Bangs!

There are a few things in this world that make me nervous (cats, the ocean, my first grade teacher, teenage girls, giant cows-particularly those that jump out at you when you’re on a peaceful bike-ride along the river, Jurassic Park …and the list goes on). However, I have found that sometimes my greatest joys have been in overcoming my nerves and, if not embracing them, at least confronting them. I live with a cat. I ride my bike when I’m home in Idaho despite the fact that a monstrous creature may suddenly pop out at me any second. I watched Jurassic Park for the first time in years the other day and although I almost peed my pants, I made it through the whole thing. As for my first grade teacher, she’ll always make me nervous…

Anyway, one of the things that tops my list of fear-producers are bangs. I don’t know why they make me so nervous. After all, my hair grows particularly fast, and if I hated them, they could be hidden for a few weeks while they turned into “side-swept bangs”, the safe alternative to going “all the way”. So, after trying all week to get Max to cut them (he didn’t think he qualified), I decided I would have to do it myself (I wasn’t about to pay $20.00 for someone to cut a straight line). So, for better or worse…bangs.

At least for the next few weeks…

Meow Meow, the Schizophrenic Feline

All little girls love kittens…and I was no exception. We once had a stray cat leave a surprise litter of 3 tiny kittens under our back porch when I was about 5 years old. I couldn’t have been happier about it. I played with them every day from sun-up to sun-down, cried my little heart out when the runt didn’t make it, and threw a fit when my mother made us give them away. But-a long time has passed since 5-year-old-Christie, and the place in my heart for felines has been filled with other things. Don’t get me wrong, I wish I liked them. Oh, how I wish I liked them! I just don’t. I can’t. I won’t!

My roommate, on the other hand, has successfully carried her child-like love for cats into adulthood. It has been somewhat of a running joke throughout college how much she loved them. We bought her stuffed mechanical cats for her birthday (which she so cordially named after me), sent her cat-singing you-tube videos to brighten her day, and even managed to obtain some AMAZING cat-covered tights to shield her legs from the Rexburg cold. But-apparently it wasn’t enough. One day…a couple months ago…it was no longer just a joke.

Her co-worker, who had a cat (or two) to spare, graciously gave Julie the thing that would quickly take my place as her favorite living, breathing mammal in the apartment. The morning I woke up to meowing at my bedroom door I knew life as I knew it was over. I tried so hard over the next few weeks to accept that there was a cat roaming around our little apartment 24 hours a day…but there are just some things I will never get used to. I will never get used to the subtle cat smell in the air. I will never get used to the fact that she poops in our closet. I will never get used to the fact that no-matter how hard I have tried to train her not to go in my room (and even when I swear my doors are shut), she ends up in my closet, trying on my shoes. I will never get used to being interrupted in everything I do, by someone that wants to play along.

I will never get used to her watching me pee…that’s just weird. I will never get used to the fact that she picks at our couch, carpet, and our adorable wicker chair, fraying the edges. And I will certainly never get used to her trying to sneak a drink out of my cup, every single time I turn my back.

I even have nightmares about her...like a couple nights ago when I dreamt that she was angry at me and came to ransack my whole bedroom and tore everything apart…woke up in a cold sweat after that one.

Last night though, I came to the realization that if I am forced to co-exist with a 4-legged creature, I better try to make the best of it. The one thing I find somewhat amusing about her is that she acts like no other cat I have ever come in contact with (not that there has been many…). But, even better, is the fact that we have diagnosed her with a mental illness. Not just ANY mental illness though…one of the greatest….Schizophrenia (possibly from the great big conk on the head she sustained about a week after being in Ju Ju’s care). Now, over the past 10 months that I have spent in the ER, I have come in contact with my fair share of Schizophrenics….and believe me…she exhibits all the characteristics. First of all, she acts inappropriately for her species (I swear she thinks she’s a dog the way she lays on her back and begs to have her belly rubbed)

Secondly, and most amusingly, is the way she spazzes out at absolutely nothing, and bolts straight into Julie’s room as if her life depended on it, hangs out for a second, and then comes back out like nothing ever happened (that’s her paranoia acting out…as it often does in Schizophrenics).
Lastly, she just LOOKS schizophrenic.

Ha ha, okay okay, so Julie helped out a little on this one, but regardless…

Despite my obvious, and often vocal dislike of Meow Meow (oh ya, her name is “meow-meow”), I put up with her and her crazy tactics because of the obvious (and quite sickening) love that Julie has for her.

So…welcome to apt 628, Meow Meow.

Just don’t pop my fragile, air-filled mattress or I will be the one spazzing out on your little feline tushy...