Here is a little bit of an in-betweener kind of post. I've had a bit of an emotional week and while I build up to writing about it, I've chosen to keep my mind circulating by blogging about something a little bit lighter today. Something that makes me smile and laugh. It's important to share those things, too - not just the stuff that requires deep contemplation. I believe that we all need a little bit of a break from that every once in a while.
There is one little Oompa-Loompa update - she texted me this morning saying that yesterday was 'Grandparent's Day.' And out of her nine grandchildren, only my sister's son called. AND, I'm sure even he did not do this on his own - he's four and autistic. Ummm....is this like Christmas or something? Is this an annual thing? I don't remember celebrating or calling MY grandparents on September 9th every year. I certainly don't remember my kids EVER calling her to wish her a Happy Grandparents' Day. So there's the baffling question of the day....WHY is she inclined to bit*h about it now???
I'll be seeing her this weekend, perhaps I'll ask her. Or maybe not.
Okay, without further ado - a story about my cat...mostly because talking about Oompa usually raises my blood pressure and defeats the purpose of keeping it light.
I've unofficially diagnosed my cat with separation anxiety.
Wherever I am - he is, too. He's my (much more adorable) shadow. I think he literally panics when he can't see me - he will follow me from room to room. Whenever I go downstairs, he'll join me, even if he just needs to see that I'm doing something as 'boring' or 'unimportant' (to him) such as laundry or emptying the dehumidifier. I am a fan of baths, and while I soak, he will sit on the edge of the tub, especially if the faucet is running. Once he's had his fill of running bath water, he'll sit contentedly on the toilet seat until I'm toweling off. He will occasionally 'interrupt' my typing by jumping up onto the desk and staring me in the face until I move my (wireless) keyboard and focus completely on HIM. He doesn't give a shit if I'm in the middle of blogging - when he wants a scratch or two or two hundred, he'll make damn sure he gets it. When he's needing to be close to me but not necessarily wanting to be petted, he will sit on the floor next to my chair - almost as if he's standing (or sitting) guard. And there is where he'll remain until I decide to leave the room for whatever reason - he'll follow if he hasn't fallen asleep.
Of course, he doesn't accompany me to the bowling alley on league nights, but if he could, he probably would. I think though, given that he has never been a fan of loud noises, the constant sound of clattering pins would add PTSD to his list of mental issues.
He is this gorgeous orange striped tabby with a little bit of a mischievous (mean) streak - he's the youngest of my five-feline family but the second biggest. I'm sure he means to play but he tends to bully the other cats by spontaneously lunging at them as they walk by - he's gotten his face scratched a bunch of times by unappreciative siblings, but still hasn't learned the concept of personal space. He's a very handsome cat - and he knows it; he will sit with his head held up high whenever I walk by because he knows that I can't resist stealing a kiss whenever I pass him. I speak to him in the same voice I use to speak to babies and he'll reward me with the content slow-blink. He is usually the first to greet me when I come home (although he's probably mad at me for leaving in the first place) and the last kiss before bed. Since the other cats have no way of reading nor will they find out any other way, I'll also admit that he's my favorite.
We share a connection - this fella and I. When we adopted him, he was no bigger than a bell pepper, if they had arms and legs, he would look like those delicious orange ones. He was taken too soon from his mother - the woman claimed the mother cat had very little to no interest in feeding her kittens anymore and her busy work schedule made her unable to handle bottle-feeding them all every two to three hours - so I agreed to take him in as he was, he was no more than three weeks old and needed to be nursed via kitten formula for at least three more weeks before we'd be able to introduce him to the kibble.
(That was an absolute disaster at first; he would attempt to eat the cat litter and habitually took his shits underneath the TV stand for a couple weeks before grasping the concept of what that "really, really big food dish" REALLY was.)
But - we bonded. Through the feedings, through times where he'd nestle into my neck and take little naps on my shoulder, he'd even suck on my tee shirt - there's a name for that condition but it's a safety thing and common in kittens who were forced to wean too quickly. He's since grown out of the 'wool sucking' (that's the term - I Googled it) but still has a need to be close to me at all times.
He also has a talent for opening doors - that's likely been mentioned before - we don't have the traditional knobs; we have the door handles you grasp and turn downwards. And our little redheaded feline, when he feels his entrance is warranted, knows how to put all of his weight (and he's not by any means light) onto the handle, push the door open, and stroll in. If we really don't want him in our rooms at night or to be awakened before the sun comes up, we HAVE to lock the door. According to J, he's gotten inside and has managed to scare the shit out of her when she wakes up to find our bedroom door (always closed when we go to sleep) wide open. She'd started locking the door after two or three of these scares. This, though, didn't stop him from 'rattling' the handle while he tried to figure out why he couldn't come in. And that makes noise - a lot of noise that I can't hear, but she can!
Sometimes, though, on the rare occasion that he's not in his usual spot next to my desk and is out roaming around the rest of the house, I'll close and lock the door sooner than usual. I swear, though, this boy knows when I'm still awake, and he will literally sit and meow-cry at the door until J gets up and either lets him out of pure frustration or yells at him to 'shoo' because - "it's not time to come in and collect your daily dose of love!" If I do let him stay in overnight, he WILL eventually catapult himself off of my rear end before daybreak because HE'S ready to be let out and quite frankly doesn't care whether I was having an epic dream. Most nights, though, he will be forced to leave as soon as I'm ready to turn in - and it's an endless cycle...he'll make several attempts to get back in before surrendering to sitting outside the door until morning. J has mentioned though, that lately, he has been relentless to the point where he's keeping HER awake or waking her up at 3-4am.
(Oh, and when he does this, he's my cat. No one else's but mine. At least, that's the impression I get when the wifey says, "YOUR cat kept me up all night meowing at the door/jiggling the handle/walked across my face at 3am!")
Is there some sort of kitty-valium out there?
I think I chose to talk about his separation anxiety because this has a little bit to do with what I'm also trying to deal with. See, I'm his 'person.' The thought of not having access to his person scares him. He has to have me in his sights at all times. I sometimes wonder if this is a little bit more noticeable nowadays because of my own mounting fears/issues surrounding MY person's evolving social life. That'll all probably be discussed further in a future blog but for now, I'm still in the process of communicating both with her and with myself on how to quell these fears. Of course, it's different when we're dealing with animals - they don't have the same needs as we humans do, but they sure as hell understand that 'lost' feeling if their person is absent, busy, or otherwise unavailable.
So, make sure you give your furry friends (if you've got 'em!) some extra love today, 'kay? They'll appreciate it.
Anyway - that's the 'light' blog for today.
BTW - I just realized the date...
Tomorrow, our nation grieves the 9/11 attacks - my thoughts are with all of those affected by this historical tragedy and especially with my native state of New York. I will never, EVER forget that day. I wept that day from my back porch as I saw the sky blacken with smoke, and will likely weep tomorrow morning, too, as we mark 17 years since the attacks on the World Trade Center. If you're a praying person, please say an extra one for Michael C. and Lloyd R. and their families. One was a rookie firefighter that I went to high school with - the other was a broker who never made it out of the towers - he was married to one of my friends. Both lives were full of hopes, dreams and a whole lot of promise but were cut short.
There will be no blog tomorrow in observance, but I will 'see' you all, soon.
Love and light,