How My Cat is Responsible for My Self Doubt

Cats, as a general rule, are nocturnal. For the last twenty-one years, my cat has been not only nocturnal, but vocal. That means that at some point in the middle of the night he feels like talking. He's not particularly interested if you want to hear him, but he's going to talk. Or scream. It seems to be most pronounced in the late winter months, because in February and March it seems my days can start anywhere from two to three o'clock in the morning.

There are times when I hate that cat.

Starting a day that early in the morning and having Internet access can be a dangerous thing. What I find happens is I start typing names into search engines. The names are usually long-lost people from my past. They don't even have to be people I knew well, or even cared about. I'm just curious to see whatever happened to them.

The thing is: if the name comes up at all, it's generally in connection to some great success they've had. There is nothing more depressing than sitting at your computer at three in the morning reading about someone else's success. Especially when you're unemployed. Again.

Of course, what are not listed in these electronic accolades are the divorces, the bankruptsies, the felony convictions, the broken hearts, and all of the false starts and failures that everyone faces ever day. I'm usually reading some glowing report intended to generate public interest. And so, at three in the morning, in a darkened room, I'm comparing the shambles of my life to a sanitized, air-brushed version of someone else's.

It goes something like this:

Johnny Smartass (scene here in a production still from his triumphant European tour as Hamlet) has just accepted his third Pulitzer Prize for his thrilling narrative of his personal struggle with discovering the cure for his own pancreatic cancer, not only saving his own life, but the lives legions of brilliant people who make the world a better place to live.

I then compare it to my life:

I met with a smug twenty-three year old recruiter and tried to convince her that I am capable of typing a memo and filing a document no one will ever look at again. She told me that she'd be in touch. I'm waiting for the phone to ring.

Of course, I could write my own glowing account of my life:

After a reasonably successful career in the Chicago theater, Joe Blogger began a successful career in the human resources industry, rising from below-entry-level administrative positions to senior management in less than ten years. Having achieved such success he began his third career as a writer after completing his master's degree in writing. He is currently under consideration for the PhD programs at three major universities to begin his fourth and final career in academia. In addition, the awe-inspiring photo that accompanies this article is a self portrait.

See? I do a reasonably good job at pulling myself up by the boot straps and moving on. But none of this would be necessary if my damn cat would just let me sleep through the night.