In my head, cats live for at least 20 years. It’s not an entirely unreasonable assumption. After all, every time you hear someone talk about how long a cat lived, it was at least to 20, right? Until I went to the vet and saw this poster on the wall that says the average life expectancy for an indoor cat is 15 years. Mine are 16, 15 and 12.

However, the exterior data made me think back about the cats we had when I was growing up. We would have gotten my mom’s cat when I was about 2, and she died when I was still living at home, probably 16 or 17. We got my cat when I was 9, and she died before I graduated college. So it’s certainly not personal experience that gave me that idea.

So sometimes there is a gap between what is true in my head and what is true in the rest of the world.

The gap has shown up in other areas of my life. For example, I grew up believing that family was really important to my parents. The fact that my Uncle Joe was dead for more than a year before my mom knew it makes me suspect that there’s a gap there.

I had a gap in the area of religion, too. I always believed firmly that the crucifixion must have been a deviation from God’s plan. Because otherwise it seemed to me that there was something a little off about that planning process. (Learning about that gap changed my relationship to Christianity pretty profoundly.)

Clearly, the gap is there to keep me from facing information I am not going to like. And there’s a fine balance between facing things and keeping a positive attitude. When I lose a cat, it’s gonna suck – no amount of knowing it’s coming is going to change that. And, while pessimists are more often right, optimists are happier.

So the challenge is to reduce the gap, to live in both the present and the real moment, without getting so overwhelmed or pessimistic that I stop enjoying the present, real moment.