Scatter-Brained

I have so much to talk about! I can’t even decide what to say, or what to say first. I could write a zillion individual posts, in detail, but it’s too much. It’s why there’s not been one in a few days; because, I keep writing them, and they are too long and boring. So, here’s a paragraph on random things, not connected, that are all going on at once, right now!

Cats

Soap + Box = Soap Box Alert

Soap + Box = Soap Box Alert

Mittens had to go back to her “owners,” who it turns out, live in our neighborhood. I was so devastated that I cried for a full day, not entirely because I missed her (I do, of course); but, because I feel like I failed her. Cat owners who insist on allowing their cats to roam, under the misguided idea that they are allowing them to follow their natural instincts, are doing them a disservice. A domesticated cat’s natural habitat is the domestic living space. They don’t deserve to follow their “instincts” to prey on diseased pigeons and rats, and to fall to predators like angry gardeners with antifreeze, cars, teenagers with pellet guns, or even “natural” predators like hawks or coyotes. Cats that live, exclusively, indoors live up to twice as long as cats who are allowed to roam, and they have fewer health problems, or injuries from predators or other cats. So, I cried for Mittens.

P.S. Mittens cried too. For days. Outside my kitchen window, begging to be let back in.

My cats are happy indoors :) See. This is them greeting me when I came home from dropping Collin off at school.

My cats are happy indoors :) See. This is them greeting me when I came home from dropping Collin off at school.

Best Friend’s (Temporary) Return

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My return to myself has been, and will be, forever slow. I’ve learned that half of the reason that I don’t go forward, is that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of pain. I’m afraid that the next thing I do will be the thing that tears the plate from my skull, and ruins everything. I’m afraid that the next thing I try will be the thing that I can’t achieve, and it will be the thing that I learn is my limit. I’m afraid to push. I do it anyway. Slowly, steadily. Inch by inch. I am climbing my way back. And, sometimes that inch feels like it’s only a centimeter of progress because my body reminds me that even though I’m trying, I have to respect its new barriers.

Alas, I’ve had to wear my c-collar again, lately. There’s nothing more defeating to progress than Velcro-ing those straps. Nothing feels worse than the relief of that collar. I hate how much better it feels when it’s on. I hate that I need it. I hate that I want to wear it, right now. I know that I will be able to throw it back in the closet again….soon. Why? Because I didn’t need it randomly. I needed it because I strained my neck by working out a little too hard. I strained t by pushing. Pushing. Not being afraid. I strained it by becoming me again. God damn, I’m going to come back. 

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The Shoulder

I’ve mentioned on FB that I am having shoulder surgery. It’s tomorrow. Holy crap, right? Literally, I keep forgetting about it. That’s how, off-the-radar, surgery has become to me. I have had a shitty shoulder, for years. It’s not terrible. I could probably live with it forever, if I didn’t want to lift heavy weights again. I can’t even carry the backpack at Disneyland, or my purse on that shoulder, anymore, as it is now. So, I want to lift, and I want to do it with good form. I’m done being broken.

Turns out, I randomly picked some awesome doc at USC. He’s a sports med guy who has worked with some really awesome teams; and he is a shoulder specialist. He’s also Benjamin Button, or something because he looks 19, but has a resume that makes him sound like he’s 140. His resident, I shit you not, looks like a GQ model, and also 19. USC puts something in their water, I think. I’m excited to try their IV’s.The best part about this whole thing, is that Tricare, covers everything, except the sling. I have to go out tonight and buy a damn shoulder sling.

Tricare: Here’s $20K (or however much shoulder surgery costs) for the surgery but $19.99 for a sling is a bridge too far! The patient should pay for that!

Crop Tops Over 40

Bryon, bless his little heart, is not great at picking gifts for me, on his own. It’s not his fault, I buy so much shit, that by the time a gift-giving occasion comes up, I just point at whatever I’ve most recently bought, and say, “that can count as my birthday/anniversary/Mother’s Day present,” and it does. No shopping required. But, last year, for my birthday, Bryon tried to pick out a present for me. He started at my favorite store (Anthropologie), got my size right, got my general sense of style. He was on track. But, somehow, he missed. He bought me a…crop top. I was a bell-sleeved, loose-fitting, bohemian-looking crop top, with a lace up front. Don’t get me wrong, if I were twenty, and going to Coachella, maybe? It is “me,” but young “me,” maybe.

I didn’t have the heart to take it back. Plus, I didn’t hate it. So, it sat in my closet, unopened, until we started cleaning out the closets this weekend to get ready to move. Thus, the debate: can a woman, over 40, wear a crop top? I said, “if she wants to,” but I’m not going to, unless I’m at the beach. He said that I pulled it off. But, his opinion is not to be trusted, based on times his spontaneous compliments are uttered (when I’m brushing my teeth, for example). I am on the fence. Ignore the no makeup and horrid hair. It was a house-cleaning day; thus, you can excuse the pants pairing too. Not sure it “goes.” Hmmm.

Hideous picture! Also, I'm really looking forward to getting out of this "master" bathroom. What a joke for a bathroom! I look like a gypsy.

Hideous picture! Also, I'm really looking forward to getting out of this "master" bathroom. What a joke for a bathroom! I look like a gypsy.

Moving Scatter

My brain is doing this right now: we don’t know where we are going to live and we are leaving in about a month; I forgot to take my Comic Con costumes to the dry cleaner; what about my plants when we move; I have to wash my curtains before we pack them; I’m a horrible person, but, I wish that damn hamster would die before we move; if the movers break my WW kiss statue, I’m going to lose my shit; I forgot to call USAA to up my jewelry rider; I have to go to the post office; should we fly to San Diego or LA when we come back in July?; I need a car wash; what if Collin can’t handle public school?; I hate June gloom in LA; why do the stupid movers have to be here on my birthday?; I’ve been eating so many pickles that when I work out, I smell like pickles; I can’t believe I have to wait another whole year for more Riverdale; why do all my FB ads target me for Dia & Co, when I’ve just busted my ass to give up soda and chips?;what if the movers break the glass in our antique furniture?; what if the movers tear our giant painting?; what about the dollhouse?; dry cleaning; alterations; whoops; I forgot to send my summer contract. Oh. And WHERE ARE WE GOING TO LIVE????

Anyone want to live in my brain right now?

This is why I can’t focus up and write anything decent or stay on topic. I am losing my mind, at the moment. And, tomorrow, I won’t be able to type very well. I will only have a left hand! Agh! And, I have a great idea for a painting. Maybe, I will learn to paint with my feet, or my mouth, and become a you-tube sensation. See where my mind is at right now! I need a drink, or something.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

Everyone knows how much of a bleeding heart I am when it comes to animals. To be honest, I’m a bleeding heart when it comes to anything, frankly. I cup most spiders in my hand, to release them outside. It still counts as kindness, even if you shriek in terror the whole way. And, lest you believe I prize the animal kingdom over mankind, I got quite irate today, over our current sense of nationalism and arbitrary borders, when discussing the nearly 1,500 children missing from ICE detention centers after family separations, based new immigration policy. When will we realize that humanity is equal across borders, despite nationalism?

Anyway, back to animals? Right?

There is an adorably sweet black and white cat that lives in our neighborhood. She tends to chill at the back side of our block, for the most part. Whenever we go for a walk, she spots me, a sucker, saunters over and follows me home, because she knows I will stop every two feet, when she mews for attention, and pet her for ten minutes.

Apparently, she marked my address in her little kitty brain, because about three weeks ago, she started showing up at my window, meowing for both food and attention. She sleeps on my soft patio chairs, waiting all day for me to visit her. Half the time, she doesn’t even want food, she just wants someone to come pet her. It’s the sweetest thing you can imagine, if you are a cat lover, like I am. Plus, because I am home alone all day, and I spend a large portion of my time carrying on intense conversations with my feline friends, I find it adorable to add another one to the mix, especially this rag-tag rapscallion who just wants to be loved.

I'm sure you knew where this was going. Obviously, she came inside!

I'm sure you knew where this was going. Obviously, she came inside!

This means I’ve been begging Bryon to figure out a way to take her with us when we move. This is, of course, a totally unreasonable plan. His reasons are logical, and are, as follows:

  • She’s not ours, as indicated by the fact that she wears a collar (but no tags)
  • Homer will hate a new cat
  • She’s an outdoor cat and may not adapt to being indoors
  • We have two cats
  • Homer will hate a new cat
  • Moving a new cat, across the country, is insane
  • Homer will hate a new cat
  • What will Loki think of a new cat?
  • Homer will hate a new cat

So many variables!

Still, as you know, my husband is a wonderful man, and he tends to support me, no matter how crazy I am. Although, today he might have had a moment of weakness brought on by the tears I shed at lunch, when I asked him to consider just how much it breaks my heart to imagine her sitting out there, pining for us, after we left. The image of that lil’ girl, meowing into an empty house, made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t doing a Little Match Girl routine, it actually does nauseate me. Bleeding heart here. Bleeding. Dripping.

So, we brought her in. So far, so good. She goes to the vet on Tuesday to get cleared. We’ve posted to the neighborhood to see if she actually does belong to anyone, but so far no one. Bryon says I have to leave the ad up all weekend. I think twenty minutes is sufficient. Marriages have differences of opinion.

It's so hard to take pics of black cats! But, this is Mittens getting to know my gmail. Clearly, I have a problem with deleting unread messages.

It's so hard to take pics of black cats! But, this is Mittens getting to know my gmail. Clearly, I have a problem with deleting unread messages.

She’s been inside all day, and if someone claims her, I think I’ll be devastated. I’ll also be angry that they take such shit care of their cat. I mean, c’mon cat owner! Half of me didn’t want to post it the ad at all, because if she does belong to someone, they don’t deserve her. But Bryon says we cat be cat-nappers. Ugh, doing the “right” thing is the worst, sometimes! 

My theory, though, is that she did belong to someone long ago, but when they moved, they just opened the door and let her out. Nice military folks tend to do that, just abandon their pets. That’s how I got my first dog, who was the greatest dog I have ever known. Gotta love folks like that. Apparently, pets are disposable, like garbage, and immigrant children (according to the U.S. Government). 

Bryon has already started coming around on her though. I can tell because he wanted to name her. If anyone remembers the movie, Bolt, there was an abandoned black and white cat named, Mittens, that travelled cross-country, on a road-trip with Bolt. She’d been left by her family, to fend for herself, too. I think the name suits her. Plus, it gives her lower status than our Gods and legends: Homer and Loki. We can’t go letting her believe she’s higher up in the pecking order, right? Good name: Mittens.

For anyone keeping count, that’s three cats, now. Two of which Bryon vehemently objected to. Oh, and we’ll also be moving a hamster that has grossly outlived his lifespan yet refuses to die. He’s vibrantly healthy, despite my son’s consistent mistreatment and lack of attention to his pet, via “forgetting” to feed him for days on end, and “forgetting” to give him fresh water.

Awwww........

Awwww........

How that hamster has survived boggles my mind. Nay, if that hamster is indicative of all hamsters, how hamsters have not taken over the world, as a source of constant awe to me. Again, this is coming from the most bleeding of animal-loving hearts, a person who though she wishes the hamster would go into the light, snuggles him, makes sure he gets attention (that the boy is negligent of giving), and ensures he does, indeed get fed.

Homer has one rule: Rachel's lap, and anything lap-adjacent are his. There was a growling episode. Homer, clawless wonder that he is, won, and Mittens fled. Loki has been here over a year now, and Homer is only just NOW STARTING to tolerate lap sharing. Mittens, you have. a long road to hoe before you can sit near me if Homer is anywhere near.

Homer has one rule: Rachel's lap, and anything lap-adjacent are his. There was a growling episode. Homer, clawless wonder that he is, won, and Mittens fled. Loki has been here over a year now, and Homer is only just NOW STARTING to tolerate lap sharing. Mittens, you have. a long road to hoe before you can sit near me if Homer is anywhere near.

So, it looks (hopefully), like we are heading out into the great icky yonder (yes, VA is icky to this California girl) with three cats and a hamster. Wish us luck that we get to keep sweet little Mittens! And, wish us luck that another kitty doesn’t catch my eye before we leave. I have no self-control.