Monday, January 21, 2008

A Sensitive Subject: A Truly Serious Post.

It seems odd for me to be writing about this subject today. It is something I have never blogged about, and yet I am not one to ever shrink from a taboo subject. Yet, somehow, in this space, this blog, it seems a bit out of place. Yet, something must be said, and I feel I must be the one to do it.

I need to express my utter disappointment, frustration and general hard feelings about the NY Giants/Green Bay Packers game last night. What the heck??? Who do these NY Giants think they are? "Ooooh, I'm Eli Manning, I'm so fancy, I have a brother in the NFL...ooohhh!!" WHO CARES?? Don't you know that my dream this post-season was to see Brett Favre take on the 19-0 Patriots in the Super Bowl & defeat them in a neck-in-neck game, giving them their only loss this season and securing his place as the greatest man alive, on his way out of this glorious game, for this glorious team? Didn't they know that??? How could they win?? Those JERKS!!

My dreams for a wonderful Green Bay Packers Super Bowl party are crushed. My plans for dressing up in all green & yellow, painting my face and eating cheese and drinking beer & eating sausage and wearing a big green parka, and acting like a Green Bay fool - all dashed upon the rocks in a bloody, tear-stained mess. All of it, just ruined. I could cry. Brett Favre. In the Super Bowl. It's been 12 years since the Packers went to the Super Bowl. 12 years. Cut them some slack! It was -23 out there at Lambeau yesterday - don't those men DESERVE to go to Arizona just based on temperature??

I am so disappointed. So crushed. So saddened. And so willing to take on anyone who challenges this post with anything about the Vikings, or the Giants, because, oh yeah, I will! I don't want to hear it about the Giants, or any other team. Keep your comments to yourself, unless they are wonderful sweet praises for the team of teams, the Green Bay Packers! Then, you can write all you want.

So, that being said - here's what else shaped my weekend. I had no heat in my apartment all weekend. That was fun. I started working on a puzzle. That actually was fun. Saw the UCE - realized it's over - kind of saddened. Talked to my favorite chipmunk, Kaya and understood only about, hmmm, maybe four words she said. Held my favorite baby, Salad and watched football with him (actually he slept, content in my arms, but I imagined we were bonding over the Patriots win). Realized I hate my cats, as they pooped all over everything I own.

Oh, yeah, this is a different story altogether. Henry, that little freaking, furry little freak of nature, he pooped on yet another rug. I hate him. I hate his poop. Why does he poop everywhere? Why? Until this weekend it was only my suspicion that he was the pooper between the two. Nigel keeps to himself, he isn't an attention whore, like Henry. I knew, deep down, he couldn't be the pooper.

Then, Saturday night I arrived home, from a long day at work & running errands, to the coldest apartment ever. I plugged in my space heater, sat down to eat my salad (dinner) and realized, oh, I haven't fed the cats. So, I got up, and in a burst of generosity, decided to give them wet food, along with their daily dry food. Aren't I kind?

So, I put out a little bowl of some smelly tuna weird thing that cats eat. And like the attention craving little man-whore that he is, Henry pushed Nigel out of the way and proceeded to devour the whole bowl, in like two breaths.

A few minutes later, I saw him sniffing over near the litter box, but instead of going in, he was sniffing around near where I have the scooper/sifter thing. I kind of watched him, knowing his devious, oddball ways, and curious as to what he was going to do. All of a sudden, he squats down, and before I knew what he was doing, he let out the most ginormous, disgusting, smelly, foul cat fart I'd ever witnessed (actually, it's the only cat fart I've ever witnessed, but that does not diminish it's unprecedented grotesqueness).

I realized, OMG, he's about to poop, so I hurried and found my squirt gun/cat trainer and begin to yell "No Henry No!" and squirt him mercilessly with the, I must imagine, cold water, right in the kisser! He didn't stop, and I could tell he was ready & determined to just drop one right there, so I yelled again "NO HENRY NOOOO!!!!" and I stomped my foot on the ground, and squirted him simultaneously, which frightened him out of his anus-relieving ways, and caused him to run off into the living room, while I stood there disgusted and confused.

Sidenote: Urgh, at this point, I'm just at a loss, as to how to proceed with this foul, gassy, beast. I really am not a cat person, really I'm not. Why is it that a dog can fart, and somehow it's hilarious, and totally apropos, because that's what dogs do? But cats? There's like, a higher standard there somehow. Totally unfair, yes, I realize. But present nonetheless.

Anyway, at this point, I reached for my brand-new can of Lysol Air Freshener and sprayed the heck out of the kitty litter area, and then went back to the living room, trying to put the image out of my mind. I sat down, and just as I did, my mom called. So, of course I answered the phone, and began to relate to her this disgusting tale of pet ownership.

As I'm pacing the living room, salad yet untouched, carrying on about how gross Henry can be, I look over in the corner, to where he has wadded up my favorite rug into a ball, and is standing atop it, dancing. I watch him, amused, as my mom talks, listening to her relate stories of my silly nephew, while eyeing Henry's strange ritual. He stands atop the mounded rug and as he stands there, he moves his front paws in a sweeping motion back towards his body, exactly one time each paw. Then he rotates about a quarter turn and repeats this strange dance. He keeps doing this, and I wonder just what he's up to. Is there catnip on that rug, that he's pawing at? Is it his favorite sleeping spot and he's trying to adjust it? Hmmm, what curious behavior.

So I step in a bit closer, and as I do, the stench of tuna laden cat poop hits my nose like napalm in the morning. But even before my mind had the opportunity to process the situation (smell of poop=poop), I see it. A big, gross, painful to look at, even worse to smell, cat turd. On my favorite rug. Right in the middle of it, matter of fact. I look over at Henry, as he nonchalantly continues his ritualistic little pagan cat dance. He is totally unaware that I am watching him, much less that what he has done is wrong, completely, utterly, in every single way wrong!

Another sidenote: When I agreed to take these cats, I specifically asked their previous guardian if they were housebroken, or if they foresaw any weird poop incidents. I was assured that no, they had never pooped in weird locations before, and were very much housebroken. I'm sure that this person was stating the truth, as was best known to her, since they actually weren't her cats, but an aunts. Still, in my own defense, I inquired about the poop factor. I tried to find out before I took them, and yes, it would've made a difference in my choice.

Back to the poop incident. At this point, my jaw dropped wide open (in part to breathe through my mouth in an effort to not be ill, and because I was just in shock at the blatant disregard for litter box etiquette). I stood there, listening to my mom yapping on and on, and was just speechless. Then, rising up within me, like a hurricane force coming out of nowhere, like a swarm of angry bees ascending from their hive-prison, this yell escaped my throat "HENRY NOOOOOOO!!!!!". Which barely caught his sleepy-eyed, dumb-cat attention.

Sidenote: Back to the whole dog/cat thing. Dogs are supposed to be kind of stupid. That's what makes them charming, and lovable, and doglike. Aren't cats supposed to be smart? What about those Siamese cats from Lady & The Tramp? They weren't just intelligent, they were downright manipulative. Cat's aren't supposed to be stupid, yet I swear, as Henry looked up at me, he had the blank look of a stoner. I swear I could see right into the open, vapid void of his head, and it was EMPTY!

Not knowing what more I could do to prevent further cat-astrophe, and being a day late & a dollar short, I just swatted him away from the rug-poop mess, and groaned to myself, which barely elicited a response from my mom, who was still chattering away. Afraid that Henry might continue to poop randomly around the house and yet having nowhere to lock him up, I just stared at him, and tried to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes.

Here's the thing - I want to love my cat. With the same earnestness that I wanted the Packers to win, I want to love my cat, and be a good owner to him. I want to be able to love on this little creature that God has entrusted to me. But I find it really hard to not want to through him out on the highway when he poops on everything (this IS rug #3), or when he doesn't leave his bad pooping ways behind and immediately seeks affection in the wake of his pooping. As I'm writing this, it should be noted, the song on the radio is James Taylor (geek alert - I LOVE James Taylor!!) crooning in his oh-so-soothing voice about showering the people you love with love. But he said people. People, not cats.

How do you love something that, unwittingly, unknowingly, and yet just as irritatingly, poops all over. It's not Henry's fault, and all that jazz...blah, blah, blah. I know that. I know he doesn't know what he's doing, and that he's probably just reacting to blah, blah, blah. Just like with the Packers loss, I don't want to hear all the PETA supporting reasons that anyone might spout off. I know that they're probably right, but I just don't want to hear it. All I want to hear right about now is "Oh, Trin, it's a sad, sad day when the Packers lose & your cat poops on your rug". You hearin' me?

Anyways, for those of you with a weaker stomach than my own, I apologize (thank your lucky stars you weren't there, whooooeee baby!). On to bigger, better things.

My car battery is dead this afternoon. I left on my lights this morning accidentally. So, I'm asking God for forgiveness for my ill will towards my cat right about now, and hoping He'll heal my battery with a quick and easy jump. Please God! No matter how hard I try, the warped theology of "If I am good, God will bless me" lingers despite knowledge of the truth. As does the equally erroneous "I must've done something bad, because it feels like God is punishing me through the cat poop/Packers loss/dead car battery".

I can be ignorant, and ask "where do these lies come from?" or I can just acknowledge that the enemy easily tricks our feeble, pragmatic minds with what seems like simple logic. Tit for tat. Grace is anything but feeble or pragmatic - the beauty that lies at it's core is that it is mysterious, mystical and unfathomable, and that without reciprocation or equity of any kind, we can partake in goodness, forgiveness and blessings. That makes no sense to me most of the time, and yet I know I can recognize it when I see it. After all, maybe it is God's grace that my car battery died this morning, since one of our accountants just got back from lunch and said he saw three accidents amidst the slippery, slick road conditions.

Well, that's all for today folks. It's a lot, but there it is. Before I go, let me just say how thrilled I am that new readers are coming to this blog everyday. I try to make it enjoyable, and keep the posts interesting, quirky (noo!), uplifting and honest. I'm anything if not too forthright, so forgive me if sometimes it's mildly offensive....anyone who knows me personally knows my penchant for being mildly offensive (Dennis Leary & Sarah Silverman being two of my my "Guilty Pleasure" comedic heroes), though I do try to keep it in check. And thanks for everyone's comments too. Keep 'em coming, I read them all, publish the ones that aren't death threats, and try to take seriously the suggestions. Till later, that's all folks!

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