In the beforetimes, there were articles making the rounds about how Millennials (or Gen Y, or Z, or some group of youths…I dunno, really) weren’t dating the way “we” (X’ers, Boomers, and prior generations) did.
Committing to a cup of coffee at any time prior to the actual time of, “Hey, wanna grab a cup of coffee?” was too much of a commitment.
Going out for drinks? Same.
Going out for dinner? Not likely, unless it followed a cup of some beverage and nothing better came up before hunger required addressing.
Of course, these are broad sweeps. No doubt, dating is difficult. ALWAYS. But, when swiping left or right just keeps bringing up other options, it must be worse than I remember (N.B.: I’ve been happily married for nigh on 24 years, so some things have changed since my last date with mi esposo).
It’s not just dating, either. Why commit to that party when the little device in your hand might tell you about a better one if you just wait 17 seconds? Why plan ahead when it might mean that you miss out on something better? Isn’t that grass over there more lushly, richly green than this here grass?
Whatever happened to that idea of having one bird in the hand being better than two in the bush? Fiesta, I’m asking you, ma petite cherie.
So, here’s what happened.
I came waltzing down the hallway (I’m a fair dancer. Didn’t ya know?) to sign in for my volunteering shift. Fiesta started hollering that she required IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. We chatted a bit, and she almost thought about possibly understanding that I would most probably definitely visit with her post-shift. After I came out of the lounge, we repeated the conversation as I made my way past the door to get to where I needed to be.
Of course, when I returned to the hallway to change out a hand sanitizer, Fiesta launched into a tirade about my not paying her sufficient attention. I explained about still being in the middle of the shift. She seemed okay with that, but not exactly. And, I returned to the laundry room and the dishes and the mopping and the stocking.
Of course, post-shift, I joined Fiesta in her office (apologies to Bucca, Finola, and also Angela, but c’mon, we know who’s boss of this office). Lap available, Fiesta thought about it, but kept popping over to the gate to peer into the hallway and holler until FINALLY she decided a cuddle would be a good thing.
That lasted about 5 minutes.
The second this tiny ball of boundless energy heard a door, or the whisper of a possible noise, her nose was right back at that gate, and she DEMANDED INFORMATION. Fiesta just can’t seem to bear that things go on outside of her realm in part of the kingdom that is outside of her control, and over which she holds no sway.
If there is a person, a sound, an activity, a thought of something that might happen, Fiesta cannot tolerate the possibility that any of it might transpire without her supervision…and commentary.
So, look, does Fiesta ever actually miss out on anything? Nothing important. Because, you know what happened, I sat patiently waiting — just as any of you would do — for Fiesta to decide that the lap available was sufficient enticement to quell the fear of missing out on whatever was going on down in the hospital, in the lounge, in the lobby, or 3 stars to the left of that one over there.
Mostly, I think Fiesta just tuckered herself out, and my lap was a cozy warm place where she could restock her energy stores until the next very best thing would be delivered in the form of the mush-of-the-day.
Fiesta might suffer from FOMO, but she is in no danger of ever missing a meal.
After all, she is a Tabby’s Place cat.