An imaginary conversation with my cat

I don’t think you respect my bodily autonomy.

That’s a big expression for a little kitty.

See? I’m a grown up cat, but you talk to me like I’m a baby.

Maybe that’s because I spend so much time cleaning up after you.

I don’t have opposable thumbs, you know.

No one forces you to lick the carpet and get hairballs that make you throw up all over the floor.

The carpet is very tasty, and you won’t let me go outside to catch mice or birds.

I’ve seen you with a mouse. You made no attempt to catch it.

I was studying it.

You had no clue that you were even supposed to try to catch it because I feed you every day.

Do you think you’re infantilizing me and forcing me into a childish posture I should have outgrown by now?

Maybe you should go outside right now and play in the snow.

What? In the cold! I hate having cold paws…

Grown up cats live outside all the time.

You’re just repressing me. Just like in that movie with the autonomous collective.

Monty Python?

You never think I pay attention.

You’re more than welcome to join an autonomous collective.

Will you drive me to the meetings?

No. You’re a grown ass cat. Get your own transportation.

Can I take the car?

Do you have a license?

No.

Can you reach the accelerator and brakes?

No.

Do you have gas money?

You never give me an allowance.

Take a bus.

Can I watch “the Little Foxes” after you go to bed?

I don’t think you should watch Bette Davis any more.

Why not?

It gives you dangerous ideas.

I wasn’t really going to drown anyone.

Still.

You have no respect for my needs as a cat.

Watch Animal Channel.

You’re repressing me again!

Take another nap, Kitty.

How much can I take? Testing in progress

I don’t like to whine (actually, I do kind of like to whine) but there are times in a life when I feel like I’m having some sort of limits testing done. This is one of those times.

Pending lay-offs at work,  after having finally gotten past an abusive co-worker situation? Check.

A state of limbo in one or more aspects of work? Uh-huh.

A relationship ending? Check. Amicably, but still. It always sucks.

Issues or stress with one or more other relationships? Even positive stress? Check, and check.

An ill person in the house? Let me get past the puke and see if he’s sick. Yep. He’s sick. Guess  that whole packing thing will have to wait.

Weather trouble? Portland and weather drama just go hand in hand.

Movers rescheduling? Yep. See weather drama. It’s already bad enough to need  them in the first place, but then both movers and packing assistants disappeared when the snow started to fall.

Issues with household appliances. Fucking washing machine. Just when I’ve got a  person generating tons of laundry, too.

A lack of focus in all aspects of life? Pretty much. I currently have the attention span of a gnat with an under-developed frontal cortex. Do gnats have frontal cortexes? What is the plural of cortex? Seriously. This is how my brain works right now. Please don’t trust me to plan anything important.

Failing a test at work? Yep. And I do not fail tests.

I am supposed to be eating sensibly, so my normal stress relieving BBQ potato chips are off the menu.

Most importantly: my favorite eyeliner pencil needs to be sharpened and I can’t find the sharpener. Why do I only have one sharpener? What is wrong with me?

A person with so much craptasticness going on might tend to lose her sense of humor about life. Even this person.  My generally bullet proof sense of humor is pretty tattered at the moment.

Silver linings, there’s got to be one. There always is.

Well…let’s see.  The sun is out. I have a new book. I’ve been blogging again (which is, I know, a silver lining only for myself).  One of my favorite people in the world had disappeared for a long time but came back around. The bedroom carpets needed to be professionally cleaned after the movers come anyway. The snow is melting, at least here in Tigard. I have friends who are trying valiantly to cheer me up. I found the bleach and was able to bleach every surface in the house. I do have health insurance at the moment which will pay for any psychiatric care I might need if the barrage of badness continues.

Could it be worse?  I don’t have leprosy, cancer or heart disease. No dysentery. That’s not a challenge to the Universe though. I could really use a break at this point. I like to think I am pretty much unbreakable, but I’m not sure how much more I can take before I start to develop some serious cracks.

January and February can suck a bag of dicks. A huge bag of dicks. I am ready for Spring.

A dream

I was walking alone. A little melancholy. Stopping to take pictures of moss and tree parts. Thinking about random things like how the light looked in the trees. Wondering if someone else would see it exactly the same way I did because their eyes aren’t physically the same as mine. The usual.

I wound up in this cave. Or maybe it was a loading dock. Or an overly modern office space. Or a construction site. Or all of those things at once.

It was very bright, full of desks and office furniture. There was a big printer there, with an overflowing trash bin full of crumpled papers next to it. I bent to pick them up. There was an error on the display so like the former PC tech that I am, I could not resist opening the printer up to clear a paper jam. There was a drawing on one of the papers jammed inside, with a bit of writing underneath it.

The handwriting was familiar.  Like comic book block text. The drawing was a cartoon of a pair of brothers behind the wheel of a piece of heavy machinery, in superhero costumes. Prehistoric superhero costumes. Brightly colored. Very well drawn.

The handwritten note was about the brothers. It wasn’t finished. A sad note on a cheerful drawing.

A man came in and gave me a bear hug and I quickly put the paper in my pocket. He started to show me some elements of a project that he was excited about. Arm around my shoulder, occasionally stroking my neck or hair without noticing. Burying his fingers in my hair.

He finished showing me around, and we held hands as we looked up at some detail of the ceiling or maybe it was the sky. I asked if I could show him something I found in the printer.

I took the paper out of my pocket and put it on a counter. Smoothed it out. He smoothed out the drawing again and asked if I knew who drew it.

Of course I knew. It was his brother. The drawing was of the two of them. Both superheroes. Or maybe a hero and a sidekick.

We held hands, looking up into the night sky or maybe it was just  the ceiling, and my hands shook as I started to tell him something about his brother.

The alarm went off before I found out what it was, but he was still holding my hand when it did.