooth removed. A laughable situation really, because our positions were reversed. I, the weak and recovering-strength one, was helping him stagger to the car and then up the driveway.
Anyway, from past experience (sons with wisdom teeth) we knew about the two-door thing. When we drove up to the office, we noticed that the back surgery door was ajar. And there was this big gray cat.
Of course you know what was happening. That cat, being, well…a cat, was trying to get inside. “Oh, you,” I said. And then I noticed the string. Ha, someone inside was playing with the cat. Sure enough, one of the scrub-clad techs came out, and we got to talking.
It seems this friendly fellow is the office mascot. The staff had taken to feeding him, and Dr. TenHulzen liked him so much that he took him home as a pet. Then the cat disappeared. Four months later he showed up at the office–and that’s where he’s lived ever since. “To get back here he had to cross the 205 Freeway,” the tech marveled. And yet here he was, in one piece and happy. Cross a freeway? No problem.
Cats are like that. If a door is open, in they go. If the opening isn’t large enough, they help it along with a paw. After all, there’s food inside, and hands to scratch behind their ears or smooth their fur. A cat has every reason to give the door a try. And if he’s not welcome, he is put out. Away he goes, no big deal, to look for other open doors.
But when I come to a door that’s ajar, I stop. Should I go in? Is it okay? Usually I stay outside because unlike the cat, I am hyper-responsible and am afraid to do the wrong thing. Also, I don’t like being put out. It stings the pride, being told to leave.
What about the door of opportunity? I am afraid to go through that one too. Likewise I’m reluctant to widen the opening with a gentle push. I can learn a thing or two from Dr. TenHulzen’s office cat.
“Be a cat, Laura.” I need to squeeze my author body through narrow openings. How else will I see what opportunities are inside? Usually, it’s food, and food equals money. Who cares if I get put out? Frees me up to find other open doors. Cross a freeway? Sure, why not? It’s easy to do in the middle of the night.
So like a cat I need to try stuff. Who knows what snug opportunity I will find? Like the fellow pictured below, who discovered the perfect cat-shaped sink. Must have been made just for him. His owners must have thought so too, else why would they take a photo? Meow!