As I stood by the sizzling, smoky fire, threads of gooey toasted marshmallow webbed between my fingers, I observed the group of laughing, smiling people around me and realized that I felt comfortable laughing, listening, or conversing around any one of them, even the people that I did not know very well. This was not a situation that I had come across very often in the past. I struggled with embarrassing shyness that caused my face to feel like the occasional marshmallow that wanders too near the fire while the roaster turns their eyes away from the crimson, crackling flames every time I tried to hold a simple conversation with a new person. But here, sitting around the warm campfire in the chilly air at my best friend’s end-of-school party, I understood that somewhere along the way I stopped allowing my shy, quiet nature get the better of me. I could not place my finger on exactly when I became comfortable with speaking, I just knew that once I learned to embrace the fact that I had a tough time communicating without my face turning red and my voice shrinking down to a mousy whisper, it became less tough. Pondering just when I overcame this irritating, oppressive obstacle I looked back down at the springy strands of marshmallow goo in my fingers and immediately thought of my childhood cat.

The first time that I cautiously laid curious eyes on Marshmallow, all I could view was a billowy white puff of sugary white fur, providing an accurate fit for his name. He remained crouched beneath the low, plastic framed toddler bed that sat in my small, dark bedroom for most of the first week and only snuck stealthily away in order to munch on crunchy bits of kibble and find the litter box. Marshmallow startled at every tiny movement and every whispered word for what felt like an eternity of assimilation in his new home to a four year old. The oozy marshmallow on my fingers brought me back to this moment because of the vast amount of shy feelings that my beloved cat displayed towards me those first few weeks. After his shyness began to slowly trickle away, I finally earned the privilege of scratching beneath his puffy white chin and received the occasional purr of approval. Through a strange, interspecies way, I saw my actions reflecting the progressively more positive and outgoing attitude that Marshmallow began to put forth. My thoughts wandered back to the seemingly shy Marshmallow-like cat simply because of this similarity in attitude change. I realized that maybe, like marshmallow, I just needed time to feel comfortable with myself around others and that maybe my situation held a more positive outcome than I would have previously expected. If a slightly grumpy, overweight Persian cat could overcome the need to hide among the dust bunnies and flee at the tiniest of movements, then I could surely overcome the silence that caught in my throat when trying to speak with a person that I felt not completely comfortable around.
So often I look back on the events in my life that played out much differently than if I only understood how to embrace my shy, quiet personality a few years earlier. Particularly through the sweaty, claustrophobia inducing years spent in the bustling hallways of my local middle school, I let my shy attitude control me. I felt self-conscious about the painfully quiet girl who always said as little as possible that I knew I embodied. Speaking to peers gave me the sensation of sugary, sticky marshmallows attempting to hold my jaw in place in order to avoid myself the infuriating struggle of trying to reply without my face turning the warming shade of a deep red sun and my voice emitting a nervous half-giggle after I finished talking.

Through all of my hardships in holding normal conversations with people, I did manage to befriend a group of giddy, middle school girls and receive the monthly birthday-slumber party invitation. The very first party of these sorts provided me with an experience that was exactly as I had pictured. While all of the other boy-crazy, screeching girls laughed and chatted about all of the latest gossip to fill the classrooms and locker carrels of my middle school, I sat next to a large bowl of pure white marshmallows and input only the occasional, half- sincere giggle when one of the girls would explain who was dating her ex or what deathly embarrassing encounter occurred in the lunch room that day. I reached out to grab one of the perfect, pillow- like marshmallows, but it slipped from my fingers and gently bounced and rolled under the shiny leather sofa. As I searched for plush cylindrical shape of the candy, I thought back to Marshmallow and his shyness for the first time. At this point of the sleepover I wished for nothing more than to scoot under that couch with my missing marshmallow and rest in a delightful little cat nap. Marshmallow escaped his bitter shyness through hiding under beds, so why couldn’t I?

The connections that I made between my childhood cat, marshmallows, and shyness varied greatly between the two points in my life. The earlier of the two events displayed the dark days when I allowed depressing silence and a soundless voice shape my personality. Later as I contently realized how much strength and comfort with myself I gained, I saw a whole new side to my experience with my shy Persian cat. Even though Marshmallow was a simple cat I learned from him that it although it may take time to become comfortable with new people, places, and surroundings, a shy disposition and quiet manner does not need to get in the way of living life to the most of your enjoyment.