--So, I’ve decided to try making my comments section available to any who would post there, regardless of whether or not they’ve registered on this site. Part of me thinks that all the people who don’t comment because they don’t want to take the time to register are wusses. Another part of me remembers numerous incidents in the past where I didn’t do something because that one extra step was JUST TOO MUCH. So here you go, my slacker comrades.
“But why should I comment?” you ask yourself. Well, my good friend, I shall answer. It is because though I am indeed writing on this blog for my own enjoyment, I also appreciate feedback. It helps me improve my writing, my site, my self-esteem, etc. So do it.
--I still reserve the right to delete posts, though. I’ll try to keep on top of the spam, but I’ll also delete unnecessarily rude stuff. Just so you know. I shall not suffer trolls.
--On a happier note, I’ve finally been educated on how to put pictures in my actual posts, instead of just posting links to them! Happy day! Enjoy the enriched experience, and kudos to superMom!
--Last thing—a shameless plug. Why be ashamed? My stuff is cool! I now have an Etsy store where you can purchase random jewelry bits and accessories that I make, of a steampunk and/or just silly nature.
Now, on to the storytellin’.
I haven’t had pets of my own since I started attending college, because for some reason they frown on it when you try to hide a dog under your bed. Boring fish, now, those are fine. You just can’t have any of the fun animals. Anyway, this summer I’m apartment-sitting for a friend in Germany, and the apartment came with a dog, Sadie, and a cat, Amelie.
I loved both of these critters long before I actually came to live here, but I tell you what, there’s a big difference between being Auntie Kaitlin, and Responsible-Dog-Walker-And-Cat-Keeper-Aliver Kaitlin.
Did you know that animals have to be fed CONSISTENTLY? Did you know that some animals, if not fed consistently enough, will take matters into their OWN PAWS?!?
This is Sadie.
These are the eyes of Loooove...
“Oh, but she’s so cute!” you say. “How could you not rise with a spring in your step, when such a cute ickle wickle face greets you in your bed?”
Still shots cannot capture the kicking action. I have a new bruise in an awkward place. However, to be fair, Sadie waits until I’m actually conscious to start the poor-me act.
This is not the case with Amelie. She likes to eat my hair, a strand at a time, if she feels I have overslept. It is one of the creepiest and itchiest feelings I’ve ever experienced. She also makes these slurpy “Nomnomnom” noises while doing it. It is not conducive to heavy sleeping.
See that face?
If you’re not a cat owner, you may not recognize this face. It is a Fuck-you-why-have-I-not-been-fed-yet face. Once seen, it cannot be unseen. She hides around the corner of the dresser because she knows I might throw a pillow at her if she was less sneaky. Ninja cat: 1, Me: 0.
Don’t get me wrong. I love these animals dearly. You should see me snuggling them, when I’m not considering smothering them. It’s just that I’ve never before had to be up at a practical time EVERY FREAKING DAY of the summer. If I don’t get up, destruction ensues. I have no pictures of that, as the carnage would make this blog unreadable for some weak-stomached people. You can only imagine the horror.
And don’t tell me it’s probably GOOD for me to get up at a decent time. You think you can force your logic on me at this time of the morning?!?
You just shut your mouth.
To be fair, Amelie is most obnoxious at meal times. Though she has been fed consistently around 6 p.m. for months now, she likes to pretend I’m starving her by about 4:30 p.m. Our conversations go something like this.
Amelie: Mrow. Mrow. Mrow. Mrow. Mro—
Me: Amelie, it’s not time for dinner yet. You know that.
Me: AMELIE. Enough! I WILL feed you, when I feel like it. I will feel like it at 6 p.m.
Consider yourself warned.
Amelie: MRROWmrowmrowMROWMROW (If you didn’t know, this is how cat curses are typed. Yes, they cuss. That is why I no longer want to be Dr. Doolittle.)
Me: I swear to the High Holy Kumquat, cat, I am going to lock you in the bathroom and laugh at your woes if you don’t SHUT UP—AAAARGH!!!
Amelie has taken the offensive, and now hangs from the skin of my back with all the anger in all her claws. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, I toss her violently (perhaps a whole foot), trying not to cry a little, because if I do SHE HAS WON.
Amelie saunters off with a grumbling “Mrrfle” and glares at me from the corner.
I feed her, because I feel kinda bad about tossing her (a very little!) and I don’t want her to slit my throat in my sleep.
Sadie looks all confused and adorable in the corner. This might make you think she’s the simple pet, but don’t jump to conclusions. While Amelie can be sated with food and the random pet, Sadie is a whole ‘nother can of frustration/joy/snuggles/scratches/suspicious carpet stains.
Sadie is never terribly interested in mealtime, because even at her best, she is a light eater of conventional dog food. I say “conventional” because what nutrition she lacks by ignoring her kibble she tries to recover by eating everything else.
But can you blame her, really? Kibble is so boring. So mundane. So…commonplace. It’s really no wonder that she goes for more exotic fare. Like wooden fans. And garbage. And tacks. And entire boxes of Snickerdoodles. And rocks. And ribbons. And DVD cases. And books.
Not to mention, she likes to indulge in the fine art of coprophagia. For those of you who don’t know what that word means, look it up. I employ big words about gross things because I’m not all that fond of discussing their common usage. Also, it makes me sound all smart-ish!
Silent. Contemplative. Almost definitely thinking about coprophagia.
So, her eating habits are a little freaky. She also has enough energy to fuel the whole apartment, if I could just get her to keep running on her wheel, so I have to take her for at least a 40-minute walk most days of the week. Thankfully, this town has a leash-less dog park, making the whole experience much more enjoyable for both of us. She gets to frolic in the pastures, stalk other dogs, and pounce on unsuspecting birds who never saw it coming, while I can stroll along in nature, trying to avoid random snakes.
However, if I take her out there in anything but the dead of winter, she gets ornery. This dog loves snow more than is decent, and looks at summer as the world’s way of punishing her for being alive. To cope with the tragedy of the season, she has mapped out every single mud puddle in the park for survival usage.
It has gotten to the point that when I see her dash into the woods at the edge of the path, I actually pause to listen, because it gives me the cynical, tired giggles. She goes rustlerustlerustleSPLOOSH, and then she comes tearing back with this look of devil-may-care beaming from her mud-caked eyes. One of her favorite puddles is actually in the middle of a field, though, so I get the pleasure of watching her sprint away until she’s just a dot in the distance, and the silver plumes of muddy water glint in the sun about her.
She knows she’s not supposed to, mind you. As she dashes for her oasis, she glances back at me every few feet, possibly checking to see how angry I look. Not that my anger would dissuade her—it would just help define how soon she should return within grabbing distance.
I don’t let it irritate me too much, anymore. I now save the river for the last part of our walk, so that while she’s chasing sticks out into the current, she’s getting a natural bath. We both end up happier, and I am less hoarse from yelling. Also, people don’t stare at me as much for dancing around the edge of mud puddles, shrieking like a banshee at my disgusting, adorable, obnoxious, adopted dog, who obviously doesn’t give a flying flip about my antics.
All in all, this has been a great summer. I’ve mainly pointed out the irritating points with the pets, because those are generally the funniest. I’ve skipped over all the times that I pet Sadie awake when she’s having a nightmare, and how often Amelie comes and lays on my stomach, purring, while I read a good book.
Those are the reasons these animals are still alive. They’re cute, and generally loving. With a houseful of girls, you just have to expect some fur to get rubbed the wrong way. As long as I don’t manage to inadvertently poison the dog (though nothing she’s eaten has slowed her down yet) or smother the cat, I will count it as a success.
Oh, now Amelie is twitching in her sleep, with her wittle whiskers flapping around and her wittle toes wiggling…Dammit. Sucked in again.
Oh, great. Even cuter now that her eyes are open.
Guess I’d better go walk the dog. The dog WILL NOT walk me. Not again. I’m putting my foot down this time.