Fortunately enough, I was able to be home on Christmas Day, a pleasant surprise as my work usually withholds my presence for Holiday service.
Unfortunately for Finn, that meant someone else was able to be there as well. The man who harbors the epitome of all his deepest, darkest fears was to be there on Christmas (and no, I am not talking about Santa). Keith, the broski, was able to celebrate with us and tried making the best out of Finn's fear of him.
For one, he waited until I took Finn outside to do his business before he even attempted petting him. And he also waited until Finn was secure by my side, helping him feel safer. Keith then calmly approached him and pet Finn lightly on the head (he's ruffled him a lot more before, which you'd think is more terrifying). When he stepped away, Finn did too, more-so from a puddle of yellow than from Keith.
I was upset, but mostly for Finn rather than myself. Yeah, I didn't love the idea of cleaning up pee on Christmas Day, but, really, it could have been worse. I could have been at work. Finn, on the other hand, has been making such great progress and up until now hadn't let the bodily functions loose whilst Keith has been around. It was more disheartening between him and Keith than anything else.
In attempt to divert the little worrier's attention, I quickly patted Finn on the head and reassured him that he was okay, which my mother helped with too, before I set out to cleaning the mess.
My mothers been pretty much my anchor my entire life. With Finn she keeps me just as grounded as she has with anything else. It helps when she tells me that it's going to be okay and that Finn is going to take a lot of time to heal. Because I have to take time to remember that his scars run deep and he's recovering from old wounds.
In the end, Christmas was more of a nightmare that would never end rather than a holiday soon to begin for Finn. The remainder of the time, he either hid or paced incessantly searching for a safer spot than the one that was near Keith.
For Finns first New Years with the Russell Family, I can't really say much. I heard from my mother that he made a few small advances like following my dad to the back room, but other than that I wasn't given a lot of detail because for this holiday: I was at work.
Now, New Years is more of a sarcastically belted "whoop-dee-diddly-doo-da" holiday for me. Wine (or really any form of alcohol) makes me sick with a couple of wimp sips; and the overall contagion of drunk happiness in the air is blocked out by my intoxication rejecting immune system that I developed four years ago when I found out what 'working holidays' really consisted of.
The only thing that made me genuinely happy was finishing the artwork I had been promising Jason (my manager) and giving it to him. I was really proud of how it turned out, even it being zombie-themed which I don't personally care for, myself.
Anyway, when I woke up with a horrendously obnoxious migraine on New Years Day, knowing that it wasn't from alcohol of any sort, I immediately went to venting my post-work frustrations (because we all have them) on my mother, causing the migraine to worsen before I grew an ounce of a brain and took some happy pills. As I finally shook off the pain and that nagging angry Nelly that comes with it, I took Finn outside for a while and then invited him back to my room with me where he slept on my bed, while I just rested.
Most of the day went lazily like this, until near evening time an unknown and still misunderstood bond in the making between Finn and Artemis threw me for a loop.
To start this story out for mutually making sense, one of the gifts my brother got me for Christmas was a dinosaur pillow pet. I appreciated every single one of the gifts he got me, but I didn't see me getting any real use out of a pillow pet. It's not that the plush isn't cute in its own odd way or even that you can't get any practical use out of it as a lounging pillow. The problem lies more with me.
I'm a stuffed animal obsessed by nature with zero willpower, so I have to force myself to choose wisely when it comes to plushy toys (not that I always do) for the sake of limited space. There's no more availability in my room, therefore the next stop for a toy would be a tote in the basement or attic. And I'm that oddball goof that, as a child, had to give each plush a turn to sleep in my bed for the sake of not making them jealous. Well, those feelings live on in me as an adult, just in different perspectives.
The way I see it? Either I or someone close to me had bought the precious plush out of love for me, so confining it to a lifetime of cold sleep in a tote in the basement is a fate far worse than death unless the damned toy looks like death itself or isn't up to my standards of cuteness (that's right. I'm shallow). Even now the only plush toys I have in my room are held in high standings despite being buried beneath mountains of clothes.
It was with regret that Dino's standings were not as high as my art plush wolf: Lyall, two choco-cats and a 'Little Brother' plush imitated from the Disney movie: Mulan (yes. I'm that mature).
So I knew he was to be confined in a tote downstairs...until my cat, Artemis, took an immediate liking to it. Now when I throw Dino on the ground: Artemis follows. On top of the couch: yup, still follows. Luckily for Dino his confinement has been postponed henceforth. Or at least until Artemis gets bored with it.
Which might be soon.
As routine dictates, I toss the pillow pet on the ground every now and again so that Artemis can have his comfort plush on the floor within ease of access (but really because I took up the space on the couch). And thus far it's never brought him and Finn any closer together.
Yet for some reason when I tossed it upon the floor New Years night, both Artemis and Finn jumped out of their skins and took to hiding. The weird part? They hid in the same spot behind the computer chair. It took them a few tense moments of harrowed fright to cast a few wary glances from pillow to each other. Within the small interaction, both cat and dog seemed to exchange a few nods before Artemis went in for an approach while Finn coward in the background (I jokingly call Finn my cat and Artemis my dog because of their personalities like this). With a few sniffs, slight jumps (and not because my foot "accidentally" kicked it or anything) and a pawing, Artemis looked at me and then Finn, who decided it was okay to venture out and inspect it himself.
These are one of Finns braver moments and, beyond the hysterical laughter, I was genuinely proud of him. Artemis gave me a bit of a go-around too after willingly helping Finn out. Still, maybe it was all in my head and there was no real exchanges between the two. I'm an artist and a writer, after all.
My imagination runs away with me only all of the time. I act out scenes that don't exist, I make conversation with a cat that doesn't talk, I make conversation between me and a dog who also doesn't talk. I've since long established and learned to accept that society's brand of normal is not what I am and others will criticize me for it. So be it.
I am me, just as Finn is he.
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