Knots
I've always been good at detangling knots. Having withheld fascination for them since childhood, when my father would hand over gold scraps from his work station at home for me to toy with, I developed an unusual expertise in bringing chains, bracelets, ropes, strings and threads back to their original and useful forms.
Among the gold scraps that made their ways into my hands were chains. Countless chains. Chains with so many knots that it was easy to confuse them with a unique designer pattern. Chains with knots that my dad wanted nothing to do with out of frustration. And, really, who could blame him for that?
"See if you can get this knot out," he'd challenge me, handing over a shiny, long piece.
Curiosity was my middle name, and so I was intrigued with the challenge right away. Marveled by the sight of a piece, I'd study it very carefully as it rested in my palms, its weight cooling my skin. Tiny knots were a tremendous pain in the ass to unravel. But big knots, though time-consuming to figure out, were never as complicated or intimidating as they appeared. How the knots had gotten there in the first place, I had no clue. But I zoomed my eyes into each one, applying pressure onto impossibility with my fingers and finessing persistently until I'd felt something shift. Until I heard the sound of potential or... looseness. Looseness indicated opportunity. And opportunity presented me with the fun of diving into holes with anything from my nails to sewing needles to pencils. With each dive, I'd tug on the chain (or rope or thread or string) with the kind of gentleness that beckoned "why are you being so difficult?".
Needless to say, not one of these missions was easy. But the sense of accomplishment, and that nonchalant "done" I'd say to my dad, was worth it.
Still, I wondered why it was that so many people, including my father, had given up all too quickly on trying to smooth these knots out. Sure, it was pretty difficult to free a chain from, say, an entanglement that appeared to have molded into an eternal lump. But what made this goal any less important or appealing than other goals? And why are we so eager to dismiss or throw away perfectly useful items because of flaws that we don't even attempt to figure out, tinker with or-- gasp-- fix?
To others, primarily adults, all of this was a nuisance. Not only had they failed to find the time to loosen a knot but they also insisted that I, at such a young age, could never hold a candle up to their capabilities. Why? Because they were older.
Well, that was all the motivation I needed to succeed in these tasks. Or any task for that matter. Doubt and ridicule from others was my fuel and, through it, I accomplished great things. And more recently, I resonate with this statement: "stupid people bring out the best in me".
While those folks are, ahem, still older, knot-detangling served me with amazing lessons in patience. Rather than watch the same ol' crap on television, I'd sit in the vicinity of my father's work station while performing my duties. Of course, I remained a safe distance away in order to avoid his frequent, tool-throwing, fuck-shit-asshole-son-of-a-bitch outbursts when something went awry in his creative journeys. But I was just close enough to hear his fits and giggle silently to myself. As a kid, I wasn't allowed to use profane language. But curse words, especially when they came from the mouths of my parents, were hilarious.
My fascination with knots has grown into both an appreciation for pretzels and an interesting talent. And the other day, after Chris and I found Milo the cat's fishing rod/mouse-bait toy lying defenselessly on our floor, somehow deeply entangled with our telephone cord, I was reminded of my ability all over again.
Chris tried to rescue an attached mouse from asphyxiation. But he gave up soon enough. So I assumed a usual zen pose and prepared for battle.
Giving my fingers a good stretch and cracking a knuckle or two, I manned my station and assumed a knot-detangling position. I studied the toy, a red, plastic fishing rod with a long, thin red thread attached to a tiny furball, and realized that I'd be in for one hell of a ride. So I considered a few routes before committing to action.
Route A: Toss the toy into the trash can and buy Milo a new one.
Route B: Snip the thread to a shorter length and reattach the mouse.
Route C: Twist, turn, tug and dip beyond my wildest dreams for the next forty-five minutes until I released the mouse from hell and reintroduced an intact toy to Milo.
Of course, route C was the one I took, mainly because a shorter thread wouldn't have resulted in as much fun for Milo as the original. Also, I didn't have the heart to tell him that this would mark the end of his toy's life.
Besides, in all honesty, I wanted to determine for myself if this was truly an impossible feat.
I dug right in.
Forty-five minutes of kindly assuring Milo that I was "almost there" as he softly tapped at the dangling mouse with clawless, white paws from his seat mere inches away deemed me a saint. At least that's what Chris called me as he overlooked my work.
"You're a saint," he said.
"Nah."
"I can't think of anyone who would do this. I know I don't have the patience!"
I don't know if patience kept me there so much as a great love for this crazy but wonderful cat...
Giving you paw!.... as well as a strange affinity for detangling knots.
What I did know was that Milo equally loved me in return, waiting almost an hour for his toy. Like a good boy. You know, without kicking my ass for spending more time with his mouse than he was?
Milo understood what I was doing for him. Or, rather, for us. I was so grateful for his understanding and patience. And the joyful appreciation that surfaced thereafter from our playtime with his mouse, together, all over the apartment couldn't have been traded for anything else.
Posted by Deb Steinberg at 5/29/2009 2:28 PM 
Categories: Milo the Cat
Tags: mouse death red saint mouse fishing rod Milo the cat knots entanglement cat toy patience thread symbolism
Categories: Milo the Cat
Tags: mouse death red saint mouse fishing rod Milo the cat knots entanglement cat toy patience thread symbolism
Milo is adorable!
Reply to this
Can you believe he's also in his late-teens? As in seventeen or eighteen?
Everyone thinks he's about nine or ten based on his youthful look and the ways in which he plays/socializes.
Reply to this