Terribly excited doesn’t begin to describe how I felt about the prospect of cat-sitting. Ever since we had to put my cat to sleep three years ago, I’ve missed having a cat to love and coddle and care for. Therefore, this temporary companionship seemed ideal! A few days of animalistic company in a grand and fabulous apartment all to myself—it sounded almost like a vacation.
Unfortunately, as with most experiences I allow myself to eagerly anticipate, this one has not turned out to be nearly as ideal as I had hoped. On one hand the apartment is more than I could ever ask for. I am trying to soak up the amount of space I am living in right now and memorize it in the pores of my body, because the freedom and relaxation I feel in it is exponentially greater than what I feel when I will return “home” to my own tiny shared living space. Everything matches, everything is comfortable and clean--it is simply a beautiful place to live.
The pets, however, are another story. The outdoor cat, Buddy, seems to have all but vanished since the day his owner, D___, left for New Orleans. The only evidence of his phantom presence is his empty food bowl, which I fill each morning.
The other cat, Dixie, doesn’t just ignore or avoid me, as some antisocial cats would; she actively hates me. Truly, I have never been hissed or growled at as much as I have by this cat. I don’t know if I have done something specific to offend her or if she merely misses D___ and I am the only one around upon whom she can vent her frustration, but I imagine that if cats could talk, this is what Dixie would say:
Who’s this b*tch, thinks she can just waltz in here and invade my space? That’s D__’s couch there, you hussy! Get off that! Oh my god, do not get in his bed! Oh no she didn’t! Well ain’t nobody makin’ me sleep with that. I’ll just stay right here and check that she don’t wreck nothin’ else. She already jacked up our kitchen. How can’t she be knowin’ where anything go? How long do it take to find a lid cabinet?
I soooo wish she would’ve fallen off the counter tryin’ to put that double-boiler back up on the high shelf. I woulda been rollin’. Of course, then nobody woulda been ‘round to serve me my food next morning. But I know D__ woulda got his a** back here. I don’t understand why he left her here, anyways. She smells weird. Plus, she’s so freakin’ rude. She act like I’m tryin’ have a conversation with her—ha! D__’s way more fun; he does meowing and everythin’. It’s a hoot. She’s so d*mn serious all the time. Talk to them humans like that, b*tch. I ain’t havin’ it. Just gimme some treats, and none’a them purple bag ones, neither.