it's 2:10 am, on June 18, 2003 - garfield and odie, I.
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Let me prefix this with two statements: a. I don't hate animals. They're quite fine as long as they're someone else's. you know? like babies.
b. my mother is so allergic to cats that she can't be around one for more than five minutes without sneezing her entire nose off.
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So That Darn Cat, the one that crawls in my window at seven each morning without delay and sits on my face mewing, now has a friend.
No, it's not enough that we have one feline digging in the gravel in our two feet of grass out back, it's not enough that we have one feline leaving cat hair all over everything, it's not enough that we have one feline climbing in my window and sitting on my face.
It's not enough that we've stolen the next door neighbor's cat - we had to buy our own to go with it.
I went to school today, I took a test on suicide/depression/bipolar disorder, I went to my christian history class and learned about the crusades. Boring shit, right? then I come home, hoping for a nice something to stuff in my mouth to sate the starvation, possibly some freecell and bed.
As soon as I get in the door, sister calls out "come up the stairs carefully! see what we have!"
Immediately I'm thinking "oh christ, we've adopted a vietnamese child or something, and it's going to live in a crate in the garage", and approach the top of the stairs with extreme caution. Lo and behold, there's the tiniest cat sitting on the coffee table ever. Very cute, very asleep, and very ours.
"Isn't he adorable?" she says, while I'm thinking things like 'litterbox' and 'spraying' and 'claws'. "Matt and I bought her in honor of Harry potter day! we're going to name her phoenix. like the book."
I eye the thing, and say, "you bought a cat."
"Isn't she cute?"
I eye the kitten, and ask again for clarification, "You bought. a cat."
While sister is nodding I'm looking desperately at my mother for some confirmation that this is a hallucination. She's looking a little shell-shocked herself. That might have been the amount of antihistemines she had to have taken in order to stop from sneezing, I don't know. I say, "I can't believe you let her buy a cat," and she answers,
"I kind of can't believe it myself."
"Phoenix! Like the book!"
I tell my mother that if she comes home with a puppy I'm moving out.
So it wakes up, and scampers about for a while as kittens are like to do. I pick it up, I pet it. It fits into one of my hands, which is saying something for anyone who's met me, since my hands are smaller than a child of six. It is, admittedly, very cute. I think of the cat we already half-own, and briefly consider naming the two of them Garfield and Odie.
See, my approach to pets is something like this: they're very cute, very furry, and kind of like robotic wind-up toys you cannot turn off or take the batteries out of. I'm all for them as long as you can give them back, yo. This, we cannot give back. She came home with a hampster last month, which is basically a furball, and this month a furball with claws.
Maybe it's all a ploy to make me move out. Votes, anyone? I'm serious. they come home with anything more exotic/needs more looking after and I'm out on the side of the road in a refrigerator box. No more. My mother, who is so allergic to cats she can't even go over to someone's house if they have a cat, aquiesced for this. God knows what they'll bring home next.
I mean, next entry you'll find out we own a zebra.
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