The storm has come...and its--or rather, her--name is Lillie.
Let it be known that I have never, ever been a cat person. I've always much preferred dogs. The latter are so friendly and affectionate; their love unconditional!! Cats, to me, have always been bitchy and confrontational; I've always felt like I needed to dance for them (no, not literally--that would be weird. And sad.)
So, it came as quite a surprise when, about a month ago, a dear friend of mine (you know who you are) suggested to me that I get a cat and I actually found myself quite open-minded about the idea. Yet, part of me was of an insincere, yeah..I should do that someday frame of mind, the ultimate "definite maybe."
If this were a movie, there would be a cut to black, with a white title card reading "Two Weeks Later."
Last Tuesday, I found myself reluctantly, cautiously taking Lillie--a black Tabby with gray stripes--home with me for the first time. On the drive home, I was all too aware, with each passing "meow", er, minute, that my life had just gotten a lot more complicated. A 20-Year Commitment complicated.
Needless to say, I was freaking out.
The first few days were rough-going for me. She would just get into all of my shit!! And for those who know me on a more personal level, that's a big no-no (hell, I get pissed off when people start drinking my fuckin' Simply Orange juice, let alone walking on top of my lap top, for crying out loud!!) She would wake me up, every morning, at 6 a.m. (oh, no! Not that!) and get all frisky on the bed (SHADDUUUUP!!!), scratching at my duvet (what would Tyler Durden say about that?!), trying to nip at me, scratch at me.
Think "Turner & Hooch," but with whiskers. Or don't. Wait! Better yet, think "K-9," that other '80s dog/buddy/cop movie with Jim Belushi--but with whiskers!! Or don't.
I'm going to be completely honest. As horrible and pathetic and irresponsible as this is going to sound, I wanted to get rid of her. I looked for every excuse in the book (her claws are sharp; she's biting; she tripped me and made me fall on my face!! You know...real somebody call the wahhhh-mbulence! shit) to take her to the Humane Society and put her up for adoption or just give her to a loving family. Last Thursday, the day I was originally supposed to get her declawed, as I drove off, I'll admit it. I was relieved to have her out of my hair, so to speak. And then the vet's office called me and told me they couldn't perform the operation because she had a cold. I was angry and really pissed that I didn't have a night off and I was going to have to sacrifice another night with this fur ball.
Yeah, I know I sound like an asshole (more than usual!!), but keep reading, 'kay?
Another habit I got into was having friends come over every night to hang out so I wouldn't be alone with Lillie, as if having people over would alleviate my fears and anxiety of having to take care of something other than my own damn self. And it worked.
Until Friday...when it didn't.
Friday night was definitely the turning point for me 'n' Miss Lillie Pad. That was the night where it was just she and I...all by ourselves. I decided to just have a night of relaxation and watch a movie. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, popped in "Fight Club" (speaking of Mr. Durden) and turned the lights off. I grabbed Lillie, put her on my lap and pet her while she slept and we just chilled. I watched the movie. She slept in my lap.
It was just about perfect. It was really quite a lovely night.
At 6 a.m., the next morning, I was lying on my side when she woke me up and started going into Ape Shit Mode like she always does around that time when, for about 20 seconds, she stopped...and looked me in the eye. It was like she was studying me. I met her eyes and held her gaze. It was then that I realized, I love this little girl. She's mine and I am not going to let anything happen to her.
It was just so clear to me. It was like some of the other epiphanies I've had, as of late. I knew in that moment, when she and I looked at each other, eye to eye, that if I just fucking learned to get over myself, this 20-Year Commitment could be one of the best things that ever happened to me. Or the worst. Who knows? Either way, I knew that this cat wasn't going anywhere!!
And then she scratched my cornea with her claw. But that's beside the point.
I will tell you this, in the last few days, what with her crawling up my suit pants, up my shirt and perching herself atop my shoulder, playing with her catnip mouse toy and trying to eat my beard (a shiny nickel to the person who can find the most jokes out of that last one), I have found myself smiling and laughing out loud by myself for the first time in a very, very long time. Usually, I'm an avid brooder when I'm by myself. Not so much in the last week, though. I've been smiling much more often than not.
And that, dear readers, is nothin' but good news.
A couple of days ago, on Tuesday, I took her in, once again, to get declawed. When I left her, this time, I couldn't help but feel sad and regretful and worried. I wanted my baby back. And, of course, I will. I visited her today (er, technically, yesterday) and the vet did an amazing job and I'll get her back on Friday afternoon.
Without a hint of irony or insincerity, I will say the following: I cannot wait for my baby to get home.
Yes, the storm has arrived and is upon me now...and her name is Lillie.
I can't wait to face her head on.
Let it be known that I have never, ever been a cat person. I've always much preferred dogs. The latter are so friendly and affectionate; their love unconditional!! Cats, to me, have always been bitchy and confrontational; I've always felt like I needed to dance for them (no, not literally--that would be weird. And sad.)
So, it came as quite a surprise when, about a month ago, a dear friend of mine (you know who you are) suggested to me that I get a cat and I actually found myself quite open-minded about the idea. Yet, part of me was of an insincere, yeah..I should do that someday frame of mind, the ultimate "definite maybe."
If this were a movie, there would be a cut to black, with a white title card reading "Two Weeks Later."
Last Tuesday, I found myself reluctantly, cautiously taking Lillie--a black Tabby with gray stripes--home with me for the first time. On the drive home, I was all too aware, with each passing "meow", er, minute, that my life had just gotten a lot more complicated. A 20-Year Commitment complicated.
Needless to say, I was freaking out.
The first few days were rough-going for me. She would just get into all of my shit!! And for those who know me on a more personal level, that's a big no-no (hell, I get pissed off when people start drinking my fuckin' Simply Orange juice, let alone walking on top of my lap top, for crying out loud!!) She would wake me up, every morning, at 6 a.m. (oh, no! Not that!) and get all frisky on the bed (SHADDUUUUP!!!), scratching at my duvet (what would Tyler Durden say about that?!), trying to nip at me, scratch at me.
Think "Turner & Hooch," but with whiskers. Or don't. Wait! Better yet, think "K-9," that other '80s dog/buddy/cop movie with Jim Belushi--but with whiskers!! Or don't.
I'm going to be completely honest. As horrible and pathetic and irresponsible as this is going to sound, I wanted to get rid of her. I looked for every excuse in the book (her claws are sharp; she's biting; she tripped me and made me fall on my face!! You know...real somebody call the wahhhh-mbulence! shit) to take her to the Humane Society and put her up for adoption or just give her to a loving family. Last Thursday, the day I was originally supposed to get her declawed, as I drove off, I'll admit it. I was relieved to have her out of my hair, so to speak. And then the vet's office called me and told me they couldn't perform the operation because she had a cold. I was angry and really pissed that I didn't have a night off and I was going to have to sacrifice another night with this fur ball.
Yeah, I know I sound like an asshole (more than usual!!), but keep reading, 'kay?
Another habit I got into was having friends come over every night to hang out so I wouldn't be alone with Lillie, as if having people over would alleviate my fears and anxiety of having to take care of something other than my own damn self. And it worked.
Until Friday...when it didn't.
Friday night was definitely the turning point for me 'n' Miss Lillie Pad. That was the night where it was just she and I...all by ourselves. I decided to just have a night of relaxation and watch a movie. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, popped in "Fight Club" (speaking of Mr. Durden) and turned the lights off. I grabbed Lillie, put her on my lap and pet her while she slept and we just chilled. I watched the movie. She slept in my lap.
It was just about perfect. It was really quite a lovely night.
At 6 a.m., the next morning, I was lying on my side when she woke me up and started going into Ape Shit Mode like she always does around that time when, for about 20 seconds, she stopped...and looked me in the eye. It was like she was studying me. I met her eyes and held her gaze. It was then that I realized, I love this little girl. She's mine and I am not going to let anything happen to her.
It was just so clear to me. It was like some of the other epiphanies I've had, as of late. I knew in that moment, when she and I looked at each other, eye to eye, that if I just fucking learned to get over myself, this 20-Year Commitment could be one of the best things that ever happened to me. Or the worst. Who knows? Either way, I knew that this cat wasn't going anywhere!!
And then she scratched my cornea with her claw. But that's beside the point.
I will tell you this, in the last few days, what with her crawling up my suit pants, up my shirt and perching herself atop my shoulder, playing with her catnip mouse toy and trying to eat my beard (a shiny nickel to the person who can find the most jokes out of that last one), I have found myself smiling and laughing out loud by myself for the first time in a very, very long time. Usually, I'm an avid brooder when I'm by myself. Not so much in the last week, though. I've been smiling much more often than not.
And that, dear readers, is nothin' but good news.
A couple of days ago, on Tuesday, I took her in, once again, to get declawed. When I left her, this time, I couldn't help but feel sad and regretful and worried. I wanted my baby back. And, of course, I will. I visited her today (er, technically, yesterday) and the vet did an amazing job and I'll get her back on Friday afternoon.
Without a hint of irony or insincerity, I will say the following: I cannot wait for my baby to get home.
Yes, the storm has arrived and is upon me now...and her name is Lillie.
I can't wait to face her head on.
1 comment:
Damn cat people and their loving of the cats...just kidding. Cats can be good for catching mice and such. Let's just say I see Satan in them...even the "nice ones". Pure evil.
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