irritants

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Cool Cat?

Trust me. Once you get a cat, your cool status is over. You’re automatically labeled a “cat person”, which I personally don’t think is fair. At all. I mean, just because my kid wants a cat – and I indulge her – how does this make me a cat lover?

Just to be fair, what if I let you read the adoption form – the one that asks the question what we’ll do if the cat tears up the furniture and my husband M responded “hide from my wife” – would that influence your opinion? And what if you were privy to the many discussions – including my dislike for cats, cat posters, cat witticisms, etc. – that were part of the adoption interview process? What would you think now?

The only thing I promised was that we’d give the damn cat a good home. (I won’t turn any living being out onto the street, even if it’s just a cat.) But I never committed to belonging to a (the?) cat society.

Now, fast forward to PEOPLE. PEOPLE, the slobs of our society who judge us daily, will categorize you as a cat lover in an instant. (Particularly “Cat People” – they want you to join so badly it just kills them.) As an example, my mother – my own sweet (heh!) mother – has recently betrayed me by gifting me with cat crap. Actually, I should clarify. Mom gave the gifts to G, as she is Cat’s rightful mistress. And, despite G being a mere 5 years of age, she is now the proud owner of 1) 2 cat coffee mugs, 2) a cat plant hanger, and 3) cat book labels – (“Ex Libris”!).

So work with me, people. I’m taking a stand to say that cat owners and cool people can exist harmoniously – or bi-polarly – or whatever. What I mean is that we, as individuals, can live in both worlds. One minute I’m entranced by the cat attacking the Oriental rug, and the next I’m grooving to Ricky Martin and watching re-runs of the “Golden Girls”. So who says I can’t be both frisky AND super-cool? Give me some credit, folks. It’s called “dimensional.” DUH.

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Snobby Cat

I think I told you we recently got a cat. A boy one. Who likes to scratch the upholstery at 6am because he knows that’s a surefire way to get me out of bed, even if it’s only to hiss at him. (I mean, scratching posts abound in this house. Wouldn’t you think a catnip-laced ropey thing would be much more attractive than a needlepoint chair? I know, me too – but the cat apparently disagrees.)

Cat is also a discriminating eater. Although we’ve only fed him premium foods, he basically goes on a hunger strike anytime we stray from the most expensive brand. When we adopted him, we learned he was previously owned by an elderly lady who passed away. Do you think she fed him sushi, or what?

So anyway, tonight I’m pretty sure I recommended a CNN article to everyone I know. Not because I wanted to, but because the cat insists upon walking across my keyboard every few minutes. Y’all know I’m not so technically savvy, so I’ve never “recommended” an article in my life. But then, all of a sudden today I (allegedly) popped up with “The World’s Best Restaurants” (like anybody I know could get reservations at any of them). I’ve been a dog person my entire life, and have always suspected cats of undermining humans. So, do you think Cat is sending secret messages to the other snobby cats? And can these cats get a table at Per Se???

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Did y’all hear about that cobra missing from the Bronx Zoo? Good Lord, I may never sleep again. I will add the fear of encountering a cobra out walking around to my fear of tornadoes, sinkholes, large crowds, closed spaces, and stiletto heels.

In an effort to get the roaming cobra off my mind (the zookeepers claim a snake wouldn’t go out in public, but since a snake’s key personality trait is being devious, I think that’s just a cover to trick us), I read another article on ABC News about unclaimed property. Then I went to the handy-dandy website they suggest and began my search. You wouldn’t believe how simple it is. Not that I found any $ for myself, of course. But I found some for my husband, friend, mother, stepfather, aunt, cousin, and 2 of my deceased grandparents. How’s that for a half hour of obsessively typing in the names of everyone I know? Pretty good, if I do say so myself. (You know how I like people to be in my debt, and I should get a lot of mileage off this.)

So seriously (and I am counting this as my good deed for the day*), go check it out. I really want to add you to my list of “People Who Owe Me BIG TIME”.

*For more, just type “good deed” into the Search box. You’ll see what a truly giving person I am. Seriously.

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I swear I am going to divorce that man one of these days. At least that’s what I think when we travel together (before I regain my senses and realize I would starve if not for him doing the cooking). Our problems usually start the day prior to a trip, when we agree on a departure time. One of us (I’ll let you do the guessing here) regards the departure time as a concrete plan. The other (again, you can guess) seems to believe the agreed upon time is just a starting point, like we might leave then or we might leave a couple of hours later. But then when that person is ready to leave, he means NOW.
“Is the car loaded? Did you put my suitcase in?” he asked before our last trip.
“No; what do I look like, Lindsay Wagner? I can’t move that thing down the stairs. Carry it yourself!” I barked.
So you can see how things get off on the wrong foot before we’ve even left the house. Then there’s the driving. Oh God, the driving. I generally regard brake lights ahead as a good time to take my foot off the accelerator. But my traveling companion, he thinks it’s better to continue cruising at full speed, and then lock up the brakes at the last second with only millimeters between our car and the one in front of us. And then becomes irritated because I’ve sucked in my breath and prepared for impact, as any logical person would do in such a situation. “If you’re ever going to have a shot with Michelle Pfeiffer, you’re going to have to shape up. I don’t see her putting up with this,” I tell him. Then he gives me a look that conveys just how much he’d prefer having Michelle in the car than me at that moment. Hmmmph. Can you believe the nerve of him? I know. He’s lucky to have me. I tell him that all the time; I think it’s good for his ego.
God help us during this coming travel week. Or at least God help him, because this could be the time I’m pushed over the edge, and we just don’t know what could happen.

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I knew it was going to be a sub-par day when I awoke to find one of my life-long dreams shattered. I know you are all thinking the same as I am, so I think we need to ask the question. What does Kate Middleton have over me, anyway?
I’m sure she is a very nice girl, but if the prince were to marry a commoner, do we have any (logical) reason it shouldn’t be me? I know. This is a complete rip-off.
Only my mother is thrilled. She sports a wedding ring similar to Princess Diana’s, but it sort of went out of fashion as that royal marriage crumbled. But now – NOW- sapphire wedding rings will experience a renaissance, a “revival” if you will. And who do you think was on the brink of this (or on the back-end, depending on how you you look at it)? My mother, of course. She practically invented the sapphire wedding ring.
So you can only imagine how stressed I was when I took little G to a play date at the park. Without all my senses about me, I wound up locking her in the car. (Of course I can blame this one on G because if I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a million times “STOP pressing the buttons next to Mommy’s seat!!!”) But anyway. I found myself locked outside the car and G inside, and I had to run for help because my purse, keys, phone, etc. were all in the car. Fortunately, a stranger let me borrow her phone and M was able to find the extra keys (thanks to my superior organizational skills) and come save the day. A hail storm started within less than 10 minutes. What a narrow escape.
So it seems the gods are against me today. Or maybe they’re really with me (that’s what those crazy glass-is-half-full people want me to believe). Time will tell.

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