As Megan Becomes a Cat

I see cat people. Everywhere.

I have always been a dog person myself, but I have known a lot of cat people in my lifetime. In fact, I once lived in a large house in Hyde Park with three women…and thirteen cats. It was not as bad (or as good, guys) as it sounds at first. It was a really big house and an economic advantage for all of us to move in together, and it just so happened that these women had four or so cats each before we decided to do this. No one was willing to shed any of their respective cats for the arrangement, so we made it work. To their credit, they took great care of their cats and all their habits, and after a while all of them kind of grew on me and displayed distinct personalities I recognized.

There was Luna the King Cat, Zachary the Mamma’s Boy, Cassiopeia the Space Cadet Cat, and so on. It was twenty-some years ago. I can’t remember them all. The point is, I learned a few things about cats during those years we were all together in that house. It just took time and exposure. And I kind of took that lesson along with me, developing the idea for myself that the people in my life I disliked or were at odds with were the people I knew and understood the least.

Usually, but not always, time around or with someone and a little effort to see things from their perspective helped me understand them better, at least to a point where I could accept them if I still found it hard to do much else. I am not sure I have ever met too many genuinely bad people on the planet (although, any normal day in retail challenges that theory), just people with agendas, priorities, and ideas that may be a little at conflict with mine. And who is to say mine is the measuring stick?

I was thinking about all this again recently when I was examining my relationship with Megan. Lately the conflict has been less, and I was trying to figure out what was going right. Actually, I was trying to figure out just what it was I was doing right, because with a teenage girl you are not likely to affect significant change resulting in them coming toward you. Life is pretty much on their terms, just the same as it was for you and me when we were self-absorbed teens.

And let’s face it: more often than not, where women and teenage daughters are concerned, I have often had to walk away, scratch my head, and admit I was wrong about something. I do it later, where I don’t have to admit it in front of them, but at least I recognize my lesson to myself. If you would, keep that under your hat, please; don’t tell Megan or any of the women I know that little secret.

So I began, oddly enough, to explore the similarities between my situation now and then, and I stumbled across an interesting analogy:

Teenage girls are like cats.

Doubt my theory? Then as proof, I will offer the following parallels. Jump in and differ with me whenever and wherever you want.

Cats like shiny new toys. The newest cell phone. The bigger iPod. The expensive flatiron. The latest version of Guitar Hero or DJ Hero. A new camera. I think I read somewhere that the single biggest buying block in America is the Teen and Tween girls. I believe it. Collectively, they are a Monster Consumer. Figure out something that they just have to have—something that seems important to their self-image or their externally-driven image—and you are a rich man. Megan is no different, and she has a particular problem with shoes. She owns more shoes at thirteen than I have owned my entire lifetime. I call her Little Imelda Marcos anytime she asks me for another pair. We can’t drive past Famous Footwear without her pointing out to me that they are having their half-price sale. Never mind if we have to subsist on peanut butter and jelly for the next two weeks; Megan’s feet will be fashionable.

Cats can spend hours just watching something. Like a television. Well, not many cats actually watch television, but teen girls do. Hours of it, hypnotized. Megan is no different. I have never really been addicted to television much myself, and I have tried to pass that along to the girls, but I feel like I am waving my finger at a tidal wave. It’s as much a culture thing as anything. And so much of a young girl’s culture comes from media exposure that I would have to be preparing her for life in a convent to take it away from her. The danger I see in all of it is in what they are taught as a good self-image, what the definition of beautiful or attractive or acceptable should be for them. I’ve witnessed first-hand how that can result in eating disorders. So tragic. So heartbreaking. So unnecessary.

Cats often prefer to spend their time in the company of other cats. One of the biggest arguments I ever had with Megan was over her not being seen with me and her sister at the mall, by her friends. It was Lesson One. And I have already had to learn where the proper place is to pick her up after football games or various other social events. Dropping her off at school is okay still, but just guess what happens if I try to give her a kiss goodbye or even say the words “Bye! Love You!” within earshot of one her passing friends? Correct. Those little eyes heavy-laden with eye liner flash a look that could pierce armor. And she wishes they could, at that moment.

Megan and I have gone around about how she has to have a friend along on just about every family outing. I’ve given up on that one too, even though I know it means they will spend more time engaged with each other than with Kylee and me. About the only way I could divert Megan’s attention would be to break out in song or dance somewhere public, at which time she would sprint, record speed, hurdle small children, and dive yards to take me down in a full body tackle.

If ever given the choice between something to do with a friend or friends and anything (even if it were shoe shopping) with Kylee and me, friends win every time. It’s just another one of those things I’ve come to accept. I do a lot of that nowadays, this accepting thing.

Cats like to have primp fests with each other. I am yet to (and dreading as much) see the pre-date or pre-prom rituals, but have you ever had a peek into Girl World right before a show choir competition, band concert, or even a pre-mall? Amazing. Astonishing. To make matters worse, Megan is a stunningly pretty girl with her blonde hair and blue eyes, and I think she is learning as much. I’d like to see a federal law enacted limiting the age when girls can buy cosmetics, but I am more likely to see the NRA banned, and gun control enforced first.

Cats are aloof, and are okay spending a lot of time alone off somewhere. I can’t fathom that teen girls spend a lot of time contemplating the questions of life, which is the sort of thing I do whenever I am spending time alone. So what is it that she is doing, other than texting her friends or watching television, behind that closed door? It is closed often enough to go ahead and hang a piece of wall art on, frankly. Or tell me this: do I want to know? If not, it is quite alright to spare me the pain of that education.

Cats love you, even though they don’t always want to show it. And sometimes, the only time they do is when they need something from you, or they are tired. Want to know when it is that I experience the best little moments with Megan? It’s usually at the end of the day, when I am saying goodnight to her, or when I check on her for some reason while she is sleeping. Sometimes I might just sit there with her a moment, pull her covers up for her, or brush her hair back off her face. I can usually see a somewhat serene look envelope her face, and on occasion it slides into a little smile. It’s almost like her subconscious acknowledgement of the connection.

Those are the best times. The less-than-best are when she wants that $100 flatiron that she hasn’t earned enough babysitting money for, or a friend over for the night, or that new pair of shoes that she just has to have right then and there. Those are the times when Megan exhibits an uncanny knack for flattery, persuasion, and even manipulation.

Megan (in lilting or whining voice): “But this is a better quality flatiron dad. All the others are cheap and break! Buy this one and it will be cheaper in the long run because you won’t have to buy me another in a month or two!”

Really? And yes, she wears me down almost every time.

And so…I’m not sure why I ever dreamed that I would understand teenage girls any better today than I did over thirty years ago. Maybe I thought that age and maturity offered me some advantage and perspective that would make me, well…wiser. Silly me.

But, just like I didn’t care for or understand cats before I had to live with thirteen of them, I gradually make peace with Megan as a teen. Her personality is taking shape in ways I have never recognized, or at least wanted to acknowledge, and as I come to understand that, and deal with her as a littler, developing adult, we have more good days than difficult.

But I still draw the line at her dragging a dead mouse—my code words for a teenage boy—into the house to proudly show me what she’s caught.

Originally published 1/26/2010.

© 2010 Cody Kilgore. All Rights Reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. May not be copied or distributed without prior written permission.