I don't know when this blog became a tool for tracking how often Ratty Catty would decide to pee in inappropriate locations, but apparently this is the only thing that inspires me to click "New Post." So today the bed was his victim, again. I think I minimized the damage by catching him mid stream. I only had to remove two covers to contain the spillage. Of course it was a mighty chilly morning with rain and such outside, and these were two damn fine covers which I missed dearly, but whatever. Actually, come to think of it, the whole bed still feels contaminated by association, but I have just been so fricking house lazy I can't even begin to think about doing all that much laundry. Maybe if I had bought a stackable washer and dryer when the landlady put in the mini laundry room upstairs, maybe then I'd do recreational loads. But for now, all laundry, peed on or otherwise, must be paraded down the outside stairs and brought into the original laundry room.
And then he just went about his morning like everything was fine and perfectly normal. He even let me pick him up right after. So I put him in the newly-reintroduced litter box. He seemed perplexed. I've got to remember to add dirt, as I know he likes to pee on dirt. My brother suggested I put some sheets in there, maybe a Barbie and some pillows. Very funny. Ha ha. At least yesterday I got myself a bit of belly when Ratty was feeling especially safe (hanging with the Monkey). It didn't last long, and, come to think of it, maybe this is why I had pee in my bed today, but, well, I couldn't help myself.
Sometimes I wonder, "Just when did I become the crazy cat lady?" And then I remember, it was May 3rd, when I chopped Ratty's nuts off and officially made him part of the family.
Mostly, being the crazy cat lady I am, I am not even upset about the most recent insult to the sanctity of my sleep. Today I am upset because I am impatient and all spun up about some possible big law school news on the horizon. I am so spun up, in fact, about this bird in the bush, that my Berkeley in the hand has begun to feel like a consolation prize. And the big purple envelope in the mail from NYU - this should have been exciting, too, and instead I set it aside to continue to watch the phone not ringing for me.
The trouble is, I had convinced myself I wasn't going to hear back from the Law School in the Bush until January. At the soonest. If they decide they don't like me I won't know until April. But they have been flirting. And thus, I figure it's a month tops before they declare their love for me. So I had managed my expectations and disappointment Friday afternoon, when I figured the admissions office went on vacation like the rest of the school. That all went out the window today when my invisible friends on the internet started crowing about their acceptance phone calls. Then I got all excited anew.
And then the phone rang. But it was just my brother. Calling with the helpful Barbie bedding advice.
Now I am left to wonder, are the fine folks at Law School in the Bush working tomorrow as well? Even if they are, I suspect I will not get my call because surely they are in cahoots with the universe and the universe is clearly trying to teach me patience. Why else would I always choose the wrong check out line? Why else would I always miss on dock rescues if I don't wait for my team to arrive? Why else would I be so fricking fat from falling for immediate gratification practically every single time? Patience, fat grasshopper, patience.
And with that I am off to the gym to sweat away this angst. I have just enough time to get my cardio in. It will burn off about the same amount of calories I plan to drink tonight.
He knows. He always knows.
9 months ago