Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Forecast: Light Furries Expected


Walking home from work, expecting a blizzard tomorrow. I begin thinking about how I should have begun thinking about what to do with my car this morning. But it’s not morning. It’s night. And now I have, due to my tendency to hyper-prepare, (which of course always leads to a general lack of preparation) failed to not only make a decision on what to do with my vehicle, but how to actually retrieve my cat from my parents house an hour away. The two items were to be, I believed, destined to be linked.

This has become an imperative in my mind mainly because I hate to be bored. And a snow day with out a cat is like a sky that never has any clouds…pretty but boring.
Oh and imperative also because my cat has apparently turned my parents’ house into a gigantic toilet. Time to retrieve kitty.

But because of the aforementioned lack of preparation, neither moving my car nor getting my cat seemed to be in the cards. Which has me stressed out to the point that I stop myself on my walk home, breath in the ice in the air, imagine myself as a sheep herder on top of the Swiss Alps (as I often do walking around Slumerville) and ask the universe for some help.

“Uni” I say. “ Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.” Which is my way of actively disguising I mean labeling the decision to do nothing, as a choice.

So nothing I do.

And as I reconstitute my canter, and begin to plan which books to read and which type of potstickers to thaw out, and if I have enough soy sauce to disguise their freezer burn, I reach my front door.

My neighbor is standing on my front deck, with her cat. We have no relationship.

“Hi Kathy” (but I know her name).

“Hi…I’ve forgotten your name” (This is because when she met me, and I introduced myself, I was busy breaking into my house with a knife I found in the street – my assumption is that she has repressed the experience and therefore forgotten my name).

“Jen. That’s ok, I forget everyone’s name and occasionally my birthday, which makes me 29. I like your kitty!”

“Jen. This is not my kitty. He followed me all the way home and he’s starving, and he’s got a collar, and there’s a blizzard coming, and I have a dog. Can you take this kitty?”

Normally I would have said no. Because I have a poop-machine, I mean cat.
But since the universe was nice enough to send this kitty with a translator, I accepted.

My blizzard has started with a furry.

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