If I hold up my hand and do nothing more than apply enough resistance so that he can't push it out of the way, Moses will rub his face and his ears and his chin and the top of his head allllll over it because my cat has figured out HOW TO PET HIMSELF.
That's it. I'm thinking about going ahead and legally changing my name. To "Ma'am." Since this is now what I seem to officially be known by wherever I go. Gone are the carefree days of "miss" – replaced instead by, "Thank you, ma'am" and "Have a nice day, ma'am" and "Be careful, ma'am – your bones must be totally brittle by now!" (And to that 20-year-old checker at the Albertsons I frequent? No, I am NOT so elderly that I need you to help me out to my car with my one box of ten Hefty Cinch Saks. But thank you.)
The thing is, I don't feel like a "ma'am." I actually feel the same inside as I did when I was 12. This is probably made that much more prominent by the fact I've never had any children of my own and haven't yet been married. So besides that "career" thing I've acquired along the way and how I now live across town from my parents instead of with them...well, not much about me seems to have changed. I still dream of the same things I always did, am still afraid of the same things I've always been afraid of and still wonder what exactly I'm destined to become in this world. I don't expect any of these things will ever change...even when my journey here is almost done. But I like this: It's the way I've managed to never lose sight of myself over the past few years even as so many things around me have become various levels of unrecognizable.
So honestly. Can we have a new rule? Pretty please? I'm thinking along the lines of how various establishments post signs that they'll card you if they think you look anywhere under the age of 30. (And, NO this doesn't happen to me much these days as apparently I'm looking more and more like your grandma every moment.) There needs to be another rule – a companion rule, if you will – where you will call me "miss" as long as I look anywhere under the age of 50. Or maybe 90. Because really. Would it kill you??
So this is Moses, the other man in my life. I mean what a looker, right?? (It's sad, really, when your cat is so much better looking than you are.) Moses is the gift I gave myself this past Christmas when I knew the demands of the holiday season were going to deplete the emotional reserves in me that were already pretty close to empty. (Another Christmas in my current situation? Really?) I needed to put some productive energy out into the universe and be about someone other than myself. Because me? Is so sick of me. Coincidentally, Moses needed someone to be all about him, so the rest was a Petfinder.com match made in heaven.
Beyond the obvious – The captivating blue eyes? The way we both think I'm great? – we have a lot of other things in common, too. We're each homebodies, we tend to be a little hermit-like and, frankly, we'd both probably rather be taking a nap. We also each shed enough hair to significantly clog all the drains of a medium-sized country, with enough left over for that guy on Project Runway to make a dress or two. (Hair clothes? Uh, no.) In addition, Moses has overcome a lot of challenges in his life, and I'm currently trying to do the same.
The impact he had on me was immediate. Sleeping in – ever – just wasn't an option anymore since Moses is diabetic and needs an insulin shot first thing every morning (and then 12 hours later at night). I'm a person who loved to sleep in. LOVED it. I loved Sleeping In so much I wanted to marry it and have its babies. But alas, I've dumped Sleeping In's useless ass for Moses and never once looked back.
But besides the hours he's given me back in me day...oh, and the dollars he's taken out of my wallet! – Insulin! Syringes! Ringworm! Teeth extraction surgery! Antibiotics! Upper Respiratory Infection! Special Diet! BG Curves! Fructosamine Tests! Hey, am I a vet yet?! – Moses has graced me with so much more that can't be measured in minutes or money: a port in the storm, sanity in my chaos, love in my despair, the reassuring knowledge that something else in the universe depends on me. You know, besides the Starbucks chain, whose profit margins would plummet without me. No, really. They would.
You can't get this kind of healing from the pharmacy.
(Click on the image to go to Scotchland and visit Mr. Farty's blog!)
For The Four-Leggers
Fine purveyors of Moses The Cat and now also Gus The Cat!
You read. You comment. YOU MAKE ME LOVE YOU
(I totally ripped off this "quoting comments" idea from Mr. Farty. Because ripping off is the sincerest form of flattery.)
Bossy: "One cannot Photoshop enough hats, in Bossy's humble opinion."
Buzz "Reading your blog has, in my mind, you sounding like a 19 year old who's had twelve gallons of sugar and is talking to her best friend on the phone at 5am on day three of a "how long can I stay awake" drive. Really. It's a compliment, though."
Chris: "I'm pretty sure I'm ALMOST drunk (but not quite)."
Debra: "I am so honored to be added to the Cast. It's like seeing your name in lights on Broadway...or on the wall of the Post Office."
dsbs42 "Because, if this blog has taught me anything, it's that animal waste is a great topic for a post."
Issa: "What I love about coming here, is that it takes me five minutes to read through your post and fifteen to find the comments box in all of your tags."
Laurie: "The toilets in my husband's building did start exploding one day...no one was hurt or turned into a zombie."
Lisa: "I am confused. Are you saying that someone is going to whip the boner to stimulate his package?"
Maggie "I totally hate you and your blog. But only in bizarro opposite land."
mayopie "I didn't even know they had boob scientists. I really should have applied myself more."
Mo: "I want that mug, damn it. Why can't I order it? Your customer service sucks around here."
Mr. Farty: "Sorry I'm late here, I was reading the Bloggess instead."
Ryan: "Although weird, difficult to follow and easy to lose track of, I still can't stop reading your posts. It's like watching a very, very slow motion car crash."
Steph "I vote for microfiche solely because it's fun to say. And because it'll confuse my children what with them being all used to Google and whatnot. Basically, I want to be able to kick their asses at research. Whippersnappers."
The Bloggess "I would so vote for you for best host if you would pour me some damn booze already."
XUP: "This blog is always like a happy mushroom trip. I always need a big helping of carbs afterwards to help me come down."