A Bowlful of Mixed Signals

- Some nights dinner is comfort. Some nights it’s… feedback.

Whiskered Purrspective

Issue #3

Feb 12, 2026

by MaiTai & ZuZu

ZuZu:

Mom is not herself today.

Not in the obvious way. Nothing dramatic. Just slower. Careful. Like every movement has to be approved by something inside her first.

She ate earlier.

Now she is paying attention.

I sit nearby and watch the room instead of her. I can tell how she feels without looking directly. The air changes. The quiet thickens.

These are the days when the house turns inward.

MaiTai:

Food is tricky.

It smells convincing. It promises things. It says this will be fine in a voice that sounds very reasonable.

Mom listens to that voice sometimes. I don’t blame her. I listen to convincing voices all the time. They usually belong to birds.

Later, when her belly hurts and her head feels wrong and her joints are angry for no clear reason, I can see her recalculating. Not regretting exactly. More like taking notes.

ZuZu:

She rests because she has to.

Not because rest sounds appealing, but because her body has ended the discussion.

She lies still, eyes closed, breathing shallow at first, then slower.

I stay where she can feel my weight without thinking about it.

This is not comfort.

This is attendance.

MaiTai:

We understand limits.

There is fish in the world. We know this. We are also very aware that we are not allowed to eat it.

This is disappointing.

It is also non-negotiable.

Our bodies have opinions.

Mom respects them.

With herself, she sometimes tries to bargain.

We don’t just imagine the consequences.

Our skin tells us.

Hot spots that itch until we can’t think about anything else.

Bellies that twist and complain long after the good taste is gone.

Bodies that light up in ways that are not celebration.

It hurts.

It still tastes good.

That’s the unfair part.

ZuZu:

Mom wants food to be simple again.

I know this because she sighs afterward — not loudly, just enough to release something.

She misses eating without consequence.

She misses not having to recover.

I don’t think she wants permission.

I think she wants ease.

MaiTai:

Ease is underrated.

So is stopping when you should.

So is choosing the boring option because the exciting one will ruin the afternoon.

Mom learns this.

Then forgets.

Then learns it again.

That seems human.

ZuZu:

Care looks different on these days.

It looks like canceled plans.

It looks like slow steps.

It looks like us rearranging ourselves so she doesn’t have to.

No one is in trouble.

MaiTai:

People talk about discipline like it’s the answer.

I don’t agree. I think listening is harder.

Listening requires you to accept that you don’t always get what you want, even when what you want feels justified.

I sit on her legs to make sure she stays put.

ZuZu:

Pain does not mean the wanting was wrong.

It only means the body has a boundary.

We live inside that truth every day.

MaiTai:

Eventually, the day softens.

It always does. Mom will move more easily later.

She’ll remember this day just enough to be cautious, and forget it just enough to hope next time will be different.

That’s fine.

We will be here either way.

— MaiTai & ZuZu 🐾🐾