Archive for November, 2011
Feral cats are living in my Jeep.
I had a clue when I noticed one of the towels I leave in there (Maui is a viable contender for the Filthiest Place on Earth and Dozer, in turn, gets unbelievably dirty if he so much as goes for a walk, so I have towels all over – practically hanging from the tree limbs – to try to keep him from tramping it into the house) seemed to reek of urine. I chalked it up to acid rain, but the sighting of the likely offender leaping from his sleeping spot on my front seat this morning makes a bit more sense.
Oddly enough, he/she looked remarkably like one of the cats around my dad’s house (Stormy or Bingo), with a mostly gray body and white feet. I’ve decided to name this one “Shoo” in the likelihood that that’s the main word s/he’ll be hearing out of my mouth.
My dad has shown a remarkable talent for taming feral cats and turning them into relatively sane, fat, happy pets, but I’m not sure that would be such a good idea in this case – Alaskan Malamute, notwithstanding.
Thus, what I really need is to find a way to keep them out of the car (which has a back window that is permanently open lest you feel inclined to make what might otherwise be a “duh”-type suggestion.)
I asked a friend, and he suggested a BB Gun. He claimed it wouldn’t kill them, but they’d never forget it. The bigger issue is me. There’s no way in hell I’m shooting an animal. And from a practical point of view, the odds that I’d shoot out my own windshield are high. And then there’s the landlord again…
So I thought, “maybe one of those waving arm blow up used car sales lot things”? Like this one:
But it turns out those f*ckers are like $400 dollars with the fan! And don’t even get me started on shipping ANYTHING to Maui. “Free shipping” offers tend to have a wee clause…
I can’t (won’t) shoot/kill them, and I can’t scarecrow them away, so I’m left with my last defense: the overly long letter attempting to appeal to their sense of decency by explaining why I am not okay with this.
Here’s a rough draft.
Let me know your thoughts.
To Whom It May Concern:
I am the owner of the vehicle in which you were slumbering this morning, and although I appreciate that life on the “streets” (or near a beach in Maui: call it what you will) can be rough, I would much prefer that you make your home in a different location.
First off, there is the matter of the urinating all over my towel. I recognize this was probably some kind of instinctual marking or territorial maneuver, but the thing of it is…it’s my towel. And your pee really stinks. I had to wash that towel three times to get the smell out. I’m not trying to judge or anything, but it feels a bit disrespectful.
Secondarily, I was alerted to your (sleeping) presence in my front passenger seat by the over-exuberant enthusiasm of my 100-pound (or more: he keeps getting fatter) Alaskan Malamute, Dozer. Have you seen him? I think you did today as you fled in terror, and I’m pretty sure we’ve seen you before. He could eat you. That’s not a threat or anything – well, not a direct one – but he could. He probably wouldn’t, but let’s just leave it hanging out there as a danger to your physical self and err on the side of caution. In other words: PLEASE STOP SLEEPING IN MY JEEP.
I don’t know if you’re male or female, but I’m willing to bet $1000 you’re not neutered whatever you are, so with your likely randy mood in mind, feel free to extend the requests in this letter to include the following:
Please do not fornicate in my Jeep.
Please do not mark my Jeep.
Please do not give birth in my Jeep.
Please do not raise a family in my Jeep.
Sincerely and with much aloha,
To answer the question posed as the subject line of my last post: Yes. Oh Lord, yes. It can get a lot worse.
I never talk about my private life because then I don’t have to talk about it when it’s going badly, but allow me to say that although they claim it’s April, and I would normally argue the case for February, this year November is the hands-down biggest bitch in sight.
It’s been a hard month, and I’m a bit worse for the wear.
Things are more messed up than I would have guessed.
I’m still alive, so there’s that.
And I have an approach to life that says: when bummed out, focus on what you can control. There is a lot of work I’ve been neglecting, so guess what’s getting its ass kicked in the next week? Yep. The book, advertising my hypnotherapy practice, planting my growth-challenged seedlings and building a lovely water system the snails will probably enjoy as they chow down on said seedlings (as they really are about salad-sized to a snail. They have dwarfism or something. I can’t figure it out.)
It’s funny, but last night Fu got out. Okay, that’s not funny at all actually. It was harrowing and terrifying, and I kept checking the highway for his remains and feeling like the worst mother ever, but once I found him meowing out front by my Jeep and order was restored in that part of the universe, I thought of this quote: “Just imagine how happy you’d be if you lost everything you have right now… and then got it all back.”
~ Bertrand Russell
This was a sobering thought considering how much energy I’ve been wasting on worry and disappointment and nitpicking on things that aren’t that important. It’s a life affliction, really, and one I hope I can purge myself of.
With respect to the quote, it’s not ALL back – my sanity, my peace of mind, the one thing in my life that gave me some bouts of wild hope are still AWOL. I had a hand in my own current, semi-depressing situation, so I’m not whining: just sad. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m trying to focus on what IS right; what is perfect in this moment.
Fu is sleeping in the hallway. Dozer is in the kitchen. I can hear the wind and the ocean outside. There is food in the fridge and I have things to wear. There are brains in my head that can be used to work out some of this money stuff that worries me lately. Tomorrow is a new day.
Tomorrow is always a new day.
And whether or not it is clear to me, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
So I’ve got going for me, and I’m going to work on being super freaking grateful for it. Until then, I’ll try to cheer my sorry ass up, because nobody likes whining vague posts about cats and other disappointments.
Did I write that?
I am Vanessa, and I am addicted to sardines.
Ten days ago I had three cans of Matiz Gallego sardines in my possession…now I am down to one.
The Golem obsession is setting in. You see, I want to eat them, but then I will have none. This is a problem, née, a catastrophe.
Enter Amazon: my hero. Of course the sardines are represented; even a case of 25 of them (oh, happy day). However, they’re sold out or no longer available (I signed up for the “notify me when this becomes available” feature…whenever/if-ever that is), so I’m back where I started. Amazon fail.
I pride myself on generally sane behavior and raw eating and healthy habits, but I draw the line at Portuguese/Spanish sardines. If loving them is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
If eating them until I stink of them is wrong, put some Tiger Balm under your nostrils, because things are about to get fishy.
If soaking in a bath of the leftover oil from the cans is wrong, well, let’s just go with a don’t ask, don’t tell arrangement…
Tomorrow is the THIRD eye exam for my freaky vision issue. Things are still in flux – sometimes blurry, sometimes clear – but at this very moment I can see pretty well…so here’s hoping.