There are evenings when my thoughts pad into the room like a cat that knows the house well but not quite well enough. Familiar doors hesitate. Corners surprise. Reflections mislead.
That’s how cognitive dysfunction makes itself known to me — not as an announcement, not as a warning, but as a gentle misalignment. Things still exist. I still exist. It’s just that sometimes the moon turns out to be a mirror, and I bow to it politely before realising I’ve been greeting myself.
This isn’t an explanation of anything. It’s simply how the fog feels when it decides to think.
The Philosopher’s Cat and the Silver Circle
In my mind’s study, there lives a cat who believes deeply in reflection. One quiet night, he encounters a round, pale glow leaning against the wall. He pauses. He sits. He bows. Surely this is the moon, brought indoors for contemplation.
Vacant Space 3
A space for, possible, future development.
Only later — much later — does he realise the glow bows back.
That moment feels familiar. Thoughts appear convincing, complete, finished. And then they tilt. Meanings slide. Certainty evaporates.
This is where I place cognitive dysfunction in MS — not as a flaw, but as a trick of light. The study hasn’t changed. The cat hasn’t changed. Only the way understanding arrives has shifted its pace.
If this landscape sounds familiar, it’s because it belongs to the same country as the others. The fog has many districts.
👉 Fables in the Fog
When Thoughts Take the Scenic Route
Some ideas no longer arrive directly. They wander. They stop to look at things. They get distracted by windows.
When I speak, a word might pause just out of reach — close enough to feel, far enough to delay. The sentence waits patiently while I rummage. Eventually it turns up, slightly dusty, apologetic.
This is experiencing cognitive dysfunction — knowing the thought is there, feeling its shape, but having to give it time to introduce itself properly.
The Blundering Bat
There are days when my thoughts resemble a bat navigating by echoes that take a little longer to return. I move forward anyway, trusting that the walls will announce themselves eventually.
That bat still circles here:
👉 The Blundering Bat & the Mental Fog
It reminds me that movement doesn’t require speed — only intention.
Memory as a Shifting Tide
Memory, too, has moods. Sometimes it’s obedient. Sometimes it’s theatrical. Sometimes it vanishes mid-performance.
Names step out of the spotlight without warning. Stories repeat themselves, not out of carelessness, but because the cue never arrived. Tasks begin confidently and dissolve halfway through, leaving only a sense that something important was meant to happen.
This is MS-related cognitive dysfunction as I know it — not erasure, but rearrangement. The pieces are still there, just stored in unexpected drawers.
Captain Cogs Adjusts the Course
I picture memory as a ship that still floats, but whose compass occasionally spins for the sheer joy of it. Captain Cogs doesn’t panic. He adjusts. He checks landmarks. He sails slower when needed.
That voyage continues here:
👉 Captain Cogs & the Ship of Forgetting
The destination remains worthwhile, even if the route improvises.
Fatigue Joins the Conversation
Thinking requires energy. Some days, there’s plenty. Other days, it’s rationed.
When tiredness enters the room, thoughts grow heavier. Decisions feel philosophical. Choosing between tea and coffee demands a committee meeting.
This is where living with cognitive dysfunction overlaps with the wider fog. The mind slows not because it can’t move, but because it’s learned to conserve.
The Ant Who Took Sunday Off
Once, an ant decided that relentless effort wasn’t the same as wisdom. He rested. The world did not end.
That lesson remains pinned to the wall:
👉 The Ant Who Took Sunday Off
Some days, the brightest insight is knowing when to stop thinking altogether.
The Mirror That Answers Back
The philosopher’s cat eventually realises the truth. The moon does not blink. The reflection does.
That recognition doesn’t embarrass him. He stretches. He yawns. He accepts the room as it is.
That’s how moments of clarity arrive for me — not with triumph, but with quiet understanding. The fog lifts just enough to show that confusion was never incompetence. It was simply perspective playing games.
Occasionally, I wander outside my own stories and find reflections elsewhere — not for guidance, just reassurance that other mirrors exist.
👉 MS Society – Memory and Thinking
Not as instruction. Just as confirmation that the study is shared.
Five Bright Insights the Cat Never Writes Down
The cat does not keep a notebook, but if he did, I suspect it would say something like this:
- Thought is allowed to wander.
- Slowness is not failure.
- Memory enjoys improvisation.
- Fatigue changes the lighting, not the room.
- Reflection is still connection.
None of these solve anything. They simply make the fog easier to live inside.
Conclusion: Bowing to the Moon, Greeting the Self
The philosopher’s cat bowed to a mirror, believing it to be the moon, and discovered — gently, eventually — that he had been greeting himself all along.
That’s how cognitive dysfunction often feels to me. Whether it appears as cognitive dysfunction in MS, MS-related cognitive dysfunction, experiencing cognitive dysfunction, or simply living with cognitive dysfunction, it reshapes the way understanding arrives, not the worth of the thinker.
The fog may blur reflections, but it does not erase them. And even when the moon turns out to be a mirror, the act of bowing still counts.
“Work that costs you joy is charging interest on your energy.”
Stephenism
🎵 Soul from the Solo Blogger — Tunes from Túrail.
