Today I spent several hours in a small bathroom singing to cats. Okay, part of the time I was on the phone, and sometimes I was just reading aloud from the adoption literature I'd brought along with me to pass the time, but still - I am the official cat whisperer.
And this is how I know I love my sibling. She moved, and I was the cat wrangler for her two spastic and fantastically unsociable felines.
The thing is, I was able to soothe them. Enough that one crept out from under the bathroom vanity to use the litterbox in the shower (delightful - nothing like close quarters cat stank), and the other repeatedly emerged from the murky depths to slink over and head butt my leg in an attempt to garner pets and affection.
And it made me feel good in that, "look what I can do with my unused mothering instincts", kind way. When I can use them - even if it happens to be on two frightened little cats - it makes me feel incredible. And really, finally useful. Like THAT is what I'm here for.
Not to sit on bathroom floors singing to cats, specifically, but to soothe and comfort and nurture and love. Something. Someone.
It was a strangely good day.
Despite the stink of litter.