It's High Time For A Nervous Breakdown

When I was a sweet young thing, I got a cat named Tiger. Actually, I'm incorrect in saying that I got her because technically it was Tiger who got me. She showed up at the back door one day and was all like "Yeah, I'm here now bitch. Worship me."

And so I did.

For 13 years she made it her life's mission to teach me how to love, how to forgive, how to be alive. Once, when she was only a few years old, she had a stroke and her back legs became paralyzed and she couldn't walk. The vet said that the only solution was to put her to sleep and she probably wouldn't last another month. I couldn't bring myself to do it though and eventually she miraculously made a full recovery and lived many more happy years. Through thick and thin, lost friends and broken hearts, pimples and growing pains, Tiger loved me unconditionally and when she died of cancer shortly after "The Kid" was born, I was sure that not only was the world over, but that I'd never be able to have another cat again (because you can have cats in heaven you know).

Eventually though, even the most devoted of spouses moves on, and I was so young, damn it. I couldn't just give up on my love of felines yet. And Tiger wouldn't have wanted me to be alone. So eventually we got Sophie, The Cat. She'd had her share of heartbreak too so we made a good couple. As the story goes, she was found in some housing projects in town and arrested by the 'animal police' for a crime that I can only assume was comparable to selling crack to schoolchildren. She was then adopted by a mental health facility but didn't last long there either because she kept attacking everyone (you can take the cat out of the ghetto but you can't take the ghetto out of the cat). She ended up in a "Kitty Foster Home" and when I finally met her, she'd been living in a closet for six months because every time she tried to leave it, all the other cats in the house, and believe me there were several, would jump and gang rape her. So the kid and I took her to our quiet, warm home, with a comfortable bed, no other cats, a huge backyard, and two doting humans guaranteed to adore her and shower her with treats and we all lived happily ever after.

The End. (I wish)


The best thing about Sophie, The Cat, is her undying and devoted love for me. She tolerates The Kid. She respected Man-Friend. She'll allow almost anyone to admire her beauty. But me, well she loves me. When I sleep at night, she makes it a point to get so close that sometimes I wonder if she's mistaken me for her mother and is trying to get back into my womb. If I get up, she does too. Even if she was fast asleep only seconds before, I move and she's all "Oh are we getting up now? Okay then, let's go." If I go to the bathroom, she goes too. I mean that literally by the way- her litter box is in the bathroom closet and any time I go in there, for any reason at all, whether it's to pee or brush my teeth or just to stare at the wall, she follows me in and goes directly to her litter box. It amazes me how much urination one's actually capable of in the name of love.

Which is why I can overlook the many annoying/crazy parts of her personality. I can understand and respect her complete and utter fear of anything that even slightly resembles another cat. This includes but is not limited to small dogs, babies, her reflection, and, of course, sneakers. Sometimes I even thank her for this unreasonable fear because knowing that getting another cat would be like Judas betraying Jesus all over again keeps me from becoming that funny old cat lady who spend all of her Social Security check on kitty litter and kibbles because she has sixty-five cats at home and by golly Frisky has sextuplets on the way!

I have learned in the past few years that it is as necessary as breathing to Sophie, The Cat, to hunt rodents and bring them into the house, whether dead or alive, because that is the only place she's secure enough to really be able to enjoy her victory. I don't like it, I bitch about it, but I forgive it just the same.

And I can even put up with the fact that she occasionally feels the need to take a good swat at The Kid, though it seems like for no apparent reason, I know it's just her way of making sure he stays in line and behaves. And with the lack of a steady father in his life, god knows, a little preemptive behavior management can never hurt.

The fleas, the snoring, the painful kneading she does to my lap while trying to get comfortable, the need to have every door in the house open AT ALL TIMES!, I can deal with all of these things, just because she loves me and I love her too.

But the thing about Sophie, The Cat, that I'm having a very hard time with is her constant meowing. It hasn't always been this way of course. At first she was quiet, unassuming, and charming. Now however, she's become comfortable, complacent, and demanding.

And obnoxious.

It is of course, partially my fault. I won't let her come in and out as freely as she'd like to, due not only to the unwanted house guests she brings in but also, it's getting pretty cold out, damn it, and I can't just leave the door open constantly because you have to go outside NOW OR I WILL DIE! only to realize five minutes later that you forgot to check on your food before leaving and you must now come back in and make sure it's still in the kitchen where you left it but will be heading back outside as soon as you do that and take a quick bath in the middle of the living room. So please stand by the door and be ready.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that she thinks when she's meowing, that I understand her. Which makes sense because when the people make noises at each other, things happen, so why shouldn't it be the same for her? And at first I was fondly willing to indulge this fantasy of hers but after a while, when for example, it's two in the morning and she's sure it's time to go outside because I rolled over, which is the same as getting up, right?, and so she sits at the door and whines until i throw a pillow at her, the fun and games have suddenly stopped.

And now so must the meowing.

Which I feel like I must point out isn't just regular old kitty meowing. No, this is like cat-in-heat-after-snorting-some-sort-of-very-strong-upper-while-being-possessed-by-the-devil meowing. Like, "I can make your ear drums burst if you don't do what I want and you know that last string of sanity you're holding onto? Yeah, I'll tear that shit up," kind of meowing.

So I decided this weekend that the only way to get her to stop the unstopable was to ignore it. Because even though she thinks I can understand her, she obviously does not understand me when I sternly hold her up and in my deepest voice, say "NO! You are not going outside right now so shut up and cut the shit!" since she directly goes back to what she was doing as soon as I put her down, which is staring at the door and making noises like a dying seal. And then I want to kill her.

So Operation Shut Up Cat started on Saturday morning. And now all I can think is that my cat is either really dumb or an evil genius because for the past 88 hours, despite the fact that I will not acknowledge her while she's doing it, she will NOT STOP MEOWING!!!!!! Once, around hour 34 I thought she was done but it turns out she only had to clean her butt real quick and after a ten second intermission, was quickly back to the concert. She has persistently meowed while I'm awake, while I'm asleep, while I work, while I cry, and even, just to drive the point home, came into the bathroom while I was taking a (nice, relaxing) bath last night, sat in the middle of the room, and meowed until I splashed water at her. Then, she moved right outside the bathroom door and whined some more.

I am officially going crazy.



On another, unrelated note, someone in Crystal Lake, Illinois really loves me. I don't know if that person is one of the lovelies who leaves comments here but if not, you should. Because you should know that I love you too and appreciate you showing up here and reading my little blog as often as you do. Also to the person or persons in New York City who frequents my page, hello and thanks for stopping by. If the rest of you (and yes there are more) want me to profess my undying love to you too, then come around more. Make my google analytical screen light up dark green and let me know you care. I promise to reciprocate.