On the Tenth Day of Christmas....

ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...MY CRAZY CAT!

OMG, my cat scared the hell out of me today.  Prone to sleeping on my pillow, she had curled up in such a way I didn’t realize she was there until I shifted my arm slightly and felt her fur.  Her fur was so cold and she didn’t seem as if she were breathing.  I shook her, trying to rouse her.  She didn’t move.  I shook her harder, starting to panic.  It wasn’t until she raised her head and gave me the biggest stink eye that I realized that no, she hadn’t just died on my pillow.  She was just sleeping very deeply.  The asshole. 

For those of you who have never met my cat, she is old, grumpy, deaf and fat…and like all cats, is indeed an asshole.  Originally owned by a friend of mine, I acquired her about 2-3 years ago when my friend moved to Colorado.  She couldn’t take the cat with her due to her heightened travel anxiety (the cat allegedly almost died when they tried to tranquilize her on a previous trip across state lines), and so she came to live with me. 

Shadow (her given name) is a 14 or 15 year old, grey, short-haired American Tabby.  I originally thought she was named Shadow because of her color, but only found out semi-recently it is because she instead likes to follow her owner around the house.  Although, she is not on my heels at all times, she is definitely much happier when she can be in the same room.  In fact, my daughter tried to get her to hang out with her in her bedroom this morning.  Shadow was having none of it, howling at my daughter’s door until she was released. 

And oh, yes, the howling.  Although some vets think howling is a sign of dementia, my cat actually does it because she is deaf.  At first we thought she was just ignoring us (asshole cat, remember), but she doesn’t react to any noise whatsoever, not even her own.  So unless she is part sphynx….  Anyway, I am convinced she clearly has no idea of how loud she really is due to said deafness. She still has something to say, however…usually “Where is my food?”  or “Where are you?” or “Clean out the cat box already, woman.”

But let’s talk about the elephant in the room.  And by elephant, I mean my cat.  When I first acquired Shadow, we went to visit the vet.  Upon weighing her, the vet said she was only 11 pounds.  Considering I have bruises from her climbing on me with her tiny little paws, I don’t see how this is possible.  They had to have been off by at least, I don’t know, 6, 10 or even 50 pounds.  She is short with stubby legs and a veritable cat loaf.  She has therefore ceased to be but a walking Shadow and has instead been renamed Princess Tubbergut.  Yes, this is likely on par with fat-shaming my cat, but my chubby little diva comes by her name honestly.  This is her world, she only deigns for us to live in it. 

And yet, I love the little punk.  Sure, she exhibits some pretty obnoxious or quirky traits (like patting my mouth when I am asleep…is she checking to see if I am still breathing or trying to smother me?  Maybe both.), but she has become a pretty good companion for this single gal.  Due to joint custody, my daughter is only home every other week.  How lovely to have another tempestuous, outspoken teen in the house with whom to watch Netflix.  No, I have no plans on becoming a crazy cat lady, but sometimes, I really do much prefer Tubbers’ company. 

Now you’ll excuse me as I go poke my cat and give her a snuggle.

Until Next Time, Lovelies….

On the Sixth Day of Christmas....

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...AN APOLOGY

I’ve recently been dealing with the potential loss of a close friend.  The details of our row are not important, but suffice it to say he had not acted in accordance to what I consider the number one rule of human interaction of “Don’t be a Dick.”  I felt like my patience and resources had been used and abused.  Although he claimed to love (platonically) and respect me, I felt neither of those things.  Better to rid oneself of the head and heart ache by severing ties with a “friend” like that.  I was absolutely prepared to walk away from the friendship.  

And so I began, unbeknownst to him, of course, the process of dealing with the emotional wreckage.  I distanced myself from him, unfollowing him on Facebook and maintaining radio silence.  I only succumbed to the occasional sobbing-in-the-shower jag.  I was doing fine.

I really only "had my mad on" for a few days, when, lo and behold, he sought me out, wanting to allegedly apologize and to make amends.  At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet with him and was, in fact, even cautioned against it by some of my other friends.  I do try, however, to give people the benefit of the doubt...and, hell yeah, I felt I did deserve an apology.  I acquiesced and we met for coffee.

In the tearful, exhausting hour and a half that followed, he did indeed apologize.  Not just the casual, reactionary  and innocuous maybe-not-really sorry type of apology either (Oh, you know the ones I mean…like, “I’m sorry you’re mad” or “I’m sorry we’re fighting” or, worse, “I’m sorry for the outcome of my actions, but not really the actions themselves.”).  No, this was a genuine, heartfelt apology with an actual, coherent grasp both of the situation and my feelings.  Honestly, it was the only thing that would have worked to repair.  OK, maybe a little John Cusack with a boombox action would have too...although I don't know of any songs for healing a friendship that wouldn't come off as too romantic.  Ha ha. 

And while it is the ensuing actions that will determine the course of our friendship in the future, for now, I can only hope that we are on the mend—and that our friendship will indeed be stronger for it.  I will try, therefore, to keep both my heart and mind open enough to allow the healing to continue.  A girl needs all the friends she can get sometimes. 

Until next time, Lovelies…. 

On the Fifth Day of Christmas....

ON THE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...A CLEAN REFRIGERATOR

A couple of days before Christmas I asked my daughter to clean out the refrigerator.  More specifically, because there were only two of us for our After Thanksgiving Thanksgiving Dinner (a tradition for whenever we are asked elsewhere on the day of Thanksgiving), we still had massive leftovers.  I can never cook for just one or two, but more for at least 4, 6 or even 8 people.  Pounds of mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, veggies, turkey…it’s always way too much, even when I purposely purchase the smaller quantities.  Yes, I hate wasting, but after 2-3 weeks of leftovers (and making plates for almost everybody I know), enough is enough.  I therefore asked her to remove the leftover food from the fridge and clean out the containers. 

What I didn’t know was that she would also devoid our refrigerator of practically everything else.  I mean, we’re talking condiments, salad dressings, everything.  I didn’t realize this of course until I opened the refrigerator door and there were EMPTY shelves.  As in, I don’t think my fridge has been that empty since I got it!

OK, now I know it seems weird to complain about my 13-year-old completing—hell, even exceeding the expectations of completion—any chore that she’s been given, but Oh. My. God.  I don’t even have Ketchup.  I mean, really, the Ketchup was bad?  Is that even possible???  And the cheese was moldy?  Cheese by its very nature is moldy!  The girl couldn’t even spare my fricking Colby Jack. 

So I’m in a weird parental dilemma.  Yes, I get that it is best not to eat food past the expiration date, and yes, she did a REALLY surprisingly thorough job.  How then to explain to her the time and money to replace the items required that were really not that perishable?  Especially in a refrigerator that runs at almost freezing level.  I mean, I am not making her consume curdled milk or rancid vegetables or maggotty meat (because eeeeewwww).  We’re talking items that admittedly probably have so many preservatives (she didn’t even save the preserves!) they’d outlast my lifetime at least.  Maybe even hers too! 

Well at least the stone ground mustard and the La Croix were spared.  And no diets were harmed in the writing of this blog.  That’s something at least. 

Good grief.  Be careful what you wish for indeed.  Ha ha. 

Until next time, Lovelies….