“Do you wanna touch me?”
“Touch me in the morning.”
“Reaching out. Touching me. Touching you.”
“Sometimes when we touch, the honesty’s too much.”
“If you really want want me, just reach out and touch me.”
There are gajillions of songs loaded with references to touch.
There is very good reason for this. Touch matters. Physical touch ranges the gamut from gentle kindnesses to grand passions. There is also non-physical touching that reaches into our souls, right down to our toe beans.
Until a friend recently – masked, back to me, briefly, and whimsically before scuttling back to a respectful, safe distance – touched my shoulder, I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it, despite knowing how lucky I am to have a partner to hug and kitties to pet in lockdown.
Always tactile (what soft fur! what lush fabric! what heavenly cool, smooth marble!), I’ve never been very physically touchy with any but my innermost circle. Whimsical friends and hubby notwithstanding, I’m not sure if I really miss it or if I’m desperately hoping handshakes never make a comeback. (Awful things, really. TMI in a handshake. No thanks to subtle power plays, limp fish, sweaty palms, can barely be bothered, but here are personal germs plus some extras from shared surfaces touched today.)
“Quick rinse” was never okay in my book. And, I didn’t really need lessons in excessive handwashing or sanitizing. Being mindful and careful of not spreading germs or fearful ringworm through the necessary touching, touching, touching all around Tabby’s Place was second nature. Now, it’s first, second, and third…well, it will be when Tabby’s Place and I are both reopened. Pass the hand-sanitizer, please. Next stop, any sink for soap and water.
And now for our return from Tangent City…
As a cat lover – and knowing this audience – it seems pathetic that over the past nearly 4 months, I have touched only my hubby, my 4 cats, 1 of my sister’s cats, and one neighbor’s dog (the latter two resulted in an excess of washing that my skin has yet to forgive)…and there was that brief, gentle, kind touch on my shoulder.
Insufficient! I long to snuggle Walter with his should-be-sleek-but-often messy sweetness. What a dream to pick up Pepita and hold her close. Ah, the bliss of Anka‘s Turkish delight of long-haired luxuriousness.
Every cat at Tabby’s Place has absolutely perfect fur for stroking, petting, and brushing, even though some strongly prefer extreme limits to touching (check on that box, fur sure!). I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. It may be difficult to get access to Michelin, and it may be challenging to get Carrot off your lap, but they both have lovely fur. Stafford and Faye…they too have great, touchable fur, they just need fur management classes for cats.
That should totally be a thing. Who’s with me?
P.S. Touch screams…uh, screens…are very frustrating for those of us with circulatory issues that mess with our fingertips and, therefore, recognition software function. Also, autocorrect. ARGH! Cats are better than touch screams and software.
P.P.S. Update to a past blog: Apologies are very touching. Two difficult incidents I previously divulged are all but washed away. Sincere apologies touch one’s heart, heal, and fill a void. I’m glad to know that people can recognize their failings and do better. I’m even more glad that they understand that it’s okay to make a mistake and even better to make up for one. FYI, it’s never to late to “reach out and touch somebody’s hand,” literally or metaphorically.