Wiki: “Psychological manipulation… aims to change… behavior… through underhanded, deceptive, or even abuse tactics. By advancing the interests of the manipulator, often at another’s expense, such methods could be considered exploitive, abusive, devious and deceptive.”
I just heard my cat meowing in the back of the house.
“Did somebody leave the door closed?”
After staring, purring, and then meowing, she violates my policy not to be manipulated. (‘Been there, done that.) Yes, there’s no denying it: her strategy worked; meowing at the north end got me off my butt.
But Heck No. I sat back down. At 18 pounds, she can live off her reserves.
But, Oh, Kitty!
Really, though, the topic of manipulation is downright hilarious, coming from a MOM: “I really need to get out there and weed the garden.” Okay, okay: hoping all things, we take it at face value. … NOT!
From Mom to Kitty, and everywhere in-between, it gets on my last nerve: somebody messing with me surreptitiously. [Sorry, I had to use that word today, albeit poorly: at work somebody used the word; I had to look it up later: clandestinely, by stealth.]
I used to know this person who tried to be a manipulator.
“Anybody who won’t do what I say… can’t be my friend.”
Um, okay, cya.
“Anybody who would [do this, or do that] is a bad person; don’t talk to them; just talk to me.”
Even my cat knows her limits. Howl all night, but the food bucket tells where the rubber meets the road. Who’s still at the computer, and who’s still burning cat-fat?
I’ll go feed the cat.