"I know it's not," I retorted. "But I'm still going to do it."
Wait. I just read that. That exchange sounds like a sex thing. It's not. It's not a sex thing.
And if you think still think this is going to be a sex thing, you are what Annie Wilkes would call a dirty birdie.
Let's make this less Misery and more Sound of Music-y - let's start at the very beginning.
I adopted a cat. Oh, I love her so much. Her name is Ladybug and if you think I'm damaged for having two cats named Ladybug during my lifetime, you should remember opinions are like asses. Everyone has one.
I did not name either cat.
This particular cat was named by her elderly former owner. She hoarded cats. Mine was one of eleven she accumulated.
But now Ladybug is an only (fur) child and she is wonderful. Wonderful except for one thing.
She insists on drinking from my water glass at night.
When Husband and I retire for the evening, we each bring a glass of water to the bedroom to keep on the nightstand for the duration of our evening repose. Once Kitty had grown comfortable in the Pope-pourri household, she felt free to loudly slurp from our water glasses in the middle of the night.
Look, I love her, but I'm not swapping spit with my cat. It took me years to get comfortable slugging mouthwash from the same bottle as Husband - and I exchange DNA with him.
So Husband and I began covering our water glasses with a book. Problem solved.
Except Kitty doesn't like to commute down three flights of steps to get to her water bowl at four in the morning. Unable to negotiate removing the book from the water glass, Kitty decided she needed to alert us to her impediment.
So, at all hours of the night, she calmly stands behind me, yowling and stroking my hair with her claws. Factoring Son's nightly attempts to get in bed with us - it's a toss up as to whether he's sleep walking or attempting some sort of Oedipal intervention between me and Husband - I am rapidly losing hours of sleep.
To solve my problem, I looked no further than my parents, who notoriously maintained a glass of water in their family room for their now-deceased cat. I could do the same thing for my cat, couldn't I? It wouldn't be hypocritical - I know it's not normal to do that. Further, my parents kept a glass of water on the family room table all the time for their cat. My intent was to only have Kitty's water glass out at night, and only to save me some sleep.
The first night I set my plan in motion, Husband was flummoxed. The day I discovered that my parents perpetually kept a glass of water on their family room table for their cat to enjoy at his leisure, I had expressed to him how absolutely bananas I thought they were to do something like that. I also expressed to him how bananas my parents were to not realize how bananas they were being by keeping that glass out. Now, here I was, doing the same thing?
But I explained the difference to him. The difference, I pointed out, was that I recognize I'm bananas for bringing a glass of water to bed for the cat. I just need my sleep.
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| My parents' cat's water glass. |
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| My cat's water glass. See? Totally different. |
"We could close the door," Husband suggested. This, he said, would have the added benefit of thwarting Son from his nocturnal sojourns.
Wait, lock out my kids and my cat? Not happening.
"She's just a cat," Husband sighed.
Umm...has he just met me? Just a cat? Is he just my husband? Is Sherlock just a character? Is Starbucks just a beverage?
The only answer to all of that is "no."
I'm not freezing my cat out at night. She gets her own glass of water. I get some sleep. Everyone is happy.
Except a month on and Kitty has become the monster to my Dr. Frankenstein. When Husband and I settle in for the night, she jumps on the bed - I got in a lot of trouble when she did that while we were trying to swap DNA - and walks right over to her glass of water. She loudly laps water from her glass, unabashed, as though she's the one that did us a huge favor by coming to live with us. As though we should consider ourselves privileged to listen to her guzzle.
Even worse, a few nights ago she turned her nose up at the water I set out for her. I knew immediately what problem she was trying to communicate with her loud mewling.
She's like the monster, catching up with Dr. Frankenstein in the cold Arctic. Dr. Frankenstein thinks it's enough for the monster that he caught up with him. But the monster wants more.
What my little monster wanted was colder water. The water I'd delivered was too warm for her taste.
And in that brief moment - when I went to refresh Ladybug's water - I lost any faith Husband had in my sanity. In my normalcy. What would come next? he demanded to know. Would I hold the glass so as to ease her drinking burden?
Over breakfast one morning, I shared my situation with my mom. She, of all people, would understand what I was doing.
I was wrong.
"Why a glass?" she asked. "Doesn't that spill? Wouldn't a bowl be better?"
I'm pretty sure if I brought one of the cat's bowls to bed, Husband would take up permanent residency at the cabin.
As Husband and I lay in bed one night, listening to our cat swill water from her glass, Husband commented on how loud she was for such a little animal. Husband pointed out how very insane his gulping makes me. The fact that I take no issue with the cat's loud guzzle? Well, that kind of offended him.
Hmm...doesn't feel so good, does it? Maybe you'll remember how it feels. Maybe you won't be so quick to lock my kids and cat out of the bedroom.
A few mornings ago - early, still dark out - Son curled up in bed with us. His movement disturbed Kitty's rest, so she loped over to her water, greedily slurping away as the three of us listened.
"Mommy?" Son whispered. "I think it's cute that you give Kitty her own water glass."
Of course he does. He's my other monster.
The Binge
So I forgot to add things to read and watch at the cabin with last week's post. We'll just post it here and pretend like I posted it last week because it's my blog and I say I can.
Svengoolie (MeTV) A peculiar gent shows really bad old sci-fi and horror films. A cold beer and a couple of grade schoolers just enhance the viewing experience.
Dr. Mutter's Marvels. The Mutter Museum's founder was a medical visionary with a fascinating story of his own. His biography focuses largely on his medical career - including complex surgeries performed without anesthesia.
In Cold Blood. Truman Capote's novelized nonfiction account of a notorious crime, the victims, and the perpetrators is a knife's edge of suspense.
Jason Priestley: A Memoir. Yep. That Jason Priestley. Because - let's face it - we all want to know who was banging whom on that set.
A Wilderness of Error. Documentarian Errol Morris' fresh look at the four decade old Fatal Vision case will leave you wondering: Did he do it?
Fatal Strike. Click on the link. That's the only way to understand how funny it is that I leave this book on Husband's nightstand at the cabin. Plus Shannon McKenna likes to write some dirty stuff.
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