Monday, November 29

By Way Of Introduction

I thought it might be nice to come clean about my cat situation. You see, I have a pet problem. Mainly cats, though I have dabbled in dogs and various animals from time to time. I went petless for a long time. Years, in fact. But then one day it happened. I moved into a new apartment building (or, we can call a spade a spade and admit it was as close to a slum as my college town had) and there was a pretty white cat that would sit outside and meow for food. Naturally I immediately went out and bought cat food to have on hand whenever she came around. When I got to know the neighbors a bit more, I asked around to find out where she belonged. I was dying to haul her into my apartment and make her my own. Paul resisted my excessive animal sympathies, or so I thought, but eventually he cracked and soaked up nearly as much bleeding heart syndrome as I already carried around every animal shelter.
Soon enough we found that she belonged to someone in the building, but was for all intents and purposes an outside cat. She was obviously not a cat who wanted to be an outdoor cat. Being pure white it was remarkable that she had survived as long as she did in our barely cultivated wilderness settlement. Then, her owner let it be known that he and his wife were looking for a new home for her. Paul and I gleefully leaped at the chance to save her from neglect, especially when we found out that their ridiculous reason for needing to be rid of her was that they were having a baby. Seriously? As though the cat will suck out the baby's breath? Or the baby will get scratched? Unlikely. Especially with this cat. She sleeps, she avoids the unknown, and she meows a lot. This is not a baby killing cat.
And that is the story of how we got Pickle. [Previously with the abominable name Angelbaby]

Dexter came first, really, but his was a story over a long time and isn't mine to tell ultimately. Paul and his roommate at the time decided to get an [unauthorized] dog at their apartment. He was more Paul's dog from the beginning, particularly since Paul had had dogs before and his roommate had not and seemed unwilling to learn what Dex needed and when. Roommate gave Dex his name, after overruling Paul's suggestions. Dexter's tag now reads "Dexter Zolthor". When Roomie and Paul parted ways, both wanted Dexter (despite Roommate's complete inadequacy when it came to taking care of Dex.) but Paul offered to take Dex in lieu of money owed and Roommate didn't have a lot of choice but to agree. The story was actually much longer and drama-laden but as I said, it's not my story. That, more or less, is how I [we] got Dexter.

And here is where many other pet introductions would end. Not ours! When we moved to Virginia, Paul was jonesing for a cat. Initially we thought I would just bring one of my cats from home (I left my parents with 8 cats... ) that my Dad has referred to as my sisters' and my dowry.  Unfortunately my mom wasn't willing to part with any of the cats that would be suited to an indoor life. Paul and i went to visit a no-kill shelter and picked out a kitten. The entire time I was hesitant about the idea of a second cat. I wasn't sure that our place was big enough for three animals. Even when I had filled out the application to be approved as a potential adopter I wasn't convinced.
In fact, when I came home and saw a furry little muffin on Paul's shoulder I still wasn't sure. But how can someone resist an adorable little fluff that aggressively burrows under your chin to purr so loudly your head rattles and eats as though he's never seen food before? That was when I relented and accepted Logan into the apartment. It is also when I found out that black cats are terribly hard to photograph.

Aaaand then there was the fateful day I condescended to take Dexter out in the morning. Usually I will hide out and avoid having to do that at all costs. Well, maybe not all costs, but I certainly don't like having to crawl out of bed and take a stinky dog out to into the freezing morning air. I saw a girl outside, with a black cat rubbing against her legs. She saw me looking over and asked if I was missing a cat. No, but I couldn't leave her out there! Paul and I got her into a carrier, which was easy since she was enthusiastic about being petted and completely unafraid of people (though scared of loud noises).
Found posters and Free Cat posters were made and posted, with no results. She was probably abandoned by one of the multiple apartments that moved out after we moved in. We quietly wondered if the other realized that we were getting attached. Many pleading looks and freudian slips later we admitted to ourselves that she was probably going to stay, unless we found a really good place for her. So that was how we found ourselves with Zelda.

And this is all in a one bedroom apartment. Oddly enough we manage to not smell constantly like cat pee and wet dog. Don't get me started on how many plants we have in the living room alone.

Saturday, November 20

Funny/Not Funny

Paul and I have many things in common. Some of those things are things that we both find funny. We like to meow at Pickle and narrate her internal monologue of disgust with humans and eternal terror that we (or various inanimate objects) secretly are trying to kill her. We think it is funny that Paul can unintentionally scare me without doing anything at all, including when I already know he is there*. Weird Al. Zoolander. Crazy irrational retail shoppers.

However there is a lot of discrepancy in our sense of humor. Some things that he finds to be the funniest thing currently in the world, I look at and say, "What? That is gross/stupid/makes no sense". There are many things that I find world shatteringly hilarious that Paul looks at and says, "huh. That's funny". Not even a laugh. He actually gets so little amusement that he has so say aloud that he thought it was funny because his reaction failed to convey anything that could be read as even mild amusement.

There isn't any real pattern to predict what we will or won't agree on. It's especially frustrating to Paul, when he laughs at Dumb and Dumber or Wayne's World, but I can't do anything but seethe with frustration and the gross/stupid/makes no sense/everything. Then I counter with "Man, I love Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. So-crates." And dissolve into snorting giggles. He at least recognizes things that are funny, usually, and makes the obligatory "That was funny" declaration. I lash out at things that are not funny and want to take them apart and destroy them. As a female, I am entitled to be irrational. It is the right of a lady.

So when I find a blog, like this one that makes my face melt from laughter (even though I already read all the posts months ago when it was introduced to me) it is frustrating that I know he probably won't find it as hilarious as I do. Well, that and the fact that it will be WEEKS until he checks his email and actually looks at the link, but that is an entirely different problem.

*No, really. For example: I am standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror examining my face wrinkles in a way that every girl does, and Paul is talking to me and enters the room. We continue talking. He opens the cabinet and noisily takes out a flosser. I eventually turn to leave the bathroom, only to find that there is SOMEONE IN THE ROOM OMFGNESS!! And I screech like he is about to murder me. At least once a week, repeat in various similar forms.

Tuesday, November 9

What? I can blog from my phone now? New and more advanced ways to slack off on posting!

Monday, November 8


Tidying up the blog, since I never did quite finish fiddling with the first incarnation. Or more accurately, I never did finish, after having fiddled with the first incarnation. Hah. The new publisher is quite nice for things that are not fancy.