My bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

I hate leaving my cat behind. Back when I had guinea pigs, I hated leaving them behind, too. Pets are capable of only so much reasoning, so when their masters leave and don't come back when they're supposed to, it adds stress to the pet. What makes it worse with Chekhov was that he was abandoned outside of a school in a cat carrier, and then he was schlepped around first to a kill shelter where he was then rescued by a no-kill shelter, and eventually was placed in a foster home. When I got to him, who knows how many homes he had lived in?

His first reaction to our house was casual indifference. He found a place he liked, under my mom's bed, and only came out at night when we were asleep. It took him about three weeks before he started hanging out in our vicinity. He liked the cat tree I got him (seven feet, three platforms, and a "jeffrey's tube" down by the bottom) and would climb and sharpen his claws, but if he wasn't in the tree, he just wasn't in the living room.

Finally, one night, he jumped on my bed and slept on top of me. I think it was because he was cold, but then he did it the next night. And the next night. He started hanging out in my room, but then, that's where the food and litter box was. I had to take him to the vet for a booster shot, and I watched him deflate. All the time I spent with him came apart in the office. We were home for about two hours before he finally realized that we were still together and that I hadn't left him behind. That night, he slept next to me and held my arm in both his paws. I don't know how long he stayed that way, but he was still on the bed in the morning.

In December, I visited my family for a week. I was excited to go since I had only seen pictures of the baby until that point. I hated leaving Chekhov, though. I packed and got everything ready to go. I explained to the pet sitter that he was sort of shy of men, and the pet sitter said he understood and would try to be quiet and not make quick moves. I still worried. Chekhov stood by the door when I left. I leaned down and put my hand under his chin. He looked up at me with his huge green eyes and I said, "I will be back. I will be back."  I have no doubt that I project feelings and emotions onto him, but my goodness cats can look pathetic when they feel like it.

When I got home, he was happy to see me. He rubbed around my legs and gave me his little burrr-purr. Then that night, he came and laid down beside me. I petted him and he put his paw on my hand. And then, very quickly, he shoved his sharp claws into the back of my hand and before I could yell or do anything, he withdrew them and gave my hand a lick. I probably should have gotten mad at him. But I couldn't because I couldn't imagine how he felt while I was gone, and if that was the worst he was going to do (my old cat would ignore me for a whole day before she would even deign to speak to me or let me pet her), we would be okay.

People think cats are really independent and aloof, but they aren't. They're just not in your face like dogs are. They're quieter about their affection.

Ai howldz ur hand nao, k?

A post about nothing

I know I should be posting more about Fifty Shades because I want to get it over with, but I have to re-read it at this point and make notes. I was making notes while I was reading at first, but then I had to give up because it was really breaking my concentration, so now I'm making posthumous notes on a second read. I'm not sure if my future posts will be as good because I'll have more information now, and it won't be as "real" as my previous posts, but I think I can get it funnier.

I interviewed a cat sitter last night. Chekhov consented to let the lady pet his ears and his cheeks, but watch the chin, woman. We aren't that closely acquainted yet. My bird loved her, though. Mostly because she spent her first ten minutes admiring him and saying how cute his face is. My bird is a sucker. I also predict that Chekhov will absolutely love this woman by the third day, if not before.

I read a really interesting article a week ago about children who present with psychopathic tendencies and the psychiatrists who are trying to intervene before these kids grow up to ruin people's lives. It was very thought-provoking, and it followed one family in particular who had three sons, and the eldest was the one with the presumed psychopathy. The reporter's observations were really chilling, like, the boy would get upset with his younger brother (who idolized him) about something, maybe a taken toy or taking the elder's game off of pause and affecting his score, etc., and the cold, calculating manner that the eldest would use in order to exact his revenge.

You think of kids as being more impulsive and less patient when it comes to retaliation, but this young seven-year-old boy bid his time and exacted his punishments in such a way as to try and deflect everyone from thinking he was taking revenge from the earlier infraction. When he realized that the reporter wasn't buying his act, he simply said, "As you see, I don't like my brother very much."

The worst part of the article, though, was in the comments section, when people actually started judging the parents for having more children after this one. I didn't get that. And people were liking their comments! As if it's any of their business! But it made me feel bad, because I thought that once about a family. They had six biological children, and all six had some sort of disability, including four with autism which is a statistical anomaly (Read: bullshit). My first thought was, "Munchhausen by Proxy" (probably correct) and my second thought was, "After the second, they really should have stopped. That's just wrong." Was my thought right? It feels right. It still does. That doesn't MAKE it right, but it still feels right. But I can't think that about the other parents. They have a child who will more than likely bring them heartache later in life, unless this early prevention works of course, and they deserve two kids who might actually make them happy. But what about the kids? They have to deal with an abusive older brother. How much can he hurt them? How much will their lives change because of this kid? And yet, at the end of the day, it's the parent's decision to have more.

Speaking of narcissists, my dad drunk dialed me the other day and then proceeded to tell me everything my brother has been doing since about October of last year, and no matter how much I tried to explain to him that I've actually seen and talked to my brother regularly since that time and know exactly what he's been up to, my dad just kept talking at me and telling me what was going on which was ridiculous. I mean, he called me while I was vising my brother at Christmas, and he kept getting upset that the baby was "talking" while he was trying to talk to me, so he had to know that I'd be aware of what my brother is doing! Sometimes, I get really mad at my mom for having children with him, and sometimes I get mad at God for allowing it to happen.

Anyway, that brings me to my trip that I'm about to take in a month (!!!!!!!). I have booked the plane and the rooms, now I just need to find us a car. It's my niece's first birthday! I can't wait.

More tales from the OCD cat front

I haven't been posting because I haven't felt well, and that tends to lead to a lot of navel-gazing and complaining. And seriously, who wants to hear about that? Not me.


So, the past several days, I have finished reading the second book of The Green Rider Series, and another YA novel that was very heavy on the Y and not so heavy on the A, but I will be reviewing it soon.


This weekend, one of my cousins came up to visit. She had to drive to LAX to pick up a friend, so she parked on our sofa Sunday night. I'm about an hour and a half (or more, depending on traffic) from LAX, but she's in San Diego, which is like, three and a half hours away, so it was best for her to camp out with me and just go from there.


Now, I've mentioned that my cat is OCD to a certain level. His breed, Russian Blue, does not like change at all. Like, claws buried in the wall, not gonna move, hate change, period. But...I wasn't expecting his reaction to Anna staying over. He kept coming up to me and meowing at me, and then pacing and walking back and forth.


Monday morning, we all got up and left, Anna went her way, I went mine, Chekhov stayed at home. I got home that afternoon, not feeling well, and saw that the sofa was still made up and thought that it seemed like a good idea to just lay down and take a nap. Chekhov usually loves it if I do this and joins me, but he didn't on Monday. My mom got home that evening, also not feeling well (you have no idea how difficult it is to accomodate the flu when there is only one bathroom in the house...) and noticed Chek acting weird. She said, "I think he's upset about the sofa still being made up," and I agreed, so I took off the sheets and put them in the laundry hamper, and suddenly I had a new cat on my hands who couldn't wait to spend the evening with us.

You know; people think pets are stupid, and I'm not saying they aren't. Really I'm not. In fact, I think this whole situation shows up just how very stupid my cat is.

And yet...and yet...