The Human Life of Misha Hhrrru? ep. 6.

Hhrrru? 😻
This is Misha. How are you pets and peeps doing? Any yummy things you’ve eaten this week? Any adventures? Me, I almost choked with a bracelet yesterday. Mum hung it on my neck, when Mila wasn’t around. Mila never lets people decorate me like a Christmas tree because it has happened a few times that it hooked on to something and I couldn’t free myself, and it almost choked me. That was a loose bracelet with a cat on it and Mum thought nothing would happen to me but I didn’t like the idea, and neither did Mila. It started to irritate me last evening and I wanted to do something with it and was yanking on it with my teeth, and then I couldn’t free my teeth from it and was choking with it again. Mila was soooo mad at Mum, and I was too, sort of.
Oh but I promised you to share my what-if human lifestory. So, here is episode 6. There won’t be episodes 1-5 because those are reserved just for Zofijka according to her request. So we’re starting at the time when I’m six years old. Here we go: *****
The Human Life of Misha Hhrrru? Ep. 6.
January 30.
It’s my 6th birthday today, yay! SO I have a lot to talk about. It was a fantastic day! I’m so happy, I couldn’t sleep last night, wondering what will happen today and what presents I will get. So I’m a bit sleepy now. I got up almost as soon as the sun was out and got dressed super quickly, like I never do, and was downstairs in 5 minutes.
“Oh, Misha, you’re up already?” – Mum was in the kitchen, stirring something, and looked very surprised. “What happened, you’re never out of bed that early on Saturdays? Did you forget it’s weekend?”
“Did you forget that it’s my birthday, mum?” – I chirped and felt so happy that I couldn’t resist and jumped up high in the air. I’m very good at jumping.
“Oh, really?! I completely forgot!” – I felt very hurt. How could she forget about my birthday? And yesterday she remembered, so why not now? “Mum, how can you not remember?” – I said with a very sad face.
“Oh Misha, you little silly sausage, how could I forget about your birthday? Of course I didn’t! I was just joking.” – I breathed a sigh of relief and laughed, at that “sausage”, I love sausages. She quickly came over to me and scooped me in her arms, and started spinning around the kitchen with me, as she used to when I was younger, singing Happy Birthday, and planting kisses all over my face in the meantime. “Happy birthday, my little, sweet, precious boy”.
“Mum, I am six… I’m not little” – I said, starting to feel a bit dizzy and embarrassed.
“Okay, okay, giant Misha. You must be patient and understanding with your old mother. For me, you will always be my tiny little Misha who is 3 and a half. My memory isn’t that good to always catch up with your age. Now, sit down and have a mug of hot chocolate. I’ve just made it for you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I love most about having a birthday. I always get a big mug of steaming hot chocolate. Not a cup, a mug. And there was a little cupcake with a decorative lettering on it saying “Happy birthday, Misha”. I knew it wasn’t my mum who made it, my mum is rubbish at baking, everyone knows it, but it felt so cool that I had my own special cupcake with Misha written on it. It felt a little odd to eat it. Most happily I would just keep it until monday and show off with it at the nursery, but… it was too yummy. So I sat at the table and ate my food. Mum didn’t even force me to eat sandwiches, as she always does. I hate bread. But I do like cupcakes. As I was eating, I could hear dad waking up and yawning, and pottering around the room. I was still enjoying my meal and just finished to eat the word “happy” off the cupcake when he came into the kitchen, still yawning and stretching and rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, Misha, you here already?” – he said, and I could hear he was still half asleep. Dad’s a heavy sleeper, just like me. I wonder why then did he find himself such a job that he has to wake up so early for it, and even on Saturdays. When I will be his age, I will be the boss, so I’ll never have to wake up early. I’ll sleep to 12 PM. Everyone will work for me, and I’ll only pop in there in the afternoon to see if they did everything well and give them their cellery. Loooots of cellery, and for their children too, even if they don’t like it. If they will work well I will give them loads of cellery but if not I will only give them carrots. I’ll be very fair with cellery, not like my Dad’s boss. I don’t know why people want cellery from their boss but my dad constantly complains about his, and that it’s too low and not as much as it should be. Indeed, I’ve never saw him coming back from work with cellery, but I’m quite happy about it, I hate it. And I hate all vegetables. Mum says I’m very picky and would only eat meat and junk food.
Dad was drinking his coffee and reading a newspaper, but I could see he wasn’t paying attention to it.
“Dad, do you remember?”. – He jumped in his chair as if I woke him up from a nap. “Yes, yes, I remember about your swing, I’ll repair it tomorrow”.
“I’m not talking about the swing, dad!” – yeah, that’s always the case with my dad, he never remembers the most important things. – “Do you remember what’s the day today?” “Ah, yeah, Saturday.”
“But it’s a very special Saturday.”
Finally Mum had to chime in.
“Filip, your son is desperately trying to get your attention. It’s his birthday today. Misha is six years old!”.
“Oh my God, the time is flying so fast!” – Dad said, suddenly looking much more brisk. – “So, how many bumps should I give you, son?” “Seven!” – I yelled with a thrill of happiness.
“Not now, he’s just eaten.” – said Mum.
“Okay, so maybe we’ll do it after I come back from work?”
“No, no, dad, please no! I’ve only eaten a bit.”
He glanced uncertainly at mum and I prayed that she would agree. I loved getting birthday bumps! “Okay, but be careful. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
I clapped my hands excitedly. “Yaay!”.
He bumped me up in the air and I gasped and laughed happily, with my eyes wide from both joy and a bit of fear.
“You’re too light, your mother has to give you more chocolate to drink!” – said dad, finally putting me down on to the floor. “More! More! Please, dad, I want more!” – I screamed and laughed.
“No, it’s forbidden. If you get more bumps than how old you are plus one, it will make you very unlucky this year. You don’t want it, do you?”. –
“You’re lying! I want 10, no… 20… 25 bumps, so I’ll be lucky for many, many years. I’ll be too heavy to be bumped up when I’ll be an adult, so I want enough of them now. Maybe even 50”. “Okay, 25.” – agreed dad after a while.
“Filip, don’t be crazy!…” – mum tried to intervene, but I was already in the air again, squealing with joy.
In the end, no one counted how many bumps I received. Soon even mum joined in, and we started playing that they were sending me high up into space. Mum took out a big blanket and wrapped me up in it, and they were both holding it and lifting me very high up into the air. Until finally I hit the chandelier with my foot, not strongly, but mum was afraid we will break it, and said that we’re all insane and need to stop.
My chocolate was already cold, but mum just sighed and made me another one, but without as much foam, it was still good.
Just as I finished my breakfast, I noticed that mum went into the living room and was now carrying a few packets in her arms.
“Wow, presents for me!” – I screamed, and started tearing the paper on all of them at once. “Easy, Misha, your presents won’t run away.” – dad said cool-headedly.
I didn’t care. But I had to decide which box to open first, after all. I decided on the biggest one. It took me some time and effort to open it, but when I did, I couldn’t believe my eyes… I stared at my present with open mouth… A big, beautiful painting set. Just for me.
“Do you like it?” – mum asked tentatively after a while. “Dad said it’s too much and too fancy for a child your age, but at least you won’t have to paint on my easel anymore. And we do think you are a very talented lit… big boy. Incredibly talented. And you need to develop this talent.” – mum was speaking to me so calmly and seriously, and as if I was a really very big boy, and it made me feel so proud of myself. When my first shock passed, I quickly stood and ran up to her, hugging and kissing her. “Thank you, mummy! You’re fantastic. It’s so great!”.
“You need to thank dad most importantly.” – she said when I finally freed her from a very strong hug. So I ran up to dad and thanked him as well. I was so happy I could have cried.
My mum is an artist and paints a lot, and I’ve always loved painting too, but I’ve never had my own things to do that with. And now I had my own little easel, my own paintbrushes, beautiful watercolours, and even a box of new crayons, and some other artsy things. I couldn’t wait to try them out.
I could see my parents were also moved with my joy, but now dad really had to go to work. He kissed both of us and left.
I left my painting set on the table and went to see what other presents I got from my parents. There was a little lockable diary, with a cat and my name written on the front cover. My parents always say that I resemble a cat very much, and that I must have been a cat in my previous life, if there are previous lives. And I really like cats and things with cats on them. They really like me, too. I also got very warm and cosy slippers with cats on them. “It’s still winter, Mishka, and you didn’t have any good slippers” – Mum said.
I liked them a lot as well. I like smooth and warm things. There was also a pair of brand new football boots for me, which made me euphoric. I love football!
“Oh, and this is a present from your grandma” – mum said, producing another box. –
There was a small picture book – “Adventures of a Cat Called Misha”. “Yay! That sounds like the right book for me! And this cat is grey! My favourite colour!”
“This is just the first book in the series. We can read all of them sometime if you like it. I told grandma that there’s no way you wouldn’t like this book.”
It was a very pleasant day. I spent it just as I liked. I didn’t have to go to the nursery, and mum didn’t have to go anywhere either. I had the time to try out my new painting set, and I painted a little scene that my mum liked very much.
I painted a big, green grassland, with lots of different animals in the background, and some pretty flowers. In the middle, there was a big blanket, and my parents and me were sitting on it, and there was a big basket full of food. We were having a picnic. After a while I also painted my new football boots on my feet, and a football lying close to me, so that someone could think that Misha in the painting has just been playing football.
Mum said it was “breathtakingly skillful and detailed for a 6-year-old boy” and for a little while she indeed looked as if she couldn’t breathe.
Later that day, we had pizza and my family came. Grandma, aunt and uncle, and their son – my cousin Sasha. – His real name is Aleksander, but no one calls him that. They all were stunned by my painting too, and spoiled me with compliments. Sasha wanted to paint something too, but he is only three and doesn’t really know how to do it. He only wanted because I did. I let him use my crayons. I don’t want anyone to paint with my watercolours. Not such babies like Sasha for sure.
I also played a bit of football, but there’s no one living near us with whom I could play, I can only do that with my friend FeluΕ› from school so that was a bit dull to play on my own.
After they left, mum told me that she had some spare clay and I could play around with it if I wanted. I love clay! And in the end we both ended up playing around with it, making lots of animals out of it. My mum is really good at that. I hope one day I will be as good as her.
Dad came back in the evening, a bit earlier than usual, and mum made a huge bowl of popcorn, we and watched cartoons for a few hours. That was so cool! My parents don’t usually do that with me. Dad just takes a shower and goes to bed because he is so tired, and mum always has tons of other things to do, even if she is home all day. So I was really really happy. And now I’m really really sleepy. Mishpurrs. 😴
Misha πŸ’œ πŸ’š πŸ’™

Advertisements

Misha: Zofijka’s got an idea.

Hhrrru? :3
How are you pets and peeps doing? Have you had anything very yummy to eat this week? Some great adventures? Let me know!
I wanted to write about an idea that Zofijka had recently and ask if you like it.
So, you know that I have a brain connection with Mila? Like, I can connect my brain to hers and then I can type (she doesn’t let me to type on her keyboard Mishself because I once blocked it hehehe) and do all sorts of things that humans do via her, sort of remotely, especially when we are with Zofijka. Mila often tells me what I should tell Zofijka because Zofijka listens to me more than to her and she likes to ask me about things or tell me what she was doing at school – lots of boring things but people usually bore me to death with their lives so I’ve kinda gotten used to it and can even pretend I’m incredibly intrigued and at the same time think what I’ll have for supper. – I can also connect to Zofijka but she doesn’t like it so I only do that when I want to do some artsy things like drawing, but she hardly ever lets me anyway. – When I’m connected to someone, I have the access to their brain world and we can exchange information and it’s very fun but a bit complicated, I don’t think any other pets even use such innovative technology. I usually talk to Zofijka in the evenings when she’s in bed and when she’s going to sleep either me or Mila tell her a story. Mila tells her about Jim – that dude in Australia that I think she has written about, who doesn’t need to eat and lives on helping everyone in the world – and I tell her very short stories about what my life would be like if I was a human. Every day I tell her about one day in my life, one per year. I always start it “I am Misha I am… years old” and I tell her about one day in each year of my fictional human life.
And earlier this week, when I was telling her about my life at 14, she suddenly interrupted me and said “Actually, Misha, why wouldn’t you write about that on your blog? Ask Mila, maybe she will let you”. And I was so excited, yay, that’s a great idea!
So, tell me, pets and peeps, would you like to hear about my human life? Let me know, and Mila says we could start a Friday series on that. It’ll be completely spontaneous, not exactly how I would love to live had I been born human, but just what comes to my mind, good and bad things. But Zofijka says she doesn’t want me to write about when I was very little, until 5, because she wants that to be just for her, so I’ll start from when I was six, it’ll be a little bit like diary entries, or something similar.
All the pets out there, what would you like to do with your lives if you were humans? Mishpurrs. :3
Misha

Winter is coming and I’m happy, but they say I’m not normal.

Hhrrru? 😻

It’s Misha. I haven’t posted for a while because my life was very boring and I didn’t know what to post about. How are you pets and peeps doing?

I feel that the winter is slowly coming to us, and I’m happy about it. I’m getting more sleepy and there are more cosy and warm places around to sleep in. The radiators are so warm. My favourite one is in the living room, it has a space for me to lay on it, and there is a basket just for me. I also like snow. I think it will be a while before it comes but I really like looking at it. Zofijka even let me out for a little while a few days ago, but on the leash. I hate that, I’d like to be able to go where I want. She let me walk around the backyard, and I was so extremely happy to see the sun, and smell the fresh air, that I just fell on the ground with joy and rolled around in ecstasy, wanting to make my whole fur smell like the air outside. Zofijka was looking at me as if I was crazy but she doesn’t understand anything. Then she wanted to take me back home, but I didn’t want to go. I wanted to run away, and I almost did, but she caught me and yelled at me that I’m not normal. I would like to know why. Is it not normal for a cat to want to be out and about? It’s not normal (and selfish) when a human is unable to understand such a basic need. I think it’s not normal that they keep me in literally ALL the time, except for those short walks maybe once a month or even less often.

Do you think it’s not normal that I want to be out? Do you like to spend time out in nature, does it bring you pleasure? For me, it makes me euphoric!

Mishpurrs.

Misha πŸ’œ πŸ’š πŸ’™

Question of the day (20th September).

When was the last time you begun a new chapter?
My answer:
In a more literal way, today – I’ve been rereading “Jane Eyre” and have read at least two chapters today. – πŸ˜€ But what I’m asking you and myself is more about life in general, though feel free to answer this question how you’d like.
The last time I begun a new chapter… I think a proper, major, separate, key chapter in its own right, was when I’ve got Misha. It has changed so much in my life, and now I can’t even imagine easily not having him in my life. Then there was also starting my new, current blog, but since I’d done it multiple times in the past, it didn’t have that feel of a brand mew beginning. You? πŸ™‚
PS: Let me know if anything looks different/weird/worse about this post, I don’t think it should but just in case and out of curiosity. I’m writing this via email on my brand new Braille-Sense that arrived yesterday. I’ve also got a new PlexTalk, and yes, the computer, but turns out my scary adjustment process (and a lot of the stress) can be postponed for some more. Something in it got broken on the delivery so I need to send it back to the company who helped me get it so that they can fix it. Nothing major, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, but bad enough that you can’t even turn the computer on.

What a great, great pity! πŸ˜ž

Hhrrru? 😻

This is MishMish. I just woke up. I slept for most of the day. Guess what? Mila’s got me very yummy sausages, and I can have one every day! Just one… 😦 Isn’t it a shame? But I am glad anyway that at least I can have one sausage, they are very yummy and smell heavenly, but the peeps say they are super smelly, as if there was something very poisonous in them. I don’t believe it. I think they exaggerate as always. For them everything is smelly. Even me, sometimes. Zofijka says I have bad breath! How dare she?! Mila says that Zofijka shouldn’t say that I have bad breath because it’s not my fault but theirs, because they should care for my dental hygiene more. But even I don’t care about it and to be honest I really dislike that weird stuff they put on my teeth when they do that, and that I have to sit still and they put their big peep claws in my mouth. I always do a big drama of it. And it pays off as you can see because then they don’t want to do it anymore. But it’s also awful of them because it’s like they don’t even care if I get gum disease or something like that and die! Or my teeth fall out and I’ll starve myself to death! Russian blue cats get gum disease easily, but noo, my peeps are too lazy to care. And then when my gums will start to rot, they will be all acting innocent and like: “Oh, poor Misha, we wonder why his gums are so bad, and why he is so smelly!” as if they had nothing to do with it. But that’s of course humans for ya…

But I didn’t want to rant about that. I wanted to rant about something else. Also closely peep related. I overheard a conversation Mum had with Mila and Zofija in the morning. She said: “I’ve got an idea. I think it’ll be worth trying to finally make some space for Misha to go out on the terrace, so that he won’t run away. I think I’ll do it today”. As you can imagine if you know me, and hopefully you do by now, my heart skipped with joy. Yayyy, yaaaay! I will go out. I will play in the sun. I will look at the big world! I will catch magpies and seagulls and give them to my peeps and eat them every day for dinner – the magpies and seagulls, not the peeps! – They will see how brave and strong I am, and not as they say – “That clumsy Misha can’t even catch a half-dead fly.”! – Mum went out somewhere, I thought in preparation to make a “space” for me, and, full of happy, fuzzy feelings, I went to sleep. I slept for a long time. I woke up at dinner time and looked around to see how’s Mum’s work going. There were no signs of progress, though. Any progress. None at all. Peeps are stupid. And then I went downstairs and found Mum vegging out on the couch in the living room, in front of the telly. What the f…feline?! And then I overheard another lovely peep convo. “So what’s with that run for Misha?” “Ah, no, I thought it through” – said Mum – “and I don’t think it’s worth the effort. I’d have to climb the ladder and I think I’m too afraid to do that”. Like, what? What’s so scary about climbing the ladder? Climbing anything really? Climbing’s so, so much fun. I wonder why the peeps – who are so cocky that they are smart and know waaay more than me –
haven’t discovered the joys of climbing yet. “And other than that” – Mum continued – “what if I’d do it, and make it for him, and he’d be bored after a couple of days, as he often is? My effort will be even more worthless. And I just don’t feel in the mood” Me? Seriously, me?! I may get quickly bored by boring things, but I will never, ever, in a million years, get bored of the outside. It’s just so frustrating they don’t get such simple things. She isn’t in the mood… It’s not the matter of mood, for Russian blue heaven’s sake! So I went back to sleep, and, as you know, I just woke up. And I feel very sad and disappointed, still. I think I just have to get used to it and be happy with just looking through the window. Sometimes what you have just has to be enough for you and you either accept it, or continue being constantly grumpy and unhappy for the rest of your life. If it’s up to me even a little bit, I’d better try to be happy and satisfied with what I have.

How has your week been, pets and peeps? Any frustrations? Or was it a happy week for you?

Mishpurrs. πŸ’œ πŸ’š πŸ’™

Misha

Working On Us – pets.

It’s week #11 of Beckie’s mental health prompts’ series Working On Us at

Beckie’s Mental Mess

and I’m joining in. The topic for this week is pet therapy and emotional support animals.

Β Β Prompt #1 Questions:

 

  1. Do you own a pet for emotional support and/or service/therapy? – Yes, but it’s not strictly speaking an emotional support animal. I have a cat called Misha, he’s been with me since he was a few months old, and he is of tremendous support to me.
  2. Is your pet a certified therapy animal? – No. As much as Misha is helpful for me, he’s definitely not a fit whatsoever to be an emotional support animal formally. If you’d spend even just a day observing him closely you’d rather say it’s him who needs emotional support. Misha is an anxious loner who is scared of touch and closeness, and chronically stressed about everything, afraid of every noise and a more sudden movement. Strangers and travelling scare him as well, he doesn’t do changes and other cats. He is a well-bred aristocrat with loads of noble ancestors but looking solely at his behaviours and reactions one would think he must have spent years on the streets or in a shelter in the middle of a war zone. I really don’t know why he is like this, apart from that I’ve heard that just as much as parents can “infect” their children with anxiety if they are very anxious, same applies to pet owners. My Mum says he’s practically the worst fit for me, also because he only seems to tolerate eye contact fully well. Yet, despite our ups and downs, we get along really well. I have the added benefit that I know I am not alone with my anxieties and fears, weird reactions to stuff and avoidance. I know he understands me, although at the same time he is the only being in the world in whose company I would be happy to be ALL the time, but he so often prefers to be alone, and sometimes it’s hard to not take it personally. I have to often prioritise his needs when he needs his solitude or has a bad anxiety day and is all jittery and jumpy, but I know he understands how important he and his support is to me and that when he recuperates he’ll give me his attention and support and I’ll be happy to give him the same in return if he wants. I’ve heard so many people saying he is selfish, but in fact, taking everything into consideration, I think he is of an extremely noble and generous nature, but also a very difficult and complex character. I guess it’s good he’s not a human, he’s already enough of a complexity.
  3. What kind of pet do you own? – Misha is a Russian blue tsar, he’s over 3 and a half years old. We also have a mixed-breed dog called Jocky, who sometimes works therapeutically for me as well, even though I don’t have usually as much of a connection with dogs as I do with felines. Jocky is the lively, happy type, he’s mostly Zofijka’s, her cure for loneliness and lack of friendships, but my family says he must like me in some special way because he’s always very engaging with me. I mean, in a bit of a different way than with the rest of us. Especially when I feel low, I have a suspicion he really is able to feel when I’m depressed. And then he is so very funny and jumps at me and all and wants to play with me, and he always wins in the end because I can’t not laugh. We also have aquarium fish. I’ve heard people saying having aquarium fish is very calming and therapeutic because it calms them down to be able to look at them swimming, but since I can’t see them, they might as well not exist to me.
  4. Do you believe that support animals truly assist those in need? – Sure they do! I am not sure what to think about that animals can respond to our emotions, I think it depends in a way on an individual animal, but in any case, just having a pet that you love, whatever that animal does to make you feel better, can sometimes truly help. And there are trained service animals who help and assist people and I think that is unquestionable that they do and to a huge degree.
  5. Do you believe that any animal can be a therapy/support pet? – I think it really depends. On a specific animal, how engaging and interactive it is, but also on the human who is on the receiving end and is supposed to get some help from that animal. If you are sceptical, I don’t think it will help, and if you are scared of horses for example, it’s doubtful you’ll benefit from hipotherapy, unless you want to overcome your fear. It’s slightly hard for me to imagine how those less interactive animals (like the fish I mentioned for example) can support people, but I guess if you really like fish and are attached to your fish, it’s possible. I think it’s primarily the connection and love between you and your pet that is healing and therapeutic, not some unusual properties of the animal itself.

Prompt #2 Narrative:

Describe how your pet is of support to you? EXAMPLE: Helps with anxiety, depression, PTSD, etc… (And, please… Share their name and a photo) if you desire.

Misha – despite being a bundle of nerves himself most of the time – has a very calming effect on me. He is my best friend. I spend a lot of my time alone, which I am most of the time happy about but having Misha gives me some company and on those days when I do feel lonely, I feel less lonely because I have him. He helps me with anxiety. Like I said, I know he is anxious himself and that sort of adds to the connection between us. We understand each other on this front, I know I am not alone with what I feel, because a lot of the time, when I have a bad anxiety day, he does too. I call him my charger because he always helps me to recharge after a lot of socialising. Misha is very quiet like most of cats, not even particularly vocal, but he helps me with what I call silence anxiety (basically when there’s complete silence and my brain doesn’t get enough sensory stimuli, it’s really hard to explain and understand), even if Misha doesn’t make the slightest sound his presence can sometimes make it go away completely. When I feel depressed, he keeps me company and gives some purpose to my existence. He makes me feel useful because he needs support too. There are days when he does want a proper, long, relaxing cuddle, and he always comes for it to me, and he comes to me in search of refuge when suddenly there are lots of shouty strangers downstairs, smoking and listening to loud music, or stranger kids running around the house and wanting to hold him and calling him a she. It’s funny by the way how he’s always able to understand that an invasion of human beings is about to happen and run away to my room just in time, and it’s interesting how he doesn’t mind some people coming over to us and is happy to stay downstairs with them. He is my sleeping pill. We’ve established a routine on most of the nights (and Misha loves his rituals and routines) that he sleeps in my room at night, in his bed, and it really helps me to fall asleep when I have him close. Or if I can’t sleep, it’s even better, because I can pet Misha. My Swedish teacher encouraged me once that I should talk to Misha in other languages, because that’s what he did with his cats and they understand. And that’s what I do now. It’s cool because he seems to understand me no less than in Polish, while the humans don’t get a word. So I can talk to him about things that I wouldn’t talk about to people, that I don’t feel like talking with people, or that I don’t have anyone to talk to about. Misha doesn’t purr very loudly, I’ve read somewhere that purring isn’t only a signal of pleasure for a cat, but a self-soothing mechanism first and foremost. And when he does purr, it sounds more like he’s purring to himself. I’ve also learnt that a cat can purr when anxious or in pain and that would be true for Misha I think. But when he purrs for himself, I love to eavesdrop and get some of it for myself. I like to lie near him and listen to all his inner sounds – his purrs, his breath, his tummy gurgling, his heartbeat, every Mish sound is like a music for me and it is very soothing. – Playing with him always makes me happy. And just his presence changes the atmosphere in the room where he is. Basically, after those 3 years with Misha, I can’t imagine my life without him anymore. I guess Misha is like a drug for me. When I’m away for a few days, like on holidays or something, by the time I come back home to Misha I have full-blown withdrawal syndrome.

Here’s a pic of Misha, I don’t even know how presentable Misha is on it and don’t remember what he looks like here, but this photo’s been lying in my Dropbox so I believe I must have used it somewhere earlier, and I don’t think we’ve made many new photos lately, so I hope this one is good.

Misha standing alone

Other than Misha, I’ve also had some experience with hipotherapy. I’m currently having a hiatus (which will likely be over in September), but I used to horse ride regularly. I’ve written a fair few posts on my complicated relationship with riding and how it all started but to give you an idea, the very first time I started riding was at the boarding school for the blind when I was 5 and in the nursery. I didn’t like it, I was scared of it, probably because of my issues with balance, and any time I was supposed to ride I was sick. That stopped when I went to primary, because since then only those with multiple disabilities could do hipotherapy and it turned out I had allergy to horses, so I was happy with it. The when I was in what we call integration school at the age of 10 my Mum read an article on the benefits of hipotherapy and she felt like I could benefit a lot from it, especially emotionaly, and she found a stud and signed me up for hipotherapy there. All without my knowledge. I guess she didn’t even know how scared I was. But after the first time I rode there I suddenly discovered that I love horses and I love riding and it is amazing! I’ve been riding there until now with some longer breaks in between, still with the same instructor, and, until last year, always on the same horse. Sadly, last year, my faithful horse – Czardasz aka ŁoΕ› – died of old age.

At some point my instructor suggested to me that we could do more actual riding and less hipotherapy. That is, the stud where I am riding is exclusively for the disabled, and most of the people riding there have severe cerebral palsy or similar things, and they can’t really ride. I have some additional stuff apart from my blindness, like my shitty balance but it’s definitely not quite as severe a thing so overall I was able to ride and do much more on horseback. So I agreed and since then we’re doing what’s apparently called horse riding with elements of hipotherapy. πŸ˜€ My instructor is both a hipotherapist and a riding instructor, and a keen rider herself, but she is also a doctor – a neurologist. – So, apart from having fun riding, I have conversations about the brain with her and it’s thanks to her that I realised that had I been sighted I’d like to be a neurosurgeon.

I find horse riding very therapeutic. Very helpful with releasing the stress, tensions, all that stuff. Makes you feel free. You can’t ride while you’re tense so you naturally have to relax. Which can take for me just about the whole 45 minutes to fully relax my muscles at times, but oh well, it’s worth trying, isn’t it? It’s incredible how you bond with a horse while riding, especially if, like me, you don’t really change horses a lot, so you can get to know 1-2 horses really well, get to know your horse’s personality, the way of walking, what they react to and so on. My horse – my first one, the one who died last year – was really good and patient with me. He always felt when I was anxious, he seemed to understand me and I usually understood him too. He was very, very big and very, very phlegmatic. He once fell asleep while walking and tripped and I fell off of him, that’s how phlegmatic he was. πŸ˜€ We got along really well, although sometimes his size scared me and he wasn’t easy to ride because he was very demanding and I needed to work real hard to make him feel anything from my movements, since he was so much bigger than me. πŸ˜€

My current horse is a bit of a nervous type, and very receptive. I am not quite as bonded with him primarily because I haven’t ridden much on him, but I like him a lot.

I usually feel really euphoric for a while after hipotherapy, you know, endorphines kicking in and all that. But also, I said I have a complicated relationship with riding, because I do. While I love it so much, at the same time it’s still scary for me. Not that type of scary as when I was a kid, but it is scary. I can’t even exactly tell you why. I am scared that something awful will happen when I’ll be riding, I once had a panic attack while riding, and that I have poor balance doesn’t help and doesn’t make me feel safer on horseback. I know I go through the same fear every time I am about to ride, and I know that 9 times out of 10 everything will be fine, and I am willing to take the challenge, and my willingness to ride is (usually) stronger than the fear, but the fear is just there no matter what. Sometimes it still makes me feel sick and like I won’t do it this time. Things would be much easier if I didn’t have that fear, and I think I’d be able to do more and in less time.

Just like with Misha who makes an impression of not fitting for an emotional support animal, same applies to my horse riding, it’s a bit paradoxical that I ride, because technically I don’t have in abundance all that stuff that you need to be a good rider. My balance is screwed up, my sensory integration is screwed upΒ  and my coordination is screwed up. It makes things tricky. But at least thanks to riding I can improve them as much as it’s possible. But I think overall, taking everything into account, I am a pretty decent rider anyway, and I used to take part in local, small competitions and scored high which I am proud of.

How could I know?!

Hhrrru? 😻

Misha here. Does anyone else out there like salt?… Well, as you’ve probably gathered, I do. But now I have bittersweet associations with salt. I know lots of foods are salted, but today I got to taste salt on its own. And the peeps are having a go at me because of that. I feel very hurt today because of that.

I tried to be the best Mish I could possibly be in the morning, and purr very loudly, and I was in a very good mood. Then, my peeps disappeared somewhere for hours and I was left on my own. I was very bored, and not particularly sleepy, and just wanted to do something. I could tell there was something different in the kitchen. It was on the kitchen table. I came closer to see what was different. And it was a little bowl. A bit like the ones I eat from. But the thing that was in it didn’t smell very yummy and looked kinda weird. I climbed on the table (good that my human Daddy wasn’t around) I was just so very intrigued what it is) and I dipped my paw in it. They were some weird, tiny, white grains, that felt very similar to the gravel in my loo? “Did they move my loo to the kitchen? Why? Why didn’t they tell me earlier?”, I was wondering, very surprised and a bit worried. But then I brightened up a lot. It would be actually much better to have the loo in the kitchen. I had my loo in the peeps’ bathroom and sometimes they still forget that I am here and too have physical needs from time to time and can’t open the doors because they didn’t feel like it was necessary to teach me, and they sometimes just close the door to the loo after they go out, egoists! And our kitchen is open plan, so no one can close it from me. This new loo looked just a little bit weird. They didn’t let me to jump on the tables and now they even let me poop and pee there, can you imagine this?! Yeah, it was hard to comprehend for me too… And it didn’t quite allow for much privacy, it was just a bowl, and quite a small one. Well, if they want so… It actually felt like a bit of an adventure to me, and I decided to test how it would work for me before they come home, felt like a good opportunity. I started to kneat the gravel with my paws, and the bowl turned out way too small for my needs. Well, small I might be, but I’m not that small – I thought. – The gravel started to spill out on to the table. Next time they’ll know I need something bigger.It was really hard to find a suitable place to pee in at such a small space, so I was growing a little bit impatient. I was also very intrigued about the whole thing. I liked the texture under my paws, and the nice sounds it was making. I liked this new gravel very much! Finally, feeling more and more in need of relieving myself, I pressed on the bowl with one of my paws more strongly, and suddenly it danced around on the table and everything, just everything spilled out on the table. Oh well, at least that’ll learn my peeps something about my size, I can’t do my thing in a kitten’s loo. I was a bit worried because, honestly, that didn’t really look like something my peeps would approve of, but now I needed to pee really badly. Now with all of the gravel being out, I could do it easily. Uh oh! What a mess! Mummy’s certainly not going to like it. I covered up my wee neatly, the least I could do, and jumped off quickly and went to the living room to clean myself in peace and quiet. As I went through the house, I could feel that the gravel was still on my paws and making crunching noises, and it was all over the floor. I laid on my personal pouf. I started off my cleaning routine, and when I was licking my paws, I noticed that they taste really nicely. I licked that yummy taste off. And then after I cleaned myself thoroughly I quietly fell asleep.

I could hear the peeps coming back so I already went in to the hall to welcome them and calm them down as effectively as possible before they could potentially get mad at me – something was telling me I didn’t do the right thing with that loo thing. – “Hey Misha!” – Mum called –
“Oh, you’re waiting for us, you’re so sweet!”. She came into the house and then to the kitchen, and her tone of voice changed immediately and she wasn’t nice at all anymore. She cried: “Oh no! What have you done, you idiot?!”. Ehh, I knew something was wrong, but what? So Zofijka and Mila came in to see what was going on and they were both gasping in horror and screaming.

From their chaotic talk, I learned that that “gravel” was salt! And that Mum put it on the table, but she said she’ll never do this again, because Misha is so stupid. But, I ask you, how could I know it was salt?! I don’t have much to do with salt in my life, I never cared how salt looks like. I just wanted to pee and there was such a nice place to do that, so I did! I feel so very hurt. They all say I am stupid and messy. I know well that neither of those things is true, because I am very very clever, and I am not messy at all, even they always say it –
“Misha is so clean! He never damages anything, even if he is curious! He’s so gentle and careful with everything!”. – Because I am! And now, just one incident happened, and I am suddenly stupid and messy Misha and the worst Misha in the world. They are the most malicious and self-centered creatures in the world! All humans are so grossly self-centered, they can only and always see things their way. They won’t even try to see it how I see it, because Misha is just stupid and messy. And Zofijka calls me names. She calls me an idiot, and “the salt king”, and constantly makes allusions about salt when I am around, or tells me that I should work in a salt mine and such. It’s so damn annoying. You can’t make even one mistake that they wouldn’t remind you about all the time.

Well, I think I’ll just go to sleep and hope that today will be somewhat better.

How was your day today, pets and peeps? What do you do to comfort yourselves when someone hurts you?

Mishpurrs. πŸ’œ πŸ’š πŸ’™

Sad Misha