My Cats Are Plotting To Kill Me

This is a brilliant website that I was given. It's amazing how accurate it is:

http://www.catswhothrowupgrass.com/kill.php, check it out.

My Three Lovers

There is not a single person in this world who loves me unconditionally... that's why I have my cats.

As I walked down the hall to my bathroom and the two sleeping tails perked up, yawning, stretching, ever so slowly, followed me into the bathroom it suddenly dawned on me. My cats are the only 'people' who love me unconditionally. Allow me to explain.

Post-dinner I go to the bathroom what? 4-5 times a night? Irregardless of which bathroom I choose, there's always a cat that accompanies me there. Furthermore, I -know- that before I slam the door shut I have to let it linger for an extra split second so that a fuzzy tail doesn't getting accidentally caught between the wooden frame and the hunk of wood that keeps the rest of the world out of my intimate experience. It's like second nature to me... and as the door shuts and one of my three babies nuzzles my leg with his warm body, I feel loved. It's just the way it is.

It's also like how last night as I cried myself to sleep, snuggled against my pillows acting as replacements for the loneliness of a single person in a twin bed... Lucky rested his head on my pillow next to my own and put his paw on my shoulder. I'm sure it was accidental, too perfectly staged for me to even claim that it was like poetic redemption. But it's in moments like that that I feel loved, that some higher power knows I need comfort, someone to love me irregardless of my flaws, my faults and my erratic behavior. 

It's in the way Oliver guards my door when I'm doing homework, and in the way Lucky jumps on my lap while I'm watching TV or in the way J.C. nonchalantly caresses my leg while I'm on my laptop in an attempt to distract me from my screen and force me to pay attention to his itchy ears. Oliver just KNOWS that when I watch TV in the den and he sits behind my head on the couch, I'll instinctively pet him for the 3.5 minute commercial break - I dont even need to check if he's there, I raise my hand and I'm instantly met with the redness of his fur. It's the same way when mid-slumber I accidentally ram my leg into the middle of J.C.'s back while he so peacefully sleeps and he knows that it wasn't out of malice so he jumps off my bed and waits for me to get comfortable and fall back asleep before he jumps back on the bed and leaves me with ample room to thrash about. It's the same way Lucky watches me get into bed and immediately snuggles in next to my shoulder after I've doubled the pillows behind my head, leaving a corner for him to sleep. 

We just work. We adjust to each other's presences without even acknowledging each other's presences. We love each other regardless of the stress of the day, the attitudal moodiness and the irritability we've shown others. These are my three boys. The boys who love me unconditionally, without hesitation. So big deal if I become the crazy cat lady, at least I'm loved.

I Am Turning into the Crazy Cat Lady

1 cat painting on the wall. check.

2 real cats sleeping on the bed. check.

3 cat posters. check.

Sanity? - undecided.

The notion of me becoming the cat lady was always a joke (realistically, still is). But my every increasing suspicion is that I am inching closer and closer to a reality which entails me being alone. As Pacey Witter, endemic underachiever of Dawson's Creek, says in episode 6 of season 3, "until I can look at myself without judgement or condemnation, I am not ready for anyone." I wholeheartedly couldn't believe this to be any more true.

After flipping the DC dvd into its drive, I naturally went on a needle in the haystack hunt for the DVD player remote buried in the multiple piles of seemingly-irreplacable-junk on my desk. Even more obvious is that I didn't come up gasping for air empty handed, but rather, without the remote. Instead, I found a pack of matches on my desk, why I have a pack of matches on my desk, I have hardly a clue. What I do know is that I've flirted with the possibility of being a pyromaniac several times in my early teenage years. (Conclusion: not a pyro, but I certainly do love a flame and the smell of blown out matches). Moving on. As I fumbled with the pack of matches while watching heart-wrenching episodes of DC, it suddenly occurred to me that there is no bigger truth than the center of a flame.

Allow me to explain. There are 4 elements that must be present at the time in order for a fire/flame to exist:

1. a sufficient amount of oxygen is needed to maintain combustion

2. a sufficient amount of heat is needed in order to reach the specific ignition temperature of the particular material intended to burn

3. the particular material intended to burn, itself (duh!)

4. the chemical reaction that causes fire (some complicated business about atoms breaking apart, heat reaching a certain temperature and yadayadayada - yes, yes, I checked online).

I've come to the conclusion that starting a fire is very much like having a relationship. I'm assuming that is why many people refer to their "sparking" relationship as a flame, a burnt out flame, etc, you see my point. Anyhow, this is what I figure:

1. The sufficient amount of necessary oxygen is like the level of how comfortable you are putting yourself out there. The more oxygen, the bigger, better, etc the flame, the more comfortable you are, the more likely you are to WANT to go out and meet someone. 

2. The sufficient amount of heat needed to ignite the material is comparable to the level of mutual attraction and feeling required to start a relationship.

3. The particular material intended to burn is the actual individual you are considering/have met with the intention of dating.

4. The chemical reaction is of course the actual reaction and potentiality of more than friendship occuring. 

So back to my point about the truth found in a center of the flame. Now that the fire has started, or the relationship created, rather than killing my metaphor. There is a certain period that it can last based on the size of the flame, the size of the ignited material and the surrounding factors. This is identical to any relationship - depending on the strength of the relationship, the desire of the individuals involved and the outlying environment and factors, the relationship has a certain potential of lasting.

Now you might be asking yourself, what does this lecture on combustion, fire and relationships have to do with Dawson's Creek, Pacey Witter and being alone with my cats? Probably nothing. But in my head, it all made sense as to why I'm currently single. I'm not happy enough with myself to even ignite a spark. I'm not even looking for a flame let alone a fire here. Just a simple spark, something to let me know I've made the right decision, the right choice about who I am. 

I guess this thought is like most. You walk into the darkened bathroom with the box of matches, you light the first one on the right and stare into the mirror. The first few seconds of incandescence you see yourself perfectly clear, but the longer the match burns and the longer you look at yourself in the mirror, the contours of your face begin to get fuzzy, the specifics start to become less clear... But, I guess that's life for ya... As for becoming the crazy cat lady? We'll just have to wait and see.