Life After Cats

Sister #4 is in Las Vegas for our cousin Lisa’s wedding. I’m here at Supergenius HQ with her two cats. It’s been just over a month since Paco died and I’m kinda surprised by how quickly I had acclimated to life without cats. It’s nice having Pugsley & Mabel here, but at the same time I’m all “damn cats leave my stuff alone!”

People keep asking me in hushed, timid tones if I’m going to get another cat. It’s a simple yes/no question and yet every time someone asks me I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know. Maybe. Right now I don’t feel the desire to have another cat, though sometimes I do look at pictures of adorable kittens who look just like Paco and Madison did as babies and in that moment I want all the cute kittens. Then I remember the reason kittens are so cute is that they’re total assholes and it’s that cuteness that keeps you from not murdering them 800 times a day when they’re climbing the curtains for the 29th time.

The idea of bringing a new cat into my house seems weird to me, which probably means I’m not ready. Just having Pugsley & Mabel here is weird. I feel an odd urge to make sure they stay out of Paco’s spots, even thought neither cat had shown any desire to lay in his place. There is probably still some low-level grief sticking around this joint.

A few weeks ago BFK, who has two cats and two dogs (and two children while I’m listing stuff), asked what I do now that I don’t have any pets. She wanted to know who I talk to.

“Well, I sing a lot more now,” I said. “I talk to the tree [a Meyer lemon tree Sister #3 got me for my birthday last year], to myself, to the Internet. I’m pretty sure some sort of murdering rapist has broken into my house in a daily basis because of a random noise I heard upstairs.”

My reluctance in getting another pet makes me feel a little bit like a heartless monster. Like what kind of weirdo wants to live all alone without any form of companion? Probably a serial-killer in training or a bitter spinster aunt really coming into her bitter spinsterhood.

I’m sure I’ll change my mind at some point, but until then the tree and the music seem to be enough.

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2 Comments

  1. Susanna 13.Jun.17 at 11:06 am

    Aww … when our last dog died, it was so quiet. Too quiet. Then it was nice — FREEDOM! SWEET FREEDOM! Then it was too quiet again. We fostered an asshole puppy who veered around our late dog’s bed, and that was not the dog for us. Then we got our real puppy, who sniffed our late dog’s bed and snuggled down in it, and that was the right dog, for my husband and daughter, especially. Me, I like a more neurotic dog, so I had to add one more.

    Reply
    1. Jodi 13.Jun.17 at 11:08 am

      I can see that. If/when I get a new cat there will be two of them for sure. I do worry a bit about getting the wrong one. I suppose I’ll know when I know.

      Reply

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