Lessons About Meltdowns-- From My Cat

I wasn't sure what to expect when I brought my cat, Neptune, to my parents' house in Pennsylvania over this past Thanksgiving and Christmas. After all, he was sixteen years old, and he hadn't been to that house in ten years. Would he even remember it? However, I had to bring him with me: he has hyperthyroidism and needs to get a pill twice a day, and getting a cat sitter or boarding him (the latter of which I think would traumatize him) would have been prohibitively expensive.

What I didn't expect were the erratic behavioral episodes that Neptune had during both stays. One minute, he would seem fine, and the next he would growl and hiss in warning, not letting anybody-- including me-- near him. There were a couple instances where it was clear to me what he was reacting to. Once, my dad tripped over a chair in the dark and howled in pain, and Neptune was right there; Neptune obviously thought Dad was attacking him. There was another instance in which Neptune hid under the kitchen table and growled while the four of us sat down for dinner. The room has a twelve-foot ceiling, and I think the loud and unfamiliar sounds-- such as the clanging of the pots and dishes-- plus the approaching feet made him feel cornered. But there were many other instances that seemed to come out of nowhere. 

I had never seen Neptune act like this before-- not in the previous times he visited the house in his younger years, and certainly not in my apartment. During his stay in Pennsylvania, I didn't know what to expect from him. One minute, I could be petting him and he would purr; the next minute, he might growl, hiss, and swipe at my eyes if I got too close. My attempts to diffuse the situation only made things worse. Telling him, "It's okay, sweetheart," made him angrier and more aggressive. Scolding him and yelling at him didn't work either. What we eventually figured out was that ignoring him during these episodes was the only thing that was effective. If we did that, he was usually back to normal in five minutes.

Sound familiar?

Someone I talk to online, who suspects she herself is autistic, told me to think of Neptune's episodes like an autistic person having a meltdown. This made sense to me. Cats-- like some autistic people-- rely heavily on routine and familiarity. Unlike dogs, cats are by and large not novelty-seeking animals, and unfamiliar situations-- especially with excess noise-- can frighten them. This is especially true for older cats, like Neptune. I realized that the way we tried to handle Neptune's "meltdowns" were eerily similar to how the adults in my life tried to handle my meltdowns when I was a kid-- that is, they backfired spectacularly.

Adults saying, "It's okay, sweetie!" did not work. It made me more upset.

Adults saying, "You need to calm down," did not work. It made me more upset.

Adults saying, "You're acting like a two-year old," did not work. It made me more upset.

Adults saying, "You need to learn to control your temper!" or sometimes, "You need to learn to control your fucking temper!"-- Guess what? -- Did. Not. Work. It. Made. Me. More. Upset.

Am I making myself clear?

The problem was was that the adults unsympathetically viewed my meltdowns as childish temper tantrums rather than a manifestation of protracted intense anxiety, often over being left out of something, or feeling I didn't understand a situation, or otherwise having the acute awareness of being an outsider. For other autistic people, this may happen as the result of sensory overload, for example (I don't have the sensory issues, but many of us do). Overall, it is the result of trying to tolerate living in a world not willing to understand us, let alone accommodate us. I tried several times throughout my teenage years and into my twenties to explain to the adults in my life that my "tantrums" or "outbursts" (or some other label with a shameful connotation) were the end result of me trying to dam a raging river, the inevitable outcome being that the dam would burst. Unfortunately, they generally thought I was making excuses, not trying, trying to get attention, or just being "immature." Needless to say, I would feel like I lacked self-discipline, that I committed some horrible moral failing, and I would feel a sense of deep shame. I would vow to never let it happen again, while deep down knowing that it was only a matter of time.

So what does the situation with Neptune have to do with it? A lot, actually. Like it or not, people are animals too. The difference is is that a cat seeing another cat having a meltdown would react with aggression, and you cannot do anything about it. They're acting on pure instinct. However, as a more intelligent animal, humans can help each other to understand what is going on. They can make accommodations and help the person having the meltdown (after it's over) strategize what to do when they feel one coming on before it reaches the point of no return. Most importantly, in the case of Neptune and the case of me and others like me, these episodes have to do with anxiety, not maliciousness. When Neptune is in an environment where he's comfortable, he's as sweet as can be.

I said that ignoring Neptune's warning growls and hisses rather than facing them was the right thing to do. Obviously, this is because you can't have a conversation with an animal. You can-- and should-- have a conversation with an autistic person about their meltdowns-- rather than ignoring them, which could feel disrespectful-- but the point is that you should do it after the episode is over and the person has calmed down. It might help to say, "I understand this is hard for you right now. When you start to feel better, come to me and we can talk about this," or at least get them out of the situation that's bothering them so that they can calm down. 

I feel that I should further explain why addressing the meltdown in the moment makes things worse, even when "nice" words are used:

When an adult said, "It's okay, sweetie," what I heard was a sugar-coated way of saying, "You're overreacting and I have no concept of what you're upset about."

When an adult said, "You need to calm down," what I heard was, "Your emotions are making me uncomfortable and I don't want to deal with them."

When an adult said, "You're acting like a two-year-old..." God, did I hate this. I remember even trying to explain that two-year-olds don't have complex enough emotions to get upset about the stuff I was getting upset about. Thus, what I heard was, "We don't understand anything you're telling us, and your feelings about the situation are invalid."

And when an adult said, "You need to learn to control your (fucking) temper!" what I heard was, "I can't stand to watch you act like this. It's making me unbelievably uncomfortable and it needs to stop. This is about my needs, and yours don't matter."

What I realize now is that, whether adults meant to do it or not, they were making the situation entirely about me rather than owning their own discomfort and lack of understanding.

Keeping Neptune comfortable in whatever environment he is in helps to prevent his episodes. Remaining calm during his episodes when they do happen prevents them from escalating. 

And really, people are not much different.