The Road to Heaven is Cleaned with Dysons

Life for pet owners holds few pleasures greater than possession of a really good vacuum cleaner.

After ten years my faithful old Dyson is starting to fall to pieces.  The Cowboy has fixed it a few times, extending its life for another two years, but the writing was on the wall a couple of weeks ago. It was time to buy a new vacuum.

The writing was mostly there because the hose on my old Dyson tore again (this is the third time) and the Cowboy is God knows where and has been for weeks now so there was no one to fix it.  I also have this Eureka someone gave me that just doesn't even hold a candle to my old Dyson, let alone a new one.

I got my tax return so I figured why not treat myself to a brand new Dyson?  Having researched and read up on the latest models, I discovered that their suction is even stronger than the old ones (and mine has never lost suction), and that they have these balls that apparently make them easier to maneuver (I love mine, but it is heavy and awkward to get around, especially with all the stairs in my house).

The thing about pets is that no matter how much I love them, I am actually allergic and their hair bothers me.  I vacuum at least every other day.  Willow is half Persian which means she has a cobby body, and while her hair is short, it's superfine and thick and gets into EVERYTHING - my clothes, my food, my nose.  I might have a Willow hair stuck perpetually in my nose.  I don't know, I keep sneezing.  Puckett sheds constantly because she doesn't bother to clean herself.  She lets Percy do it.  And Tess, being a German shepherd, just has that kind of fur.  She blows her coat twice a year, but she also sheds continuously, leaving piles of fur wherever she goes.  My animals are allowed to sleep at the foot of the bed or on the arms of the couch, but I can't have them right on top of me or on the pillow next to me.  There is one exception to this.  Percy has slept under the covers with me occasionally and he sometimes curls up against me while I watch TV on the couch.  His fur bothers me the least.  He grooms constantly and he has a different kind of fur than Puckett and Willow.  I think he might be part Russian Blue, a breed with a naturally hypoallergenic coat.

I ended up purchasing the Dyson Ball Multifloor.  I considered the Dyson Cinetic Big Ball but it was a little too pricey even for the comfort of owning a truly amazing vacuum cleaner.

No matter.  I'm quite happy with my purchase.  Now my old Dyson has awesome suction and it hasn't lost it over the years, but this new one packs a wallop.  I'd already vacuumed my bedroom once with the old one and went over the carpet again with my new one just to see what else I could suck up.

Within five minutes the canister was full of powdery dirt mixed with leftover baking soda.  There was also more dog hair and I thought I'd gotten all of it.  I have to say, I was officially grossed out.  If all that has been in my carpet over the years, then ew.

Also after much treatment with carpet cleaners and a pile of baking soda on the spot Willow decided to pee on, the new vacuum cleaner sucked all the nastiness out of there and it doesn't even smell.

Here I thought nothing can get rid of the stench of cat pee.  To be fair, I did dump lemon juice, apple cider vinegar, and two different carpet cleaners on it along with a box of baking soda, and then waited for all of it to dry in fresh air before running the vacuum over it.  Still, the result was impressive.

As an aside, for anyone who wants to get cat pee out of their carpet, here is what I discovered:  First I mixed water with carpet cleaner and soaked the pee spot.  Then I squirted lemon juice right over the spot.  I let it dry for a day.  Then I mixed water with dish detergent and hydrogen peroxide and poured that on the spot.  I let that soak for a day.  Then I dumped apple cider vinegar on the spot and added a box of baking soda.  By then the days had gotten nice and warm so I just propped my back door open and let the carpet air dry.  If the soiled carpet isn't near a window or door or it's the middle of winter, a fan can be used to help dry the spot.  Once everything was dry I vacuumed up the baking soda.

So it does take several days, but cat pee can be conquered.

I hope, anyway...

Back to the Dyson.  The wand is pretty amazing too.  I use the wand a lot because I have mostly hard floors now and it's easier to just suck up the loose hair with the wand.  I also use the flat attachment to run over Percy because he follows the vacuum cleaner around while I clean, waiting for his turn.  The new wand sucked up a plastic bag, the loose strands off an old piece of carpet Willow uses as a scratching pad, and it nearly sucked up the cat.  It stuck to him and I couldn't peel it off without shutting off the machine.

Percy was not amused.  The look of disgust on his face told me he preferred the old vacuum as it doesn't try to flay him alive.  This thing could pull the fur off a mink and probably turn it into a coat. I didn't even bother to suck Percy's tail into the wand like I sometimes do because for some reason he likes that too.  If I try that with the new wand, he probably won't get the tail back. I've sucked paws and ears in too just to get a reaction out of him and he purrs and rolls over.  I don't dare try that with this new vacuum.  I"m afraid I won't get my cat back.

And I really don't want to destroy my new vacuum by sucking an entire cat into it.  It wasn't the most expensive vacuum, but it still cost a pretty penny.  I imagine a cat might damage the mechanism.  Also, I don't think he'll fit in the canister.

I have to say it is a sad day for me when the highlight of my last couple of weeks is not drinks with pals on a Friday night; it's not a morning run with my dog in the park; it's not editing my novel; and it's not a fantastic date with some amazing guy.

Nope, the highlight of my last couple of weeks is buying a Dyson and then spending all morning vacuuming my floors.  Yes, and enjoying it too.

I think I might need Evan Marc Katz's help again.  Unfortunately, if I can't afford the Super Dyson I have no hope with his coaching fee.  I suppose the vacuum and I will be very happy together.

How to be a Law Breaking Felon

Boy, do the cops in this town need something to do.

Don't get me wrong.  Cops are cool.  I'm even good friends with a cop (I think.  He might be mad at me after he reads this).  My brother's best friend is a cop.  I love Criminal Minds, Law and Order SVU  (love that Detective Benson), and CSI Miami (there is something about David Caruso and his sunglasses move - you know what I'm talking about).   I have the love jones for Zahn McClarnon who plays a rez cop on the show Longmire.  But the cops around here?  They need a life.

But then, I'm one to talk.  I spend so much time with my pets, they're codependent.

I finally got busted.  It happened.  I knew it would and I was just waiting for it.  I knew I was breaking the law, I knew I deserved a reprimand.  I was just unprepared for how furious it made me.  I think maybe it happened during the worst possible week and I had already been busted twice for stupid things recently, one on my birthday when I was already feeling sensitive.

I've been running Tess loose for months now.  We have a route.  We go down to the river, follow it, go back along the walking path and to the mostly deserted park near my house, and then home.  She is off leash most of the time which is technically against the law in city limits.  Besides the one time she made a jogger wet her pants, Tess has been a model citizen.  If I see other people around or I see dogs loose, I leash her.  Most of the time I make sure the surrounding area is completely deserted before I let Tess off the leash.  I'm not an idiot.  I know how to control my dog.  She does not go up to fenced yards when dogs are barking at her.  If I call her back she comes to me almost immediately.  That poor lady jogger was an anomaly.  It was just her lucky day, I think.  Like cats attracted to anyone who is allergic to them, so Tess is attracted to anyone who is terrified of her.  She just wants to make friends. She doesn't understand that people might find her the devil.

I don't get that anyway.  She's so cute.  I mean, she is the best dog in the world.  Wouldn't hurt a fly.  Okay, she would totally hurt a fly and a wasp and probably a douchebag if he threatened me, but most people?  She loves people.  She loves cats.  She loves most other dogs.  She's a big ball of love.

So the other day Tess was down by the river taking a dump and here comes Mr. Animal Control in his Great Big Truck.  I don't think he's a real cop.  He gets to wear the uniform and drive the marked vehicle, but really, he's driving around looking for loose dogs.  That badge and gun are just for show.  He must have been bored out of his mind.

"Excuse me ma'am, are you aware that you should have your dog leashed within city limits?"

"I'm sorry, officer, she needed to go to the bathroom."

"I understand it's hard when your dog wants to go to the bathroom and sniff around, but you have to keep your dog restrained."

"Yes, officer.  Of course, officer."

They always "understand," don't they?

He proceeded to lecture me, demand my name, address, phone number, and birth date, and then let me off with a warning.  All with "ma'am" at the end of each sentence.  I don't mind leashing my dog. I think what pissed me off the most was asking my birth date and the lecture.  I was probably older than him.  Looks can be deceiving.  I've run into that with cops before.  I look like I'm twenty-four so when they pull me over they act all bad ass, and then when they return my license there's a note of respect in their voices, like they hadn't realized I am old enough to be their mothers.  They lay off the "You dumb kid" attitude and adopt a more "I can actually relate to you because you're an adult" demeanor.  I kind of wanted to ask him if he needed Tess' name and birth date as well.  I asked him if he really needed my birth date.

"Yes, ma'am."

Oh, cut the ma'am.  Seriously, it's so patronizing. Especially when they think I am still only twenty-four.   Do I look like a "ma'am" to you?  Yes, as it turns out, I'm old.  Thanks for rubbing it in.

I should have lied.

I wonder what would have happened if I'd started singing the International Friendship Song?  I think one needs two other siblings to really drive that song home and sufficiently drive a law enforcement officer up a wall, but Tess and I probably could have pulled it off.  I'm sure I would have ended up in jail.  Can you imagine that phone call?  "So, hey, there, person I called from jail.  Can you come bail me out?  They arrested me after I was caught walking my dog off leash and I tried to get away with it by singing the International Friendship Song."

I've been watching way too much Animaniacs.

You're just asking for trouble asking a woman her age.  My cop friend did tell me later that yes, they do need your birth date when you are caught breaking such a serious law because they have to check if there are any warrants out for your arrest.

Well, of course.  I am a dangerous criminal.  I have my license plate sticker in the wrong corner of my license plate.  I go five miles per hour over the speed limit past the library on a deserted road.  I let my well-behaved German shepherd run off leash.  Yes, these are all infractions I have been busted for.  I am a rebel.  I am crazy.  I'm amazed they haven't locked my punk ass up yet.

They might if this blog ever goes viral.  There is nothing cops hate more than a smart ass.  Probably why Yakko, Wakko, and Dot are always getting chased by that security cop.

My cop friend is a smart ass himself, and he's the one who put a Glock in my hands, so really, are cops always playing with a full deck?

Anyway, I was totally expecting to get busted eventually.  I'm not really mad about that.  But in the space of a few weeks I got pulled over for barely speeding, having my license plate sticker in the wrong corner of my plate, and running my dog off leash.  I had a friend who had our resident lady cop pull up behind her at the gas station for speeding and ask her if she did that often. My friend said, "What, pump gas?  Yes, every day before I go to work."  The lady cop was horrified that my friend was aware of her rear radar and still had the nerve to speed.

They just haven't had much to do lately and we've had several new ones come into town, looking for any reason to pull someone over and prove themselves.  This is small-town Wyoming.  I hate to break it to the rookies coming in, but nothing happens here outside of the occasional drug bust (because that's how bored people are).  It's utopia. The cops are just bored and they are taking it out on us placid citizens who aren't really doing anything to endanger the public.  I mean really, there is a registered sex offender across the street from my house creating tattoos for morons (and several of my ex-boyfriends, not that the two are mutually exclusive) probably without a license and the cops are bothering me.

Cops aren't on my happy list right now.  And Tess didn't even bound up to the animal control officer's truck when he stopped and try to climb in.  So obviously she didn't appreciate him interrupting her morning toilette.  Meanwhile my cop friend has the nerve to laugh every time I say something rude about cops.  Like he thinks I'm being cute or something.

At least he hasn't called me "ma'am" yet.

Cops are actually really not that bad.  I just feel like lately they have it out for me. Again like attracts like, and my miserable, law-breaking attitude is obviously attracting the cops.  Plus, I still think they are jealous of the fact that I have this amazing, beautiful, intelligent German shepherd who probably belongs in the K9 Unit and they just wish they had her.  I think they might be following her, gazing at her longingly.

I don't blame them.  If she wasn't mine, I'd be jealous too.

Me with a Glock

My vicious, crazy dog running loose by the river.  Look how happy she is!

Rejection

The universe has a funny way of throwing things in your path that you have previously convinced yourself you don't want, need, or care about.

For instance, I had decided, way back when I adopted Tess and Percy, that I did not want more than one cat.  One cat is fine.  More than one cat just causes issues like litter box aversion.

Somehow I now have three cats.  I'm still not sure how that happened, and yes, one of the cats does engage in litter box aversion.  And yet, I stubbornly hang on to her, modifying my life and daily rituals in order to keep her from peeing on the floor, just because I can't imagine my life without her.  When I first got Tess and Percy, I couldn't imagine my life with her and no, absolutely under no circumstances would I consider adopting another cat!

So I adopted two more.

I have also had the same opinion about relationships the last few months, deciding that I neither want nor need one, they are more trouble than they are worth, and they are way too much work.  I can bury my sex drive.  I don't need this shit in my life. 

That was until I realized I still have a sex drive, so of course I did everything I could to force that down and run screaming for my life away from the person who had the nerve to spark it.  Those damn hormones.  They'll get to you every time.

For years now I've been saying one dog is enough.  After my disastrous trial with Harley, the hound from hell that tried to rip Tess' throat out, I decided that I would never again attempt to own two dogs.  Two dogs are just too much work and I already have three cats that are too much work.  Tess is so well-trained, so easygoing, and so settled in a routine that I would never want to add another dog that would come in and teach her all sorts of bad habits.

Then while surfing Petfinder.com I came across Zack, a beautiful long-haired male German shepherd who was eight years old and had the same look on his face that Puckett had when she coerced me into adopting her.  I looked at his profile for a couple of days and finally decided to contact the rescue about him.  I figured the lady in charge would tell me she didn't adopt out that far away (three hours), or he was already spoken for, or he had a list of people waiting to meet him and she'd get back to me.  Instead she gave me some background on Zack and sent me an application.  Frankly, he sounded perfect.  He was close to Tess' age with an extremely quiet temperament.  He'd been neglected as a younger dog and then fell in the hands of a pet hoarder where no one really paid much attention to him.  No vaccinations, he wasn't fixed.  The neighbors eventually found him in the road and brought him to the rescue where he was vetted, fixed, and put in foster care until a forever home could be found.  I asked the lady if he was housebroken, if he was a barker, if he was aggressive or dominant, and she said he was extremely laid back, would do well with another dog, and Tess sounded particularly good for him because Zack was definitely not alpha.  He didn't bark. He was housetrained and could do a few tricks, and most of all he just needed a quiet loving home where he could live out the rest of his life in peace.

I thought he sounded great.  He and Tess could be two old fogies living out there retirement together.  I think Tess is getting kind of lonely, so this might be good for her.  The woman from the rescue sounded enthusiastic as well.  She seemed to be willing to consider adopting him out to me.  She said my application checked out and that Tess sounded perfect for Zack.  I sent an email to her saying that I would love to meet him and...crickets.

I felt like I was online dating again.  Suggest meeting and they disappear never to be heard from again.  Maybe I felt like I was just dating in general again.  Things get too serious and they disappear.  My Texas best friend and I used to joke that our ex-boyfriends joined the army and were on special secret black ops missions so they couldn't contact us anymore or even answer messages.  I believe in today's culture now this is called "ghosting." I am very familiar with "ghosting" and I do not like it.

My Texas friend has been married nine years and no longer needs to worry about this.

I waited several days and finally emailed the lady again, letting her know I was just following up on Zack.  She emailed me back immediately and said he was getting picked up by a family the next day and hopefully this will be his forever home.

Well, thanks for telling me.  Again I felt like I was dating.  Seriously, how hard is it to email someone and say, thanks but no thanks, or you are number two or three on the list and we'll call you if something changes?  I have heard the word "no" many, many times.  It will not devastate me.  I will not go crazy on someone and start threatening to key their cars.  This goes for men too.  If one is no longer interested in seeing me, even a simple text of "Buzz off, I don't want to see you anymore" is better than just disappearing without a trace.  I am a writer.  I handle rejection very well.  I've been dumped by plenty of men. (See? This is why I'm done with relationships).   I've been rejected by all the jobs I've interviewed for in the past few months. I think my favorite rejection was from Durango.  They said, "We've decided to pursue one of our other options."  I appreciated them telling me that, but I still thought, "Wow, that's what all my boyfriends say when they break up with me."

Not really, since most of my boyfriends have just pulled that ghosting shit.

Hey, when I'm told to buzz off, I buzz off.  I'm not going to hang around bothering someone who clearly has no interest in being around me anymore.

All I ask is to please have the courtesy to tell the rejectee that you are rejecting them.  It really isn't that hard.  I remember when breaking up with someone over the phone was considered bad form and now I'm actually happy with at least a text or email that says "Get lost." When I called about adopting Tess all those years ago they told me upfront that she was probably already spoken for but they would call me if something changed and the original adoption fell through.  They called me the next day, and I appreciated that they basically told me not to get my hopes up. 

This is why I don't date anymore.  And I refuse to admit that I still have a sex drive.  And I definitely do not need another dog!  I'm still a glutton for punishment because I can't stop writing and sharing it with the world which guarantees rejection.

I was right the first time and the universe can go hang itself.

Looking Out into the Great Black Abyss

Somewhere along the way, my fearless, overconfident, full-of-herself German shepherd lost her confidence in going outside after dark.  This has been going on for two weeks now.  Since I got her eight years ago, she's been spending almost all of her days outside where she has a porch with a roof, tubs filled with water, a doghouse filled with straw, and a yard filled with interesting things to sniff and watch.  Her favorite thing to do in the summer is snap up wasps and flies.  I can tell it's been a good day when the porch floor is littered with the carcasses of yellow jackets.  This is not a habit I discourage my dog from doing.  She is free to destroy all the yellow jackets she wants.

Some days she sacks out full length on the porch and takes a nap.  Other times she sits on the porch and watches the cars go by, or growls at the crazy neighbor across the street while he putters around, hollering at his dog and just generally making a nuisance of himself.  She is free to glare at him and his customers all she wants.  Being a tattoo artist he has started attracting gutter trash as far as the next town, including several ex-boyfriends, and I don't mind it if Tess wants to sit and glare across the street and make everyone nervous.

Tess and the outdoors are old friends.  I consider her a house dog because she is in the house with me when I'm home and I keep her inside on days when the weather is particularly nasty, but for the most part she enjoys the outdoors.  There is a lot more for her to do and see when she's outside rather than being bored in the house while I'm at work.  Plus she absolutely adores her walks.  As soon as I put my sneakers on she starts doing the doggy happy dance and she's content to be outside all day, running and sniffing.

So what's her deal lately with going outside after dark?  In the past I would open the back door and she'd practically knock the screen out in her hurry to race out and down the steps of the porch to do her business.  She's just an active dog anyway so everything she does requires rushing so as not to miss anything.  These last couple of weeks I call her to go outside, usually around nine o'clock, and she'll race for the door until I open it.  Then she stands there, head lowered ears back, peering around my legs like she thinks the bogeyman is waiting for her out in the yard.  I encourage her to go out, she continues to stand there.  On several occasions she actually turned tail and ran away.

Very perplexing. 

At first I thought she was just being silly so I tossed her butt outside anyway and closed the door, expecting her to get over herself and go do her business.

Instead she crouched on the porch huddled against the door like something was out in the yard that might eat her if I didn't let her in as soon as possible.

I finally had to actually go outside with her, go down the stairs, and stand at the far end of the yard to show her that there was nothing scary in the yard.

Normally she follows me wherever I go.  I stood on the far end of the yard; she crouched on the porch and stared at me with big eyes.

You have got to be kidding me, dog.

For three nights I had to go outside with her, stand at the far end of the yard, call her to come to me, and then stand there and wait for her to pee.  Then the last couple of nights she went outside with  no problem, even after dark, and ran down the porch steps to do her business just like the days of old.  Apparently after witnessing me fling myself into the wild dark unknown and come back unscathed, she decided it was safe to attempt it on her own.

We have had no issues with this since.

I kind of feel like my dog in that respect. Somewhere along the way I lost my confidence. Confidence in my ability to do my job, confidence in my interactions with people, including dating, confidence in my writing.  I've developed fear.  Fear of the unknown.  I stand at the edge of what used to be my life, when I used to know what to expect and be content with that, and stare into the darkness frozen with fear because I have absolutely no idea what's going to happen next.  What will happen if I step out into that unknown darkness?  It used to be a familiar darkness.  We may not know exactly what will happen next every day of our lives, but most of us live a life where we can reasonably expect certain things to go a certain way.  I no longer have that certainty or that expectation.  What was once familiar is now the edge of a cliff and I'm afraid to step over it for fear of falling into something worse.  The alternative is more terrifying - staying frozen in this place for the rest of my life, needing to move forward out into the dark abyss of my backyard but too paralyzed to do it.  Tess doesn't want to go out by herself at night.  She needs me to go out first, cross the yard, and stand at the far end to prove to her that everything is fine and it's safe to pee.  I need a similar guide.  I need someone to walk ahead of me and assure me that everything is going to be okay; to stand at the far end of the yard and encourage me to keep coming because there is nothing to be afraid of.  We're all scared of something though.  The crippling loneliness is what scares me.  It's here in this place I am now if I remain frozen by the door, wishing I could move forward, and it's present should I choose to move forward into the unknown darkness because there is no one to go with me.

Will I lose my job due to economic downturn and budget cuts?

Will I publish my book and become a known author like I've always dreamed?

Will I ever find a kind, decent man to have a relationship with?

Will I recover from my issues, my depression, my anxiety?

What is my purpose in life?

Will I bridge the breaches between me and some friends - breaches I don't understand, breaches I wish never happened?

Will I be okay?  And how can I know?

Tess is different in one respect, though.  She trusts me and follows me blindly.  She is okay now and has no more trouble going out to the yard in the dark.  She had faith that I would lead her into safety even though she didn't know what might await us in the black abyss of my backyard after dark.

I do have someone like that myself.  There is trust and there is belief.  Now I just have to let go and have faith that He will lead me into safety just as I've led Tess.  She trusted me and believed me and she is fine.

Why can't I do the same?

Once again my dog is a wiser role model, someone whose example is worth following.  If she can find the courage to move forward, I should be able to do the same.

Kitten Fur for the Brokenhearted

Today's post is brought to you by my best friend, Candace Randall.  She has talked nonstop about her new kittens, so I finally told her to put a sock in it and write about it.


I am an animal lover.

My life is not whole without animals and I’m sure many of you can identify with my sentiment. As far back as I can remember I have almost always had one pet or another in my life, and then last Christmas my cat, Breyer, died and I’ve been heartbroken ever since. I have not had any pets in my house since Breyer passed away and a life without pets is very empty. One month after losing Breyer I decided that I was going to get my dream cat.  I’ve wanted a Bengal cat for over ten years, but I have not been able to justify the expense and I’ve always adopted rescue animals. During my search for a Bengal I contacted many different breeders until I found one I felt comfortable with.  This was not an easy decision for me and I wanted to make sure whoever I chose would be ethical and loving to their cats. After contacting this chosen breeder I was informed that all of his current kittens were already reserved, but he did have a second litter from his other queen that was due the end of February. I forced my husband to go with me to visit the cattery, view the current litter, and look over the breeding/show cats to make sure I was happy with my choice. My husband liked the idea of a Bengal, just not the idea of buying a cat.  He fell in love the moment he was able to see and touch one of the kittens, and while I did not plan it that way, I did have a good idea that if I managed to get him there he would decide we were getting a Bengal. 

 If you have never had the chance to pet a Bengal then you have no idea what you are missing out on. These cats feel completely different from any other breed of cat I’ve been around.  Their coats feel like silk.  The cats themselves are pure muscle and that is nothing compared to their personality! We put down a deposit on the litter that was due in February, and I excitedly and impatiently waited for the impending birth.

When the day finally came and the kittens were born, I saved pictures of the litter sent to me by the breeder and I showed anyone who was willing (or not so willing) to look! We waited until the kittens were four weeks old to pick one out, I had no idea which one to choose and my husband ended up picking out the kitten and he chose the perfect little guy! I never realized how much I needed animals around me until I no longer had one.  Visiting those kittens filled a hole in my heart. We got to visit the kittens on weekends as long as we set an appointment.  The breeder let us play with the whole litter and not just our kitten, but when we went to visit our little guy at five and a half weeks old it was like he already knew who his family was.  After playing for half an hour, that sweet little fur ball climbed up into my lap and promptly went to sleep in my hands. To say the least, I am in love with the little guy already, and if I could I would take the entire litter home.  Fortunately all of them are spoken for except for one little girl who managed to worm her way into the hearts of my husband and daughter.

She’s no longer available if you were wondering. 

These visits to the kittens bring so much happiness to me that I leave feeling like I’m on Cloud Nine. I don’t understand how anyone could live without the love of an animal.

Naming a pet can be serious business, and while we have not chosen the name for the little girl, my little boy finally found his name after much deliberation and hours of searching (all done by me, not the kitten). This adorable little boy is Malbec, and yes, that is also my favorite wine.  I’ve tasked my husband with naming Malbec’s sister since he seems to be so attached to her and hopefully he will have a name soon because I never know what to call her.

I still have over a month of waiting before our kittens get to come home.  To pass the time I’m buying toys and reading about training, I want to be well prepared for such a smart breed of cat so that our relationship starts out on the right foot (or paw). I still miss Breyer.  I know these kittens will never take her place, and my bond with them will not be exactly what I had with Breyer, but my pain gets better every day and I’m excited to have happy, energetic kittens in my house. I wonder what the kittens' personalities will be like as they grow up and become adults.  That’s one of the amazing things about raising a pet from a young age. One has the privilege of watching them come out of their shells and develop into furry family members who know us better than we know ourselves.

Relapses

One week away from my thirty-eighth birthday I've relapsed in all sense of the word, starting with my physical illness. My flu bug from a few weeks ago never really went away, but now the cough is getting worse. I spent Saturday night in a cough-medicine induced fog after rinsing out my sinuses because I was so exhausted from coughing, all I wanted to do was sleep.  

Of course the wedding I attended wiped me out as well. Weddings will do that.

Even twelve hours of sleep did little to cure this hacking from hell. Sunday morning I really thought I would hack myself unconscious. My chest sounded like a death rattle.  Things did not get better by Monday.  I am now convinced I either have bronchitis, pneumonia, or meningitis, depending on how bad the fever gets.  I should never Internet diagnose when I feel sad and hopeless. Soon I start dreaming up Dengue Fever or some shit like that. I had to leave work because my hair hurt and I sort of felt like I was moving through a mixture of water and jello.  It's sort of like being drunk except my skin hurts and I just want to peel it off and crawl out of it.

My negative thoughts are coming back as well, much as I try to suppress them. It hasn't been a great week. Some bad news at work, an interview in Colorado that really didn't go so well (to say nothing of the trip down there and back), and my friend with the sick rottweiler having to put her beloved friend to sleep all served to make up a truly sucky week. I try not to, but I'm always worried about work. I'm so tired of interviews, particularly interviews in Colorado, and getting rejected that if I have to make that drive down through Denver one more time I may just implode. I never like hearing about a friend losing her beloved pet. I know how my friend feels. On the heels of my Colorado friend losing her cat, this is just another in a long line of unfair life experiences that I don't understand. My friend here is a mess. Her rottweiler, Zulu, wasn't just a dog. He was her soulmate dog. Her best friend. And now she's berating herself for being so tore up about the loss of a dog and I'm trying to help her see that there is no shame in loving and grieving a special pet.

That doesn't make things easier.

Meanwhile I can't even scrape up the energy to pay enough attention to my pets, and that's where the negative thoughts creep in. I won't have them forever and I should be cherishing every moment, but instead I'm passed out on the couch, blankly staring at reruns of Law and Order: SVU.  Why obsess over something that hasn't happened yet and concentrate on happier times? But sometimes I just can't help it. I can't stop it. Tess is nine years old and she is slowing down. Not much, but definitely noticeable. Puckett kept me company the other morning, sneezing and coughing so that we sounded like a chorus  of influenza patients. Even Percy has started coughing and he has tested positive for a strain of coronovirus that could potentially kill him when he gets older. The vet just isn't sure. So far the only one who doesn't seem to be knocking at death's door is Willow.

I've been feeling so lousy that even my walks with Tess do little to cheer me up and usually running down the street singing with my dog will chase away even the darkest blues. Unfortunately I'm one of those people that once the dark thoughts catch up I get pulled under easily. My professional life seems to be falling apart around me. My personal life is doing no better. I've had several conversations and experiences lately that make me question if a good, decent, faithful man who is emotionally available and ready for a relationship even exists. I've had booty calls at three in the morning (of course I shot them down), listened to a friend complain about being propositioned by a married man (with two kids) and a man in a serious relationship (also with a kid), and listened to another friend tell me about at least three other acquaintances of his who have behaved unfaithfully towards their significant others. Then there were the two guys – acquaintances of mine – that I met at an open mic night. We were sitting around shooting the shit and both of them started hitting on me. One was married with three children and the other had a steady girlfriend that he had just finished telling me about and how awesome she is. I don't understand this. If she's so awesome why are you getting all up in my grill?

Clearly I am still attracting emotionally unavailable – and just unavailable – men.

Along with the booty calls, this is not flattering. I am not flattered or getting the shivering fits or becoming all twitterpated when attached men in serious relationships hit on me. This does not make me feel good about myself or hot and sexy. This makes me feel like some asshole just sees me as a potential piece on the side, and I have more respect for myself than to allow that to happen.

I feel the hopelessness and frustration start to set in and that only serves to piss me off. Then I get negative. So what do I do? I go to Petfinder.com because clearly I need another pet to make me feel better. I have found three potential new members of my family. One is a beautiful two year old male German shepherd at a shepherd rescue in Arizona. His profile said that he must go to a home with another dog because he loves other dogs; he gets along great with cats; but he should not go to a home with children. He sounds like he'd fit right in to my life. I have a coworker who is on the board of the Dog and Cat Shelter and also loves German shepherds. She feeds my addiction, always showing me new shepherd sites and letting me know about available dogs out there. She is a total enabler. Incidentally she also found me a puppy. The shepherd breeder here in town raises top-notch show quality shepherds, but she recently had a litter that sported a little blue female. The breeder requests a spay/neuter contract with anyone who agrees to buy this little guy because blue is not a registered color and is considered a fault. My coworker thought this puppy would be perfect for me. Female, purebred German shepherd who is guaranteed pet quality.

I'm not delusional enough to think I'm good enough for one of these breeder's puppies. As I said she raises top-notch dogs that go for search and rescue, police work, show, and other high quality activities. Cost for a puppy is more than three times my monthly mortgage. Even Tess is wasted on me. Her bloodline, personality, and intelligence would have made her an ideal drug dog. And there goes my negative self-talk. Rationally I know I'm a good candidate to own a German shepherd. I know the breed fairly well, I know how much work and exercise they need, and I know how to work with them. But my negative self-talk tells me if I were this breeder I wouldn't sell me a puppy because the dogs are so high maintenance and all I want is a pet.

That brings us to the last dog I found on Petfinder.com.  She was a beautiful two year old grey and white pit bull mix. She has the perfect face and her profile said she is housebroken, she loves other dogs and cats, and she should go to a home with no children. I thought it was fate. Then I noticed she was in Fort Collins.  I suppose I could have just swung through Fort Collins on my way home from last interview and picked her up.  Then I flu-relapsed and realized that wasn't such a good idea.

A sure sign this is not the dog for me because as I said before if I have to make the trip down to Colorado again I might just lost my marbles.

But I WANT her...

I sort of feel like a failure – with my job interviews, with finding a relationship, with even attracting decent men (or any men in general not attached to a woman lately), and with my pets. I've been feeling so lousy and coughing so much I can't even handle walking my dog for very long. Which means in my present state I am not a good candidate for a German shepherd puppy because they need three hours of walking time to drain their energy.

Also Tess has developed this ridiculous fear of the backyard at night.  I let her out at nine to go potty and she crouches on the porch next to the backdoor until I either go out to the backyard with her so she can pee, or I let her back in.  During the day this is not a problem.  I don't know what her deal is. She's probably just creating drama to get my attention since I've been living in a flu haze.  I don't blame her, poor dog.  She just wants everything to go back to normal.

Things will improve again just as they always do.  There is always a light at the end of the tunnel.  I made it through last year so this shouldn't be any harder.

Unless I have a debilitating disease I haven't yet learned about.  That would suck.

I am probably canceling my birthday party this weekend, though.  

Crazy Cat Lady

Who was it that told me the official number of Crazy Cat Lady status was five cats?

 I have three cats.

But I do live at the end of the block, by myself, and my last date was in August.  I was told that I'm safe of Crazy Cat Lady because I haven't made it to five cats yet, but in reality I'm an almost 38-year-old woman who lives alone literally at the end of the block (I actually live on the corner of two streets) with three cats and a dog.  Maybe I don't need two more cats.

 Maybe the dog makes up for two cats.

Maybe Puckett could count as two cats, thus giving me four cats and a dog and hitting the magic number of five.

Let's not ignore the fact that my three cats really couldn't care less if I added two more cats because they are so laid back (well, Willow isn't, but really she just follows what the other two cats do).  So if I did add two more cats, they would probably just fit right in.

I've tried Internet dating.  It actually serves to depress me more.  Honestly it's just a way to get ditched by perfect strangers rather than people you actually know.  I'm not sure which is worse.  I mean get to know me before you reject me, you know?

Okay so in fairness I may have posted a picture of the cats...

Most of my suitors in the past have told me that my three cats are rather disturbing.  One even said I have too many cats and I would be just fine if I got rid of Puckett and Willow and just kept Percy (to a guy Percy is the "cool one").  Of course, these are the same idiots who requested that should something happen to me, they should be the ones I'd leave Tess to (but not the cats).  Yeah, right. Tess is spoken for if something does happen to me, and the only person she will ever go to is the Cowboy.  Incidentally, he'd take the cats too if I asked him.  Any guy who is willing to take what they consider the "cool pets" and leave my others to languish on the vine has no business even considering a relationship with me.

The nerve of them.  Like I'd leave my dog to some douchebag.

To assume that Percy and Tess are the only ones of the four that matter is to not understand my heart. I love all my pets equally and none of them are more important than the others.  Puckett is my soulmate cat.  Willow is, well, Willow, and who are these jackasses to say I should get rid of any cat anyway?  These guys didn't offer me a diamond ring or a commitment.  Besides one cat - ONE - was planned.  The other two just sort of happened.  I'm a bleeding heart.  They are beyond my control.  I ended up with Puckett and Willow because I'm a sucker and the Dog and Cat Shelter knows it.  They are trained for it.  They see one coming a mile away and start gathering up cats that have been at the shelter too long to unload on one such as me.  Would these guys ask me to unload two extra kids if I had three children?

Only someone headed towards Crazy Cat Lady status would compare cats to kids.  I realize rationally that it is not the same thing, but I've never had kids.  I love my cats even if I periodically want to murder them (not really).  Requesting that I unload one or two is just a douchey thing to do.

It's not that I wouldn't like to find someone. I date.  When someone shows an interest and asks me. I mean, I gave the twenty-three-year-old from last summer a chance, mostly because he was cute and didn't think there was something completely wrong with me when I invited him to go see the Minions movie. I was on eHarmony and the two most eligible guys I "met" were a really great-looking guy who NEVER stopped moving and lived in San Diego (that's a little far), and a sweet person who identified as gender fluid, wore white capris to work, and told me I had too many issues to date.  I'm still not sure exactly what gender fluid is, and if one is gender fluid does it matter if the person they date is male or female?

Anyway...

Clearly I am doing something wrong, at least according to all the relationship blogs I read as well as the fact that all of my exes ran screaming from me without really giving me a reason why.  According to Evan Marc Katz (ha ha, very funny, even my favorite relationship blogger is a Katz), if you are a serial monogamist who keeps attracting morons, the common denominator is you.  He's not wrong about that.  None of my exes have anything in common.  They don't even have similar physical builds.  I've dated a sociopath (I'm not kidding - totally textbook), a drug dealer, a couple of ranch cowboys (including the Cowboy), an Adonis-looking firefighter with zero personality, and a Luke Skywalker/Harry Potter looking dork with conservative roots. To say nothing of the chameleon who now thinks he's a Harley guy and rides around town with a scraggly beard down to his chest and a leather jacket that says "Lone Wolf" on the back (talk about your red flags).  After much self-reflection I've realized the only thing they all have in common is their emotional unavailability, and since like attracts like, imagine my dismay and horror when I realized that I'm the one who is actually emotionally unavailable.  The dating blogs are always quick to point out everything one is doing wrong and yes, I guess I am emotionally unavailable though that is one more thing I'm trying to work on.  What nobody tells you is how to fix it.  "Yes, you are an emotionally unavailable nightmare thus your perpetual attraction to morons, but unless you put in your credit card information so we can charge you $400, we're not going to tell you how to fix that."

Don't get me wrong, I like Evan Katz. He's smart and insightful.   I just can't afford him.

Turns out it's really hard to be emotionally available when one really has no idea how to do it with humans.  The animals are no problem, thus the dangerously close to Crazy Cat Lady status.  Also, as much as some of us would like to think it, men really aren't dogs and dog training techniques don't really work on them.  Believe me, I've tried.  My dog thinks I'm the best thing since doggy treats.  For some reason men just don't share her opinion.  Again according to Evan Katz, men want to be with women who make them feel good.  My dog feels good around me.  Especially when I take her for walks and give her doggy treats.  Men apparently do not feel good around me, most likely because I'm emotionally unavailable.  If I'm emotionally unavailable but don't know how to fix it, the only men I'm attracting are emotionally unavailable men, and of course my emotional unavailability doesn't make them feel good about themselves because I'm always feeling insecure about their emotional unavailability.

And round and round we go...

Cats are infinitely easier.