I have to change my profile, again.
Instead of “I won’t tell you about my cats, because they are dead,” it will have to read:
“I have stupidly decided to burden myself with two small animals, even though I was just beginning to understand what a clean house means, what pine fresh scent is, what a decent night of sleep was.”
I received an invitation from a “Twitterer”, to join the “Writers with Cats” group, which I think is hilarious. Maybe that planted the bug in my head. Somewhere in the last year of blissful silence in my home, I decided I’d had enough of bliss, and would move straight ahead to not one, but two, kittens. One of which was immediately sick, so within 24 hours I found myself at the vet. Damn, damn, damn, I thought. WTF have I done. I find going to the vet insufferable. Various caged animals peer out at you, waiting to be neutered, have teeth extracted, cysts removed. The heady funk of anxiety is like a fog; the animals are panicky, the owners are edgy, knowing this will cost more than anticipated. It’s much worse than taking your kids to the doctor, where they can read or play with germ infested toys (but your kids might just crap all over the floor, which is a story for another time). The animals stare at you through their small cells with a mixture of loathing and self pity, unable to help themselves from yowling and howling in a language we sort of understand.
“Yooooowwwwlll!” The dog says to his owner.
“Oh, it’s okay, everything will be fineeee,” the owner says in a soothing tone.
The dog is actually saying “I know what happens! Steve told me all about it! You are going to take my NUTS, and then my will to live….Yooooowwlllll!
Sigh. An hour later I have two different drops to give the kittens twice a day. On top of feeding them three times a day and ferrying children and packinglunchesdriving tosoccerparentteacher meetingsscoopingshitintothetoiletstilldoingthreeloadsoflaundrymowingthelawndoingtherecycling…the list goes on.. aggh, I forgot about all the other things I was supposed to do!
Good thing I am unemployable!
(That’s a joke, I am very hard working. Just ask…anyone. Including the kittens)
There is a payoff. There is a reason so many writers have cats. Cats have actually been sent here by aliens to foster the creative mind.( i.e., when you are writing and you are talking to yourself you can pretend you are talking to the cat.) Or sometimes you can actually talk to them, regarding your plot, your characters (crazy cat-lady is an easy fall-back) and, there is something about the purring. These alien transmissions make you feel…fantastic. There is nothing like a purring cat, kneading your lap, looking at you with undivided devotion. They are sending you otherworldly love. And because you are a writer you think you can understand them like no one else, and this makes you feel like less of a loser.
I’m still not joining Writers with Cats.