22 July 2017

Cat Shaming = Photo Opportunity? Yes, please.

I've secretly always envied artists that do 'series' of paintings.  Each painting in said series tells part of a whole story, and that whole series is what the overall goal of a story's message is supposed to be.  Like we writers, writing multiple books for a series (I'm looking at YOU, Stephen King, and your many books in the Dark Tower series...).  Tonight I confessed out loud (well, on social media, but same thing) I'd always secretly desired to do a photo series.  Tonight that happened to come to fruition.  I have decided to do this series in the only way I can think of: narration.  I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed putting it together  (that is to say once I came back from my neighbour's place because I was on the verge of tears from frustration at the initial onset of everything... And then watched a good episode of Paranormal Witness).


Picture it.  Groveport, Ohio.  2017.  It was a really warm evening, I'd had a bit of a heat headache, so I decided to go grab a nap while my husband was at work.  I figured the pets would at some point join me.  I did have Emily (of course) under the blanket with me, and then Patrick and Tommy decided later to hop up on the bed for some snuggles as well.  Connor's doing this weird behaviour right now where he's hanging out in the bathroom (it's an anxiety thing he's done before, and he's doing it again).  I woke up to my phone ringing, my husband had called for a minute and then I tried to go back to sleep.  I roll over, and I see this:

The large, fluffy cat on the left is Patrick.  The smaller, domestic short hair on the right is Tommy.  I was surprised to see them both on the bed, so close to each other, so I snapped a quick photo.  Those of you who are on my facebook friend list, you've seen this photo.

I reach over, pet them both, and as I'm nodding off again, further cuddled into Emily who had moved over a little and I couldn't feel her next to me (because yes, my dog and I are THAT symbiotic with each other, we have to be touching before we can relax fully), a little bit later, I snap awake, and I'm just laying there because Tommy had decided to grace me with some kitty biscuits (he rarely does this).  I lay there and petted him, thanked him for the kitty biscuits, and he lay down on me as I decided to go ahead and post the above picture to my facebook.

That's when things got... if you'll excuse the pun... HAIRY.

A few minutes of kitty biscuits later, Tommy decides he wants to go find something to do.  I figure okay, fine, I'll just take advantage of not having anything to do until my husband gets off work, so I'll just go back to sleep.  Why not, right?  I had just closed my eyes and was about to drift off when I hear a really LOUD crash and I snap awake.  I run into the kitchen and as soon as I turn the light on to find out what the hell happened, I am greeted with this:

Y'see all that mess?  With the exception of two forks, a mug (that you can see in the left sink) and two plates (from lunch), all that other stuff was all clean and neatly in the dish drain on the far right counter (between the sink and the microwave in the corner).  My beloved cat, whom I adore oh so incredibly much, decided he thought he was going to 'help' by ......  you ready for this?  Playing exterminator.  Yes.  You're reading that correctly.  All this happened because someone whose name rhymes with TOMMY decided he was going to stalk a mosquito!  Mmmhmm!  I only wish I was making this up!  Sadly, I'm not.  In fact, to add insult to injury here, I was picking up this mess that my cat refused to pick up (I mean, you teach your children if they make a mess to clean it up, and yet...  WHO picked this up?  Sure wasn't him!), and I promise you I could hear snickering.  I look up and there's the evil target of my cat's focus, just proud as punch, on the wall under the cabinet.  Promise you, I'm not making this up, that sucker was LAUGHING at me!  As he flew off, I distinctly heard a little voice say, "Nah nah nah nah nah!"  and a tiny raspberry being blown in my direction.  Tsk tsk.

Behind me, I hear a tuneless whistle, the whistle of, "I didn't do anything.. if I sit here quietly and don't make any sudden movements, she won't notice and won't blame ME...  I'm one with the counter, I'm one with the counter... I am a rock.  I am a bowl.  I AM A FIXTURE."  I turn and see this:  Tommy is on the coffee counter, just below where the boys' food bowls are.  I ask him, "Is there some reason you felt the need to make this mess and not offer to at least HELP pick it up, mister?  Hmm???"  You see he didn't even have the nerve to look me in the eye, right, you see this?  He's ignoring me thinking I'll go away if he looks away long enough.  I go back to picking things up and putting them away, the whole time muttering under my breath about gravity being a real thing, it's not some sort of ridiculous political rhetoric.  It's actually a legitimate thing, and if he didn't believe me, he's more than welcome to ask Daddy, who can attest to this being fact.

As I'm getting to the bottom of the pile of stuff that is needing to be put away, I am greeted with this.  I suspect this is the plate that had a massive side-to-side crack in it, anyway, but that's not the point.  I LOVED this stoneware set.  Only thing I can say now is at least we're 3 for 3 now.  A bit over a year or so ago, my husband accidentally busted one of the bowls that came in this set, which me being one who likes consistency, I always felt a litte - okay, a lot - weird about having four of the plates and four of the mugs, but only three of the bowls.  I can't stand that!  It's a weird tic I have, if something's a set, I can't stand it being lopsided, so to speak.  SO, I guess I owe Tommy at least a thank you if only for evening out the set, but it still hurts that he felt the need to chase his winged prey into the kitchen and cause this chaos.  I turn to tell him a sound earful about how while this set wasn't expensive (it was maybe $15 for settings for four), that's not the point.  The point is, I don't go breaking their stuff, why's he gotta do that to mine and Daddy's?  I get this in response:


"Oh, hey, Connor!  How's it goin', brother?  Oh, yeah, Mom's pretty hot right now...  I've no idea why, really, but she woke up in a bad mood.  Maybe she should get into some catnip and mellow out, y'know what I mean?"



For those of you who don't already know, the darker red Tabby in the photo is Connor.  He'd hopped up on the counter because he heard Mommy rummaging around in the kitchen (read: picking up Tommy's MESS), and thought it was time for kitty treats (which he knows doesn't happen till bedtime).

As I'm about to throw the shards of the plate away and rinse out the sink of the tiny fragments, I notice there's a little bit of red on my hand.  I look closer (I didn't have my glasses on, so it took a minute to register what it was), and I see this:  I'd cut my finger just barely above the joint as I was picking out the plate pieces from the sink.

I was so frustrated, I decided to walk over to my neighbour's to visit her and the kids for a bit so I could come down from everything.  Don't get me wrong, I love my pets with a ferocity I cannot put into words.  They are as important to me as my human children are.  They keep me on my toes.  Literally.  Tonight, however, I don't even know what to say.  I'm just...  Wow.  Cats, I tell you.  And where was Emily in all this?  Off hiding under the blanket on the couch, and I think I heard her yapping something about being thankful that she's a Dachshund, which means she won't ever get in trouble for chaos like that.  I heard Patrick in the bedroom sighing something about, "Boy, Tommy, you've really gotten into Mom's craw this time, haven't you?  If you'd just listen to me... but nooooo.  You just gotta go off and be a little daredevil, huh!"
 
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