GTFO

I think it’s hilarious what my requirements for a potential man friend have become lately.  I mean, from an objective point of view, it really is a little ridiculous.  Allergic to cats?  Get the fuck out.  No literally, GTFO.  You have no business being around me or my cat hair laden attire.  Don’t like cats?  Why are you even talking to me?  Do you think I would ever trade the most beautimous Minnie for your sake?  Just leave.  However, if you like cats, this is a whole different ballgame.  If you like cats, step a little closer please. Have a kitty of your own? Think this white cat hair on my pant leg would nicely complement your lapel?  Fancy the Fancy Feast for your feline?  Ah, it's a glorious thing.

But seriously, it’s not because I’m some sort of psycho cat lady (enter: Intervention?).  I have realized that having a cat, or any sort of pet, is much like having a child: the people in your life have to be open to this other being in your life.  And vice versa.  I once broke up with a guy because he was mean to Minnie.  He shoved a burrito in her face.  Picture some dude forcing a gigantic burrito up her petite and gorgeous little nostril just because she had been curious to see what we were eating.  He took that paper wrapped goodness from Benito’s and rubbed that shit in her face and guffawed.  GTFO.  That was the last time I ever saw him.

Obviously, liking cats is not my one and only requirement for potential gentlemen friends; it is only one aspect of my life that happens to conflict somewhat frequently with other peoples’ lives. Education, aspirations, propensity for eating delicious (junk?) foods – these are all also vitally important features of a mate that must be screened for immediately.   And it’s tough, too.  I mean, what are you supposed to do with a guy that seems to have it all except in one department? What if he is great in every way, except he never wants kids, or has an imaginary friend, or is scared of dentists? You then have to decide if these are traits you can tolerate for X amount of time in the future.  And the hard part is, you never really know what the value of X is going to be.

Sigh, dating can be so confusing.  

RIP Marmalade

You were the coolest cat I knew.  I'll miss you.

Bad Kitty-Karma

I think I've recently come into some bad Kitty-Karma.  Yesterday, I was being silly and complained to my subletter about Minnie.  I know what you're thinking - how could you ever have any sort of negative thoughts about such an angel? I don't... But it's just this new habit she's developed.

I keep a bowl of water for her in my bedroom.  She refuses to drink the water by her food bowl, so now there's a bowl in my bedroom.  When I first introduced the bedroom bowl of water to her, she drank from it like a cat normally would.  You know, she'd walk up to it, sit down for a drink, and then leave.

Apparently that got too boring for her.  One day she decided to tip her bowl over.  I was sitting a few feet away when she did it, and when I went to investigate the sound I had heard, I discovered her sitting in the puddle, looking confused and confounded at me. She then pathetically tried to drink out of her empty water bowl, checking back to make sure I was taking note of this pitiful display.  So like the good mommy I am, I cleaned up the mess and give her more water.

I didn't think much of this, until it happened again. And then again.  And then several more times after that.   Why, Minnie?  Why must you knock over your lovely bowl of water every day? And what is your obsession with water bowls?  Last year, she would "booby trap" my closed bedroom door while I was sleeping - she would drag her water bowl directly in front of where the door opens, so I would almost step in it every morning.  Why you do these things, cat?

So I dared to complain about all the spills to my subletting roommate, and while I was doing so I could feel Minnie's eyes projecting lasers in the back of my head.  Ever since then, I have had bad Kitty Karma.  I have been spilling water non stop - knocking glasses over left and right.  Most recently, I knocked over a large and stout, completely full jar of water on my nightstand.  It went everywhere, bathing my iPhone, 1/3 of my bedroom floor, into my drawers and over my books.   And you know what?  Minnie was sitting there looking smug and watching me frantically trying to shake the water out of my phone and soak up the spillage.

This is what happens when Minnie gets mad.  Don't make Minnie mad.

Perhaps this is just the price I have to pay to stop her bad habit, but I'm afraid to see the next scheme she concocts.