Here in Katie’s Head

My cat is dying.

The doctor can’t quite figure out what’s wrong, but her kidneys aren’t working right. She’s not herself lately. She’s so skinny and tired all the time. And he doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to make it.

I remember her first night with us, almost seven years ago.

A couple neighborhood girls had found a tiny, gray kitten, still too small to be away from her mother. They wanted to keep her, but their dad wouldn’t let them. They knocked on all the doors in the neighborhood, asking if someone would take the kitten, knowing if they just left her all alone without someone to care for her, she could die. Finally their dad pulled up in his car, telling them it was late and they needed to come home–without the cat. Mom was out gardening in the front yard. She saw the girls crying. She told them she’d take it.

It was the first week of July, almost Caroline’s 7th birthday. Caroline had been saying that what she really wanted was a new kitty. But it was late enough in the evening that Caroline was already fast asleep, so Mom brought the cat to me. She clung to me, scared. She curled up in the tiniest little ball right next to me in my bed. I didn’t sleep all night, afraid that I’d roll over and squish her.

I wanted to name her Feather, because she was so tiny and light. She still is. Of course, Caroline wanted to name her.

And so she was named Cece, and although she was supposed to be Caroline’s cat, she always favored me.

Since I started having to force her to take her pills twice a day, she’s been less in love with me.

Posted: 10:48 am · Category: Memories · Comments: 5

Yesterday, my mother and sisters came home from the DAV with an exercise bike.

I found myself bored and decided, “Hey, I’ve never really worked out before. Why not try it?” and set a goal of riding for 20 minutes. Just 1/3 of an hour. How bad can that be?

So I sat down and immediately noticed that the seat is not at all comfortable. Quite sharp, actually. But for some STUPID reason I kept going.

After two minutes, the arthritis in my knees was getting sharper and I wanted to quit because it was boring and it seemed like I’d been going for a lot longer than two minutes.

After three minutes, I was looking at my watch every 10 seconds, but still going, trying to be cheerful about it.

After ten minutes, I was getting sweaty. I’m not too keen on sweat. That why I hate summer.

After thirteen minutes, my legs hurt and I wanted to quit.

After fifteen minutes, I was getting tired and I really wanted to quit.

After eighteen minutes, I was sure I was going to just pass out and fall off the bike, but decided that was just one of my overly dramatic delusions, so I kept going. Oh, and I sped up. Like that would make time pass quicker or something. Ha!

And at twenty minutes, I quit, precisely on the second. Caroline gave me a high five and I stumbled over to my desk.

Later that night, I found that my leg muscles were being retarded and making it challenging to maintain my balance while walking down the stairs. Very amusing.

And this morning I woke up and GODDAMN MY ASS HURTS! That stupid pointy seat’s pointy fucking ridges have bruised my poor little butt.

So I bitched and moaned all day, as that is my most special talent.

Okay, half of the bitching and moaning was because my arthritis is mysteriously acting up. Mom’s is too, so I can’t blame it on that stupid bike.

My point: Exercise is stupid. No, that’s not entirely true. Katie trying to exercise is incredibly stupid. I like my body fat and puny muscles. I don’t know what came over me yesterday.

Although if I get bored tomorrow, I suspect I’ll do it all over again.

Posted: 12:19 am · Category: Rants · Comments: 9

This is, like, the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.

Possibly because I love those little buttons. But you knew that already.

Posted: 2:41 pm · Category: Links · Comments: None

After 19.5 [as today is my half birthday] years of study, I have concluded that the local squirrels have actually developed organized religion.

As with many squirrels, they prefer to use trafficways far off the ground, mainly trees and powerlines. Powerlines allow them to travel great distances while remaining safe from predators and cars. And such is their gratitude for this mode of transportation that they have ritual sacrifices to honor it. Each year, in late spring/early summer, a chosen squirrel dies by chewing through the protective layer on the wires near the transformer box in our backyard. I don’t think they know that this temporarily cuts off power to my house and a few of our neighbors, but power is usually quickly restored [today it was only out for 20 minutes].

Today my thoughts are with that noble squirrel who gave his life to honor the Squirrel Way of Life. He is very brave. And very fried.

Posted: 11:56 am · Category: Silly Things · Comments: 2

Poll: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

I seem to have a large number of friends who do. I don’t mind it so much when it’s just a gentle hint of it when I’m riding my moped and stop at a stoplight. But when I somehow manage to get it on me while filling up at the gas station and end up REEKING OF GASOLINE for the rest of the day…man, I hate that.

Maybe I should just take a shower. Hmm.

Posted: 1:41 pm · Category: Random · Comments: 8

As a college student, I am witness to a good deal of social/political protesting.

And yet, I notice very little progress being made. I think it’s something to do with their methods.

My cat, however, is the cleverest protester ever.

If she feels she is being oppressed, she becomes the squeaky wheel. She cries, cries, cries, and cries more until she is granted the freedoms she desires.

If she feels her health care is inadequate, she mores from verbal to physical means of protests. She spreads a thin dusting of kitty litter all over the carpet throughout the house. How the hell she does this, I have no idea. I’ve never seen her in action, but the results are quite impressive–and persuasive.

And if she feels that her litterbox is not cleaned regularly enough, she goes for the most effective technique ever. She shits in your bed. Can’t argue with that one.

Posted: 2:40 pm · Category: Silly Things · Comments: None

Today I, as the only person home during the day, got to take the cat to the vet. She’s prone to bladder infections, so I got to take her in to get some kitty drugs. Of course kitty drugs are pretty much the same as people drugs. In fact, they gave her amoxicillin, which I am alergic to. I wondered if she might be too, then realized, oh, she’s not really related to me. Sigh.

I like going to our vet. His office is about three blocks from our house, right on the way to the elementary school I went to. In fact, he has a son a year older than me who went to that school too. The neighborhood kids and I would often stop by on our way to school in the mornings. He gave us hot cocoa and let us look at the dogs and cats that were staying overnight in the back and told us about the operations they were having.

He had really good hot cocoa mix.

And of course he still remembers me. I wonder if he remembers my wild and crazy hair, circa 1993, and backwards baseball cap and propensity towards cheating at shadow tag. Because, god, I wish I didn’t.

Oh, my cat’s going to be okay. He said her urine concentration was off the charts and did have a little blood, but he switched her from liquid amoxicillin to pills, so I can medicate her singlehandedly without getting pink liquid all over the kitchen and down the hallway.

Which has happened several times in the past week. For which the cat always apologizes for later. She’s a good cat.

Posted: 12:06 pm · Category: Memories · Comments: 1