So,
I’m having this argument with my cat the other
day about how I changed his food without consulting
him first, his words not mine. He went crazy on me…storming about the
kitchen, knocking crap off the counter and crying out like a baby…I mean,
really making a scene. It was such a
trivial thing too as I had changed his food before without any reaction whatsoever.
We have an unspoken understanding that he
gets what’s on sale. He knows
I’m frugal; otherwise we would have a
nicer apartment. It bugs him. I
know this.
Example: I know he hates that my sound system is cheap and dated. He
never really comes out and says so, but
when I crank up some tunes, he goes off into the bedroom. “If you don’t
like my speakers, go buy your
own!”
So, anyway that’s why the overreaction this time
made me want to take a second look at the situation; he just wasn’t being
himself. I was in bed thinking these
very thoughts when he scratched at my door and asked to be let in. At
first, I thought he was going to come
clean on what was really bothering him, you know, a real heart-to-heart, with
some effort he clawed his way up the comforter and onto the mattress before settling
in at my feet… and proceeded to totally give me the silent treatment. I
thought, dude, two can play at that
game, so I turned on the television and proceeded
to watch some old movie of which I can’t honestly recall the title. During
the first commercial break, he rose
and approached me, mounting my chest, it was clear he wanted to get something
off of his. He opened his mouth and…
…First, I should give some backstory so the rest of
this makes some since. The cat was a bit
like the check engine light in my
car. It just showed up uninvited one
day, I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of it, and finally just accepted the
fact I was going to have to live with it.
I acquired him after moving into my new apartment. He seemed to already
be living there, and I
just let him stay. He wasn’t actually in
the apartment when I finalized my
moved but was loitering just outside in the hall. As I fumbled with my keys
while balancing a
bag of groceries, he managed to maneuver between my legs when the door
opened. Before I could make my way to
the kitchen, he was lounging on the couch. He had a look of disgust as if he
had been waiting too long and perhaps I should have called to let him know I
was running late. In fairness to me, I
didn’t have his cell number at that time. We never really sat down and talked
about what the arrangements were going to be.
I kept wanting to get around to it, as I am the kind of person that
likes to put things in writing…the cat, well, he’s different. After
about six months, things sort of
naturally fell into place and we established a routine…so, I just never got
back to it. Sure, from time to time we
would have our spats as any roommates would…about leaving items strewn about
the living space and occasionally missing the toilet; basic hygiene stuff. Once
he interrupted me and a lady visitor and
well, yeah that was totally awkward. I
was going to talk to him about respecting boundaries the next morning but he
gave me one of those looks like, Sorry
Bro…and it felt genuine. I figured
he got the message so the conversation never happened. Plus, I actually
felt sort of guilty as I
knew he was going through a bit of a rough patch where he was striking out with
the ladies and I would rib him with bad puns about not finding any pussy…though
it wasn’t from lack of
trying. He would leave through the fire escape
window each night and I would see him the next day with a variety of open wounds
so I knew things couldn’t be going great for him out there. It all crescendoed
when I awoke one morning to find him wriggling on the kitchen rug and one of
his friggin’ eyes was hanging out. After
a moment of morbid fascination of how it looked like marble on the end of a Twizzler,
I sprang into action, stuffing
it back into the socket with my thumb and putting a piece of duct tape over it
and then securing the patch with…you guessed it, more duct tape around his
head. I’m no doctor but I would dare
someone to say he would have received better care at a veterinary hospital. Plus,
I saved hundreds of dollars. He never was able to see out of it again
but
it looked okay…well, at least better
than when it was dangling from the gross little bungee cord. So, yeah
he may have had some bitter feelings
about that, but quite honestly if he did, he kept it to himself. Not once over
these many years has he even
broached the subject of his milky, blind eye.
Then there was
that time I…ummm…well, I forgot he lived with me. We never
had what I would call a pet/owner
thing going on but rather two guys cohabitating and just trying to find a
little happiness. Well, I thought I had
found happiness in the guise of a sweet girl named Meredith. She was quirky. For example when cutting up strawberries,
she wore plastic gloves. When I asked
why she stated, “I just love the smell of them so very much that if I get it on
my hands, I will be distracted all day sniffing my fingertips.” Not weird
at all…right? I ended up spending a week living in her
apartment before things fell apart when I found her happiness apparently also
involved another sweet, quirky girl…named Madge. When I returned home,
it wasn’t until I
turned on the lights and discovered all things, and I mean all things, which had
once stood on flat surfaces, were knocked to
the ground, that I remembered…ah, I have a cat. Anyway, maybe that
was at the root of all of
this…but that too was years ago. I was
about to find out.
