It’s not even really light out yet and I’ve already had chilling adventure. For some reason I woke up early. Like, 5:30 early. Naturally I went out for a long run and did 47 planks. Hah. Yeah.
But I did get up, because what else could I do. And I said hello to Forest, my official cat®, because I was almost out of cats.
I guess I should tell that story first.
See, I found Forest a week and a half ago, see, after I’d said no, all maturelike, to adopting any of Chris and Lilly’s black kittens and after almost adopting an older cat at the shelter whose owner had up and died and left him. But in both cases I said, no. No, I have enough cats. I have MORE than enough cats. I’m good on cats. If my cat amount were one of those big thermometers they have at fundraisers, the red would go all the way to the top on cats.
So then I was out doing my cardio, see, that my trainer says I’m supposed to do, see, and there in front of me’s a little black kitten being abandoned and what was I gonna do, LEAVE him? But he was temporary till I found him a home. Temporary. Temp to perm, as one of you said and that killed me.
So then Faithful Reader Andrea said she’d take him, and she was driving many states to come get him, which seemed like a lot but she said, “Oh, hell yeah, I’ll do it. I’ll come get that ghoul cemetery kitten.” We set it up for today, Friday.
I wrote her early yesterday asking if she was planning to come here still and she didn’t answer all day and I was all, Oh good. Maybe she’s changed her mind and doesn’t know how to tell me.
But then yesterday evening she wrote. “Yes, I’m still coming,” she said.
Crap, I thought.
But then we talked about it, and she said she understood if I’d changed my mind, and then we talked about how happy he seems here, and how we both felt bad about taking him from a home he’s clearly comfortable in after his trauma and in the end I decided to keep him OH MY GOD. Like, I’d wanted to keep him but kept telling myself I couldn’t keep him and then all of a sudden there I was, saying I’d keep him.
So last night I got up in the middle of the night—and by middle of the night I mean, like, 11:00—to wash my face and do all those things, and Forest and I passed each other in the hall outside the bathroom.
“Hey,” I said, picking him up. I took him into the bathroom where the light was good and I could stare into his green-yellow eyes. “Would you like to stay here? Be my cat for real?”
Forest wriggled and fought, and I realized he thought he was getting his arse washed again, as he’d had a cling situation a few days ago that other owners of long-haired cats will feel me on.
So that sums up our official adoption procedure.
Anyway, this morning, since I got up before dawn like I’m Pa Ingalls, I ordered more kitten food online as Pa Ingalls did. I had timed Forest’s temporary food PERFECTLY but no. I also got another big litter box from the Pa Ingalls litter box collection. It looks like a tiny outhouse. Then finally I let Edsel out, and of course the regularly scheduled cats wanted to go out, too. I don’t know why I ordered a second litter box when the adult cats mostly go outside in the garden and is that bad for the garden?
But as you know, from your Big Book of June Events, if you want to call these events anymore, Forest has wanted to go out with the big cats all week. He envies their out-ness. They’re out and proud. And as we all know, he’s been out before, but I wasn’t taking any chances when he wasn’t my cat for real. But this morning I said, “OK. I’ll go out there WITH you and we’ll explore the backyard together.”
I opened the door.
And he SHOT UP the pear tree so fast you could hardly see it happening. Shot right up. Way up. Then,
like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten drunk and acted this way. Furthermore, NOW what?
Milhous, who enjoys walking the top ledge of the fence with one leg on the very top and one on the ledge just below—he galumphs the whole perimeter of the yard like a peg-legged pirate. It’s one of his signature moves. Anyway, the Dread Pirate Milhous, over there, ran over from pegging, fascinated. He did the SAME DAMN THING when he was young, as I recall.
So that is how I ended up standing among the rotting pears this morning, 4739404 mosquitoes feasting my cankles, getting a kitten down from a pear tree.
Anyway, that’s that and I have crossed over. I am one of you now, crazy cat people. I know three got me to the edge but four is really crossing the line, in my book.
Oh, but guess what! I hadn’t forgotten about the gravel and the metal chair, which I said I’d mention yesterday and never did. Let’s only talk about the gravel today. I’m very organized.
At the back of my backyard is a tree with, like, stones around it and gravel. There is also a driveway, as the snake shed is technically a garage. It’s where snakes park and also cars. One COULD drive the alley and park back there in or in front of the garage, neither of which I never do. The point is, they have this, like, gravel back there and in the two years I’ve lived here it’s gotten sparse. You can see the black liner they put under the gravel around the tree. And as for the driveway, a bunch of the gravel has scattered outside of the area and onto the grass, probably from Edsel running across it to get Blu.
The question is, do I try to rake it back into shape or does this just happen and every so often you have to replace? And where do you get it? I went to Lowe’s and looked in their garden section from behind my mask, and you nonmaskers aren’t kidding about how you can’t fekking breathe in them, yet with all my anxiety I still wore it because, you know, I’d rather feel anxious than kill someone.
What is the answer? Re the gravel. I really don’t know.
And finally, I had an interesting experience last night. As you know, from your Big Book of—whatever. I have my new tarot cards, and one thing they say to do to get sort of bonded and attuned to your tarot cards is to hold them up in the bathroom while they wriggle.
They say to pull a card a day and then look up that card’s meaning, then write it down and eventually you’ll see patterns and messages from the great beyond or the universe or no one or Satan, depending on your personal beliefs, over there.
Anyway yesterday I pulled the Hermit, which sounds vaguely dirty. “Go within,” said the tarot site I looked up. “And really feel your feelings.”
Now, what, now? Feel my … what, now?
So I tried. The only feelings I ever have are anger and fear. I’ve got those down pat. Those I can do.
OK, I told myself, Lady Madonna, over here, kittens at your feet. Wonder how you’ll manage to make ends meet with FOUR CATS.
OK, I told myself again. Now think. What’s a thing you have a bunch of feelings about?
Ned, I told myself. OK, what do you feel when you think of Ned?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. …Seriously, nothing. That’s not normal, right?
Work? Fear. Yeah, well, that’s your one of two emotions.
Coronavirus. Fear. Hey, there it is again. Hello, fearness, my old friend.
So, in sum, I have little to no feelings. Does everyone else? I remember a therapist asking me to describe my feelings and everything I ever said she’d say that wasn’t a feeling so I dumped her. How’s THAT feel?
This is screwed up, right?
But more important, what do I do about the gravel?