I have had a class on Saturday mornings for the past 14 weeks. So… why is it a “surprise” that I have to go to the final one this Saturday? Oh, that ruins everything?! Wait, what? Why didn’t I remind you as you were scheduling the activities for Saturday? Well, I didn’t think I HAD to. I mean, nothing had changed. But… what do I know, anyway. I mean, today’s suggestion to eat lunch was a bad idea because you “weren’t hungry”. Of course, the carb crash was an hour gone and the crankiness had started to settle in already. I knew it would get worse, and boy, was I right. And it’s my fault that there’s not much to eat here. Why do you think I suggest going to lunch?!
Ready. To. Scream.
Today there is a concert to which I have had tickets for months. I didn’t sleep last night and got a “group” project dumped onto me, sans group. I am tired. I’m stressed due to being in the middle of finals week(s) in my senior year. I’m caught between the fleeting nostalgia of wanting to remember and enjoy these last two weeks and the sheer relief of them being over. And right now, my mood is not one of happy concertgoer, much to my dismay.
Person 1: “I make better decisions now than I did at 18.”
Person 2: “Liar, You just have a more elaborate arsenal of justifications now.”
may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.
Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems,
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.
Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die–
only lack of it will.
Never want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbably country
where living is an idyll
(although a probably hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.
Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
that the dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.
I didn’t get to comment on your note the other day, but I completely understand how you feel. Our one cat, Cliff, has the eating habit of a raccoon.
I wish, for one day, that I could feed everyone by placing bowls on the floor… and not have to shut 2 cats in one room, construct a box with a hole small enough to keep the fat cat out and allow the skinny one in (one one will eat the food in the box, though. She’s picky and will only eat one kind of food, and the others won’t eat it), and sit next to the other bowl so Cliff doesn’t devour it first (only to have those two take three mouthfuls of food and walk away).
It’s a race to the vomit between Cliff and I when someone starts making those “huk huk huk” noises. If he gets there first, he eats it.
Bread/buns/bagels/tortilla chips, etc. live in the microwave. The trash goes under the sink. Recyclables need to be WASHED and put in the temp. holding bin, the “counter top” kitchen-scraps- for- compost collector lives in the fridge. The suet cake bird food can’t be stored within smelling distance. we don’t have constant access to cat grass because he eats the dirt.
And then there’s the peeing. Peeing when his FIC acts up. Peeing when he has an anxiety disturbance. (He suffers from FLUTD and has blocked before.) Peeing when one of the other cats gets fed. Peeing when I don’t come into the house through from the garage fast enough.
I won’t go into the whining at 4am.
All I can say is that I wish you strength, I wish you patience, and I wish you humor for these kind of days. And I wish you the presence of mind to still find enjoyment in your companions when you’re out of those three.