Tag Archives: cats

My Hairy Little Roommate

It’s been a few months since I got the cat, and I thought I should update you and let you know that I’m not a cat person.

Whee! I’m fat and catnipped!

Before you freak out, let me add the disclaimer that Monie is an awesome cat and I love her. But I’m a neurotic weirdo who’s still trying to be Zen about having this walking hairball that demands affection, sheds and forces me to say, “No lickey!” entirely more than I’m comfortable with.

But we’re roommates, and to be honest, I probably have the better part of the arrangement.

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While I have to deal with a creature that makes Gremlin noises and leaves the occasional hairball on the carpet—dramatic sigh—she has to deal with me jumping around the living room yelling with Jillian Michaels, dancing with the Swiffer and making up songs about catnip while trying to get the cat high.

The last verse of which is usually something about how I’ll probably die alone.

 Anyway, here are some things I’ve learned these past few months:

If there is a Hell, it’s covered in cat hair. If there is a Heaven, it includes the Bissell Pet Hair Eraser. And million dollar idea: yoga-type pants that are made of the same stuff as lint brushes. Run with that, people.

She also prefers the hard shelf to her leopard print cat bed because that makes total sense.

She does not enjoy me making her little arms “raise the roof” to “Hip Hop Hooray,” but she does seem to take delight in watching me try and capture a fly for 10 minutes. I think we’re doing this wrong.

Although she’s great about giving me my space when I workout, 40 minutes of yoga calm is instantly negated by the sound of the her hacking up a hairball in the next room. Namaste.

monietoys

Of all her toys, this is one that she will put in her mouth and carry around while growling. I found it on my pillow once. Affection or warning? TBD.

I never feel more inferior than when she watches me scoop out her shitbox. It’s not that she’s mocking me, but I swear her gaze says, “More enthusiasm, and with a smile. You missed a spot.”

While many cats are motivated by food and reinforce the “I want affection for 1.2 seconds, after which time I will claw you to escape from your overbearing presence” stereotype, she does neither. On the other hand, I just described myself.

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“Oh, hello. I will sit in this stupid bed for five seconds before leaving to get my head stuck in your flip-flop and then bolting across the room.”

The term “scaredy cat” doesn’t really apply. I can “Riverdance” across the living room floor or yell at her for making risotto like a fat cow while watching “Kitchen Nightmares” and she doesn’t budge. The vacuum does provoke a little fear, but that could be because I usually end up lassoing the ridiculously long cord around like a demented cowgirl.

Anyway, to summarize, I’ve learned I’m really not a cat person.

But unlike stories I’ve heard about other roommates, I’ve never come home to find she went on a crazy (catnip) bender that resulted in her piercing her multiple teats and ordering mass quantities of Snuggies off QVC. And while she has yet to pay rent or learn how to flush, she can make me laugh and puts up with my neurosis while simultaneously contributing to it.

I just thank god this cat can’t blog.

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Happy Birthday to my Mom

My mom’s birthday is this weekend and even though she hates to make a big deal out of things, I refuse to let the day go by without stressing over the fact that I want her to have a good day.

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So I baked her the cupcakes I bake her every year—on Tuesday—just so she could enjoy them all week. I also gave her one of her cards already and she kind of knows what she’s getting for a present, only because once I actually have the gift, I have a hard time holding on to it.

But since she reads this blog, I decided to give her a little birthday poem as one more thing to add to her birthday list. So without further ado:

Many years ago you came out grandma’s lady parts,

With five loud boys already they were thrilled with all their hearts.

Finally! A girl this time! And born on Father’s Day!

Grandpa was so thrilled that it had all worked out that way.

Little did they know that Kathy was a wild one.

Catholic school and church had little impact on your fun.

But you made it through and married and got pregnant one fall night.

Bringing me into the world, a freaking ray of light. 

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Now we drive each other crazy but a “crazy” that we get.

With drunken nuns and shopping trips that we can’t soon forget.

You’ve always done so much for me despite your daily pain,

and you rarely throw things back at me when I’m acting insane.

Then there are the emails and the texts you send each day,

To tell me that the ass of your old jeans has ripped away. 

Or sometimes just to update me on ballgame scores and such,

and send me links to baby sloths you know I love so much.

My point is that you’ve played the role of both my mom and dad,

Teaching me to give more than I ever thought I had.

So even though you hate a fuss and frankly, I do too.

Enjoy your cupcakes and your gifts, perhaps a beer or two.

As for cards, I found the one you needed in your hand.

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For those of you who read this post, I know you’ll understand.

Happy Birthday (week) Mom!

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Do you request any special food or treats for your birthday?

Monie Monie

As much as I love animals and support rescues with all of my heart, I understand people’s confusion when they find out I don’t have a pet of my own right now. After all,  I have the resources to take care of a pet, the experience and a whole house to myself. So what’s the deal?

There’s no simple answer, but when asked I tell people it’s because I don’t want hair all over my house, accidents on my new carpet or to have to pay for everything that comes along with their care.

All of those things are entirely true.

My OCD flips out when anyone comes to my house, much less a creature roaming around shedding and hacking things up. But the main reason—the one I don’t tell people—is that a) I don’t want to get too attached and b) I don’t want anyone (pet or person) to expect anything from me.

The truth is that I’ve been in “that place” more than I haven’t been lately. By all outward appearances I’m fully functional and fine, but internally I’m anything but.

Don’t worry. I won’t write about it again, as I’ve probably talked about it too much as it is. But as much as I want to pretend things are fine, it’s kind of hard to ignore when all you want to do is absolutely nothing, and anyone—even your own mom—entering your house makes your skin crawl as you fight the urge to clean.

Plus, a majority of the time I feel incapable of taking care of myself and the prospect of having something else to tend to shoots my anxiety up. It’s easier to keep my world very narrow, very controlled and to not get attached to too much.

But easier doesn’t mean better.

And the past couple of weeks I’ve spent entirely too much time looking at cats on the Humane Society website, and then in person, letting myself get a little excited about bringing an animal in. I knew I would want an older cat, one that just needed to live out their days completely spoiled and loved, but I still had a lot of reservations (see above, times 1,263.)

Then I found her.

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Meet Monie.

She’s 10 years old and was brought in only because the previous owners had a baby. That’s the only reason. So after weighing the pros and cons entirely too much, I decided to shut off my brain and bring her home.

I’m still freaking out in a neurotic way, but hoping that along with companionship, this will help me get out of my head, maybe injecting some literal and metaphorical hair and hacking in the places I’ve so carefully controlled to this point.

She’s a short hair, but she’s hairy. She’s calm and clean, but there will be messes. She’s older, but she’ll be loved. Not just because she deserves it, but because I want to let myself love her.

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I realize this is a very dramatic interpretation for the simple act of getting a cat, but for me, this will be a huge step.

Because while technically I “saved” her,  I’m kind of hoping that she can save me.

(We’ll keep you updated.)

 Buy the book. Save a kitten.