Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Attempted Murder by Coconut, or My Cat Pees on the Carpet

My cat, Coconut, needs to go to the veterinarian. Like, in a serious way. She needs to go to the vet like I need to clean out my refrigerator (I just found relish yesterday that expired two years ago). Basically the vet situation is just like the fridge, it's not going to be fun while it's happening, but afterward, everyone's healthier and things smell better.
Coco looks innocent now, but trust me, she's not.

Coconut, also known as "Kitty" and "Coco," has started peeing on the floor.

It started with her peeing in the bathtub, which was super weird and unpleasant, but at least I could run the hot water for a while and feel like it was sanitized. Then, she started peeing right next to the litter box. Why couldn't she just step in? I mean, it's right there. We kept the litter scooped, so that wasn't it.

Now, the carpet. It's a big problem. I have a section of my living room floor that is now carpeted with aluminum foil, because I read online that the cat won't step on the foil because it's so unpleasant. So the pee spot is now the foil spot.

This morning, Coco had an appointment at the vet to see why she's peeing in the house now, after years of being a part of this family, and to also see why her eyes are weird, which they are. I got out my kitty transport box, picked up my obese cat, and tried to shut her in. It did not work.

After capturing her a second time, fairly easily actually, she escaped the box again. I caught her once more, and for convenience and ease of confinement, put her in the dog's much, much larger crate.

This cat became possessed by the devil. It ran in circles, bouncing and clanging against the metal crate, making crazy cat sounds that made my hair stand up... I. Was. Terrified.

I mean, cats are crazy! You can't reason with them like you can a dog or children or men! They just do whatever they want! And with that unpredictability, and those teeth and nails, that animal could literally kill me!


It took what felt like minutes but was undoubtedly ten seconds for me to be able to open the door of the crate with my foot and jump back to avoid getting my hand ripped off by the psycho cat. The door to the metal crate was open, but she didn't realize it yet. She continued to howl like a monster in a horror movie and throw her body against the sides. Then she finally escaped and ran to hide under the bed for the next six hours.

My phone call to the vet sounded like this:
"Hi, this is Lindsey, and I need to cancel my appointment this morning because my cat tried to kill me."

I'm pretty sure she's going to pee on the carpet tonight as restitution for the crate thing. And I promise, my heart was pounding so hard after seeing her possession by the devil that I could have even been killed by heart attack if not by her claws.  I can't wait to reschedule for a time my fiance can box her up.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Flowy Tops

Last Thursday, I got asked by two separate strangers at work WHEN I WAS DUE. As in, you obviously look pregnant, so I should ask about it. Please note, I am most certainly not pregnant.

I was wearing a top that was a bit flowy, but have worn it many times and have never been asked this. And frankly I don't think I looked pregnant at all.

I've been quite disturbed about it. I dealt with my sorrow and shame with a half (3/4) bottle of wine.

If any readers don't know me or haven't seen me in a while, I'm 5'6" and weigh about 145 lbs. I'm not obese, though I am working to lose ten pounds.

The best part is when the second stranger asked me, upon my rejection of the whole "pregnant" assumption, if I was getting enough sleep or have had my thyroid checked. Really? You just wrongly assumed I was expecting; perhaps you should just be quiet now.

Today I listened to the podcast of This American Life (google it and listen free online) and the opening story was an interview with a girl from the tv show, "I didn't know I was pregnant." She was asked if anyone ever suggested to her that she might be with child. She answered no, because of course no woman would ever point out to another that they've added some bulk around the waist line. The host closed sarcastically by saying, "If you take one thing away from our program, please let it be to always, always ask a woman who has gained weight if she is pregnant." It was a joke, people. Don't actually do that.

Yes, maybe by not asking, some poor lady will have a baby in her toilet. But you might also cause an otherwise sane young woman to cry at work and drink 3/4 of a bottle of wine. And throw away all her comfy tops.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

I am having a simple wedding. So that it isn't stressful. But tonight I cried over a guest book.

Maybe it was making the wedding list this week that started it. For a tiny wedding with not much to plan compared to most weddings...my to-do list is a page and a half long. PAGE AND A HALF. Of items that need completed. It made me anxious.

In an attempt to check an item off, Matt and I decided on a photo guest book, because I thought I could just plug in some pics, hit "check out" and be done with it.

Four hours later, I cried. Nothing worked right, and either my computer or shutterfly, or both, hates me.

It's done, but by the end, I hate guest books, my computer, and shutterfly. And shall never make a photo book again.