The Transformation into the Hoarding Cat Lady

My blood pressure was 86/53 this morning. That’s not even a number. It’s like I made it up or something. Once I stood up, it got to 113/95. That’s normal. I can deal with that. It’s no wonder I’m light-headed when I’m lying down. I’m not getting enough oxygen. I had to go look at what I wrote down to remember what numbers it was. The doctor wants to know. I want to know what my oxygenation was when I was at 86/53. Seriously. Am I getting brain damage? I don’t want to get brain damage. I drank too much in college to be able to afford that.

Am I supposed to be chatty or crabby this morning? I forgot. The cats are yowling at me and pacing. That’s because I got back into the habit of feeding them in the morning. It’s really hard to ignore Seth whenever he asks for food because he’s so skinny. Right now, he’s standing on the bed behind me and rubbing his face on my shoulder.

Yes, I am really cramped at my desk. I don’t have the blood pressure to rearrange things. I’m stuck the way they are. I’m beginning to be like one of those hoarders, not able to take care of myself enough to keep the pile and the cat population from overtaking me.

But Seth is very cute, rubbing his face against my shoulder. I love that, but I can’t concentrate. If he were a predator, I’d be worried about now. He is a predator, but fortunately, he thinks of me as part of his family unit. If those two wanted to take me down, I’d bet they could do it. They worked together to wake me up without me realizing they were waking me up. See, if they piss me off by making too much noise, I refuse to feed them until much later. They’ve learned that I have to think I woke up naturally. I’ve seen them do it with Mike, quietly mewling at his door or putting a paw on the door to bounce it in its frame then casually walking away. He never knows what woke him.

Ergh. This is definitely a crabby. Plus, it’s crap. I’m sitting here, not being able to think clearly because my blood pressure is weirdly low, and I’m writing crap while wondering if anything’s happening on Twitter. I’m addicted to Twitter.

I’m not publishing this shit. It’s shit. I can’t fucking think with this cat staring over my shoulder at the back of my head. Where’s the other one? I can’t see the other one. Why can’t I see the other one?

I just now spun around and leaned forward to see the box at the end of the bed. He was crouched and staring at me. This is why I feed them in the morning. They keep staring at me. They’re all cute until they’re staring at the back of your head while you try to type.

I’m sure this is why I keep waking up before six in the morning. They’re in collusion together to get the good food. Seth, the old one, taught the young one how to stay quiet enough not to piss me off.

By the way, I should tell you that they do, in fact, have food. They always have some kibble in bowls in two different places in the house. They just don’t want that food. That’s the boring food. They want the good stuff that I hide in the cabinet.

Now they’re fighting over the bed. Dudes! It’s a fucking queen-sized bed! There’s room for both of you. There’s a shit-ton of room on the bed. Eight cats would fit on this bed with a generous margin around each cat if they were alternated like cookies on a cookie sheet.

Yesterday, Nick walked into the living room and announced that we should have four cats. Then, he showed me a video with four cats cuddled up together and being very sweet. I would never survive a morning with four cats. If I managed to make it through the yowling-pacing moment or the staring-at-the-back-of-my head moment, I’d die during the fight over the queen-sized bed. I’d be slashed to ribbons. Thoughts and prayers for the hoarding cat lady.

Thank you for listening, jules

Creatures of Cunning and Barb

This morning, I thought I heard Mike rumbling down the stairs on his way to work. Now that Nick is in college, I don’t have to get up. Oh, he’s quiet until that last rush to get out of the door at which point, he has no idea how much noise those stairs make. Isn’t it funny how the bones of my house make more noise than its inhabitants now that Nick is gone?

So, I rushed out to say goodbye because when I sleep through, I feel a little bereft to wake up to an empty house.

“What are you doing up so early?” Mike will say.

“Saying goodbye to you,” I will reply. And then, I will tuck myself into his warm arms to say goodbye for the day. How much of our words have been said and ressaid over the years? Do you know what I mean? If you’ve lived with the same person for more than ten years, you might know. I love those repeated words.

But when I got to the bottom of the stairs, Mike wasn’t there. No lights were on. No slippers were falling onto the floor. His backpack was gone. Bereft. This had been happening sometimes, I thought I’d heard Mike leaving only to wake up to an empty house, well, empty except me, Teddy, and the cats. This morning, the cats, one at the top of the stairs and one half way down, stared at me expectantly.

Breakfast? They seemed to get the idea simultaneously.

Did I tell you that I stopped feeding the cats in the morning at all because they used to wake me up earlier and earlier. I was going to bed at 11:15 and getting up to feed them at 2:10.. In addition, they have two bowls on top of the washing machine that are almost constantly full of kibbles if they’re hungry between meals. They don’t need me to feed them in the morning. Now, I open a can of the extra good stuff just before I leave for work and I give them treats when I’m going to bed.

I stared back at them with blurry vision. I was only half awake, so I trundled back to my empty bed. Bereft. I crawled in. At least it was still warm.

Seth jumped up onto the bed, purring. That helped. I petted him for a bit, but he kept trying to lick my hand and he walked back and forth across my legs. Those were his 3am wake-up tactics. This wasn’t just love. He had an agenda. It always woke me up when he began to lick my hand.

Have you ever let a cat lick the back of your hand? It hurts! Those little spikes on a cat’s tongue are made for holding prey and tearing flesh. Could you imagine having a hundred tiny barbs in your mouth? If you think of it too long, the barbs, called papillae, are really creepy. And we keep these creatures in the house with us!

So, I tucked both hands under the covers and tried to go back to sleep. My breathing slowed. I felt Seth lay down on the bed. I found a comfortable position where I could feel Seth’s heat through the covers at my side. I began to see the swirling colors behind my closed eyelids.

Then, a thought bubble popped in my head.

Those cats had pounded down the stairs like Mike did in the morning to try to wake me up so I might feed them. They wanted me to open a can of food while I was still half-asleep. I lived with scheming little rats.

Thank you for listening, jules