My Calming Sensory Companion Animal is a mean-eyed hamster with bits of hair missing that I named Meatball. Dr. Joffe said the name was indicative of a mordant humor that would not be at all helpful in reaching an Acceptable Happiness Quotient, so out loud I refer to him as Cuddles, but in my diseased and anti-social mind, Meatball he remains, and I’ll just have to hope that all the work we’ve been doing in our Mindfulness and Adjustment sessions will put me over the top, Meatball notwithstanding.
Meatball is kind of a jerk. During Sensory Hour, as the other anti-socials caress their sleek cats and happy dogs, Meatball tends to bite me. I’m supposed to keep contact for the full hour, though, so I just have to grin and bear it—this is Cultivating Resilience, Dr. Joffe assures me—and hope that I don’t get some horrific bloodborne disease (Positive Thinking).
The guy in Reflection Room 217, whom I pass on my way to Mindfulness and Adjustment, has a beautiful, calm, happy golden retriever. Its teeth are missing, but after a Sensory Hour with Meatball, that seems like a plus to me. Lucky bastard. But that’s just the kind of envious thinking that made me alone outside, that led to my low Happiness Quotient and to this whole situation. So I try some Positive Thinking: maybe the animals are given to each according to his need. Maybe Number 217 is really far gone, maybe even a single digit HQ, and he needs that gentle, loving companion. Maybe I’m pretty close to Acceptable in spite of everything and all I need is an unpleasantly aggressive and probably diseased hamster.
This is the kind of Positive Thinking that I think Dr. Joffe would appreciate, but that is very difficult to maintain as Meatball happily excretes in my palm.
* * *
Today’s Mindfulness and Adjustment session was bad. I had a reaction to the new medicine, but Dr. Joffe insisted on my going through with the session (Consistency and Follow-Through In Spite of Obstacles), so my face was puffed up like a toad as I stared at the little moving images of all my failings and their inevitable consequences, then at all the ways a high-HQ, well-adjusted, pro-social me would do better. Usually, I have a good cry at these sessions, but the skin around my eyes was so swollen that I just ended up with a water-up-my-nose feeling. Dr. Joffe seemed to be shaking his head as he entered his notes, which made me Inappropriately Upset, and I used some unkind words even under the influence of medication, not at all oriented toward Positive Thinking. Even I knew coming out of it that I wasn’t anywhere near Acceptable HQ.
I returned to the Reflection Room thinking many Negative Thoughts. Not only Sadness, I have to say, but even Anger at Authority, Rejection of Established Social Systems, and Blaming Others.
“Little jerk,” I said through my puffy lips to Meatball, who was currently trying to shred my gown for nesting material. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be out of here.”
Meatball looked at me with those bright dark eyes, then chomped the flap of skin between my thumb and index finger. “Dammit!” I yelled and shook him off. Roughly. More roughly than I think I could justify. Meatball hit the floor hard.
Oh no, no, no, I thought. Hurting another being with my unhappiness. Again.
No, no. I rushed to Meatball and picked him up, glancing worriedly at the cameras. Back to Square One. I looked at the little bundle curled in my hands and caressed it over and over. Please be OK, I thought. Please. I wasn’t thinking of my HQ anymore. I was feeling a towering loneliness, a desperate love.
Meatball twitched and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, over and over. Meatball scratched and nuzzled and urinated on me with a sort of animal forgiveness that I had never felt from anyone, inside this place or out of it.
* * *
A couple days later, Dr. Joffe and some orderlies came to my Reflection Room during Sensory Hour, leading the toothless golden retriever.
“We believe you are at a stage in your journey where you could benefit from a change in Companion,” said Dr. Joffe.
“What about…?” I gestured vaguely toward Room 217.
Dr. Hoff inclined his head. “The previous Client no longer has a need.”
I winced as Meatball nibbled at the flesh below my thumb, but I did not move.
“It is,” said Dr. Joffe, delicately, “a matter of considerable significance to your social health and well-being, your progress toward Happiness and, although I want to emphasize that there is no prediction or threat being made here, the manner in which your time in our care is to conclude.”
I looked between the happy, caring, well-adjusted, expectant faces of the retriever and Dr. Joffe. I ran my smarting thumb over Meatball’s patchy coat. Little freak.
“Please give me the animal,” said Dr. Joffe.
“No,” I said, Disregarding Professional Advice. I could practically see my HQ ticking down in Dr. Joffe’s eyes.
“Opposition and Defiance,” said Dr. Joffe, sternness creeping into his voice, “are not conducive to your progress, and neither is Maintaining Unhealthy Attachments. This is, I am sorry to say, quite elementary, and reflects very poorly on both your progress and your prognosis.”
He paused. Meatball stuck his head out from the cradle of my hand with something that looked almost like a sneer. Dr. Joffe’s voice turned gentle again, but it was not at all warm. “Do you understand what I am saying? About where these Negative Actions are leading you? You want to make progress, don’t you? You certainly want to avoid continuing this distressing backslide.”
“No,” I said. Meatball clawed my palm, the orderlies looked at Dr. Joffe’s unsmiling and threatening face, and I thought distinctly and very incongruously a Positive Thought. “I’m alright,” I said.
* * *
Ⓒ S.L. Harris
