Sunday, December 1, 2013
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Life with Tinker Chapter 65....How to Love and Accept Love
It is quite natural for your cat to curl up on your person, placing their head on your chest and their body on your arm. If you move in any way, shape, or form that disturbs your cat's peaceful slumber, they will mewl and look at you as if you are the anti-Christ. Once you remove your numb arm from under their body, they will stretch one paw, extend their very long and sharp claws and pluck your lip. They will then reestablish their position and fall back asleep.
In the midst of all of this, I am, for the first time watching Eat, Pray, Love. I have to say that I am pleased that it is sticking pretty close the book. I also have to say that it is making me contemplate how I could go about taking a vow of silence for a couple of weeks. Would my boss and coworkers be okay with this? Would I be able to do my job? More importantly, would I be able to keep my mouth shut for that long? To me, the vow of silence would also include no facebook, no blog. Just the very thought of it has my self-control wavering and I haven't even attempted the first minute of self-induced silence. I also think that many of my friends would be sooo thankful to have me take a vow of silence for the next three weeks because that would preclude me from making any more political statements until after the election - and we have one more debate coming up.
I do need to start a regiment of meditation. But in true American form, I am thinking I must first have a diffuser to have the right essential oils emitting into the air the appropriate scents for my calm and well being; for my ability to meditate properly. Oh, and we must have an appropriate outfit as well. That's a bunch of crap. If I was truly ready to begin my new lifestyle of meditation, I'd break out the 15,000 Partylite candles I have hoarded for the past 5 years and light them. I'd sit in the dark, with only the candlelight, clear my mind, all while wearing my pajamas. I would awaken every morning at 5:30, make the Morning Drink, do my yoga, and spend at least 20 minutes meditating before hitting the start button on the coffee pot.
Is it a pipe dream, or will I get off my rear end and begin the path to finding my center? It all depends on whether or not the cat gets off of my arm.....
Seriously though, who doesn't need to find their balance, their sense of self, the place in their life where love flows freely through them touching all who encounter them, with no malice or aforethought, just with the nature of their existence. I know you think I am crazy. I think I am onto something. You can't love anyone else unless you love yourself. And right now, I don't love myself. I am very good at kicking my own ass. I am very good at detecting my flaws, taking ownership of those flaws, and analyzing them until they resemble a petrified and molded piece of meatloaf that has sat in the refrigerator just a month or so too long. I am so good at erecting mental walls and placing guards at their rare weaknesses or openings. I use past experiences as justification for my walls and I use that justification to deny myself the act and the potential joys of living.
Maybe that is one lesson Tinker is trying so very hard to teach me. No matter how many times I shoo him away, he is determined to get closer. He is determined to snuggle, determined to show me he loves me, no matter how big of a bitch I am. He still loves me. And he drools to show his love.
In the midst of all of this, I am, for the first time watching Eat, Pray, Love. I have to say that I am pleased that it is sticking pretty close the book. I also have to say that it is making me contemplate how I could go about taking a vow of silence for a couple of weeks. Would my boss and coworkers be okay with this? Would I be able to do my job? More importantly, would I be able to keep my mouth shut for that long? To me, the vow of silence would also include no facebook, no blog. Just the very thought of it has my self-control wavering and I haven't even attempted the first minute of self-induced silence. I also think that many of my friends would be sooo thankful to have me take a vow of silence for the next three weeks because that would preclude me from making any more political statements until after the election - and we have one more debate coming up.
I do need to start a regiment of meditation. But in true American form, I am thinking I must first have a diffuser to have the right essential oils emitting into the air the appropriate scents for my calm and well being; for my ability to meditate properly. Oh, and we must have an appropriate outfit as well. That's a bunch of crap. If I was truly ready to begin my new lifestyle of meditation, I'd break out the 15,000 Partylite candles I have hoarded for the past 5 years and light them. I'd sit in the dark, with only the candlelight, clear my mind, all while wearing my pajamas. I would awaken every morning at 5:30, make the Morning Drink, do my yoga, and spend at least 20 minutes meditating before hitting the start button on the coffee pot.
Is it a pipe dream, or will I get off my rear end and begin the path to finding my center? It all depends on whether or not the cat gets off of my arm.....
Seriously though, who doesn't need to find their balance, their sense of self, the place in their life where love flows freely through them touching all who encounter them, with no malice or aforethought, just with the nature of their existence. I know you think I am crazy. I think I am onto something. You can't love anyone else unless you love yourself. And right now, I don't love myself. I am very good at kicking my own ass. I am very good at detecting my flaws, taking ownership of those flaws, and analyzing them until they resemble a petrified and molded piece of meatloaf that has sat in the refrigerator just a month or so too long. I am so good at erecting mental walls and placing guards at their rare weaknesses or openings. I use past experiences as justification for my walls and I use that justification to deny myself the act and the potential joys of living.
Maybe that is one lesson Tinker is trying so very hard to teach me. No matter how many times I shoo him away, he is determined to get closer. He is determined to snuggle, determined to show me he loves me, no matter how big of a bitch I am. He still loves me. And he drools to show his love.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Life with Tinker Chapter 64
You know your claws are too long when you can't go five minutes without becoming "stuck" in everything you knead. It really takes away the fun of kneading ifyou find yourself permanently affixed to something with no hope of escape. My human wondered out loud "how does he survive when I am not home?" She wonders why she doesn't find me trapped and crying in blankets when she arrives home from work everyday. She's too dense to realize that I do this in dramatic flair for her benefit only. I really do know how to extricate myself. Bwahhhhhmeowr.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
An Inside Look at PMS
Ok, well not really an "inside" look, but more an inner perspective type of look as to what goes through a woman's mind during this week before a woman's hormones and thought processes begin their return to "normal."
My first clue, aside from the calendar, that I was experiencing PMS was Tinker. This is one in-tune kitty cat. Plus, he's male, so I am quite convinced that they have some sort of inner radar to this change in a woman. Normally, as he is right now, he would be sniffing my hair, rubbing my head, laying on my arm, and generally making himself a pain in the rear end. Saturday, however, he was conspicuously absent. This cat did not come off the porch but to eat and use the poopy box. Then he went right back outside. There was none of the normal three or four meows as he is running at me to then proceed to walk all over me and drool somewhere in my near vicinity. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Tinker KNEW. Tinker is a smart cat.
Then came Monday. I was sitting at work and every teeny tiny little thing annoyed me. In my mind I conducted harsh tirades at any perceived act of incompetence. Even the real instances of incompetence were blown way out of proportion in my mind. Luckily, I still manage some semblance of control and I stayed to myself with my mouth shut. Had that safety valve failed to function properly, I would probably be begging for unemployment and an Obamaphone.
Then I made the mistake of making a trip to WalMart. Unfortunately, the trip was unavoidable and most months when I start experiencing the evil tirades in my head, I do my utmost to avoid the one thing that has the most power to challenge the PMS safety valve. Since I am writing and publishing this story, you at least can rest assured that I once again demonstrated superb self-control. But, I thought it would be kind of funny (at least it is funny now) to share just what was going through my head as I shopped in the most dangerous of places to a woman experiencing a bad case of PMS.
I pull into the parking lot and damn if some jackass didn't ignore the large, white pointed arrows that are specifically painted at great monetary cost, with the purpose of directing traffic and avoiding parking lot accidents. At about the same time, another jackass thought he could beat me (I know, the idiocy!) to the coveted parking spot by speeding down the parallel lane and cutting through the parking lot. I do have to give that driver credit for at the very least paying attention to those big white arrows. After giving the driver who got their license out of a Cracker Jack box the most evil look, well, let's just say I got my parking spot. I'm pretty sure my irises were turning a shade of red, but I was still able to see normally.
The planets being in alignment provided me with a courteous driver as I was crossing the parking lot before entering the store. They actually stopped and waved me through. Maybe it was the red eyes, but we will never know for sure.
Then the real fun begins as soon as I procure myself a wobbly wheeled cart.
My first bitch is with the people who built and organized this particular WalMart. Why in the HELL would you make the aisles one and half cart widths and THEN periodically place the shelves to where the support beams cut the aisle size to one cart width??? I am not even sure if the oft made fun of scooters can make it through those aisles or if they have to navigate a u-turn mid aisle to get back out. Hell, it is federal regulation where I work that the roads have to be 2.5 times the width of the largest piece of equipment that will travel the road. Why does WalMart not take this safety factor into consideration?? Not to mention the pallets of crap they place in the main aisles to entice you to buy extremely large quantities of soda, cheese balls and snack packs of cookies. It's flipping madness.
My second bitch is the people that come with their entire families: mom, dad, aunt, grandma, three screaming toddlers and the lone older child who looks like he wants to go hide in the displays of tires. The little ones, if they are not relegated to prison within the confines of the cart, half hidden by rolls of toilet paper, juice boxes and bunches of bananas, are running around touching everything, screaming that they want "this" (name any colorful object and you will be correct) and then sobbing when they are told no, or worse, getting louder, and LOUDER, AND LOUDER because their parents have become experts at selective hearing.
All I wanted, all I needed was some freaking coffee creamer, ink for my printer, and tampons. Before this trip was over, a bottle of wine was added to the cart.
My third bitch is that people will see you behind them while in these miniature sized aisles or in the refrigerated section, give you the acknowledgement look, and then go back to what they are doing; thinking internally, "I am going to cheat death today. I am going to see how far I can push the bitch with the red eyes. I am going to take my sweet time, change my mind 4 times, all to see if this bitch explodes." All I needed was creamer. I knew exactly what I needed, where it was; it would take me 2.3 seconds to get it and move on. But nooooooooooo, the jackasses that take their entire family to WalMart have to have a discussion and do in depth internal negotiations before making a decision on what creamer, what size creamer, what brand, etc they are going to decide to purchase. It's like getting stuck behind a lottery crack head at the gas station. They did cheat death, but only because children were present.
There are times I envision myself clearing those offensive and obnoxious displays, screaming at the top of my lungs. Usually it is after getting stuck behind the fam-damily as they walk as slowly as possibly and taking up the entire aisle. Even if a passing opportunity becomes available, they will spread out just to ensure they make it to the 10 items or less lane with their full flipping cart before I do. I have 4 items. I qualify to enter this lane. They have 60. They do not qualify, but they do not care. They have no regard for rules, values, human decency or puppies. They just suck.
It then takes these morons 15 times longer than necessary to pay. Because not only do they have more than the qualifying number of items, now they are going to pay partially with a check and the remainder with their EBT card. How I am not incarcerated, I really don't know. But the fam-damily is not done just yet. They eventually move on, I make my purchase in under 3 minutes, including the entering of my pin code, and I think I am on my merry way. Nope. Nu-uh. Fam-damily has it in for me. They have walked as slowly as possible to the exit and again, leave me no passing opportunity. Their toddlers are still touching things that will surely give them some disease that even the most experienced ER doctor has yet to see in their petri dish. They are still in their spandex camouflage and wearing their hair in the most gawd awful 80's mullet. And they are still in my flipping way. As we near the exit, NOW they have to stop and rent a movie. It is only by the grace of God that an opening appeared to go out the entrance, in direct defiance of my need to exit through the exit. I no longer cared. I took it.
The world is in chaos. No one cares if the sign says entrance or exit, if they are paying attention to large, reflective white arrows, if they notice a stop sign, if they notice a DO NOT ENTER sign, or if they look in the mirror and call TLC's What Not To Wear on their own - begging for an intervention.
On any normal day, these life experiences would just produce a small sigh. But when a woman is PMS'ng, it become nuclear. Osama and Hussein have nothing on us. If you men want to win a war, just find a bunch of PMS'ng women and make them think they are in WalMart. It will all be over and ready for you to rebuild in less than a week.
My first clue, aside from the calendar, that I was experiencing PMS was Tinker. This is one in-tune kitty cat. Plus, he's male, so I am quite convinced that they have some sort of inner radar to this change in a woman. Normally, as he is right now, he would be sniffing my hair, rubbing my head, laying on my arm, and generally making himself a pain in the rear end. Saturday, however, he was conspicuously absent. This cat did not come off the porch but to eat and use the poopy box. Then he went right back outside. There was none of the normal three or four meows as he is running at me to then proceed to walk all over me and drool somewhere in my near vicinity. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Tinker KNEW. Tinker is a smart cat.
Then came Monday. I was sitting at work and every teeny tiny little thing annoyed me. In my mind I conducted harsh tirades at any perceived act of incompetence. Even the real instances of incompetence were blown way out of proportion in my mind. Luckily, I still manage some semblance of control and I stayed to myself with my mouth shut. Had that safety valve failed to function properly, I would probably be begging for unemployment and an Obamaphone.
Then I made the mistake of making a trip to WalMart. Unfortunately, the trip was unavoidable and most months when I start experiencing the evil tirades in my head, I do my utmost to avoid the one thing that has the most power to challenge the PMS safety valve. Since I am writing and publishing this story, you at least can rest assured that I once again demonstrated superb self-control. But, I thought it would be kind of funny (at least it is funny now) to share just what was going through my head as I shopped in the most dangerous of places to a woman experiencing a bad case of PMS.
I pull into the parking lot and damn if some jackass didn't ignore the large, white pointed arrows that are specifically painted at great monetary cost, with the purpose of directing traffic and avoiding parking lot accidents. At about the same time, another jackass thought he could beat me (I know, the idiocy!) to the coveted parking spot by speeding down the parallel lane and cutting through the parking lot. I do have to give that driver credit for at the very least paying attention to those big white arrows. After giving the driver who got their license out of a Cracker Jack box the most evil look, well, let's just say I got my parking spot. I'm pretty sure my irises were turning a shade of red, but I was still able to see normally.
The planets being in alignment provided me with a courteous driver as I was crossing the parking lot before entering the store. They actually stopped and waved me through. Maybe it was the red eyes, but we will never know for sure.
Then the real fun begins as soon as I procure myself a wobbly wheeled cart.
My first bitch is with the people who built and organized this particular WalMart. Why in the HELL would you make the aisles one and half cart widths and THEN periodically place the shelves to where the support beams cut the aisle size to one cart width??? I am not even sure if the oft made fun of scooters can make it through those aisles or if they have to navigate a u-turn mid aisle to get back out. Hell, it is federal regulation where I work that the roads have to be 2.5 times the width of the largest piece of equipment that will travel the road. Why does WalMart not take this safety factor into consideration?? Not to mention the pallets of crap they place in the main aisles to entice you to buy extremely large quantities of soda, cheese balls and snack packs of cookies. It's flipping madness.
My second bitch is the people that come with their entire families: mom, dad, aunt, grandma, three screaming toddlers and the lone older child who looks like he wants to go hide in the displays of tires. The little ones, if they are not relegated to prison within the confines of the cart, half hidden by rolls of toilet paper, juice boxes and bunches of bananas, are running around touching everything, screaming that they want "this" (name any colorful object and you will be correct) and then sobbing when they are told no, or worse, getting louder, and LOUDER, AND LOUDER because their parents have become experts at selective hearing.
All I wanted, all I needed was some freaking coffee creamer, ink for my printer, and tampons. Before this trip was over, a bottle of wine was added to the cart.
My third bitch is that people will see you behind them while in these miniature sized aisles or in the refrigerated section, give you the acknowledgement look, and then go back to what they are doing; thinking internally, "I am going to cheat death today. I am going to see how far I can push the bitch with the red eyes. I am going to take my sweet time, change my mind 4 times, all to see if this bitch explodes." All I needed was creamer. I knew exactly what I needed, where it was; it would take me 2.3 seconds to get it and move on. But nooooooooooo, the jackasses that take their entire family to WalMart have to have a discussion and do in depth internal negotiations before making a decision on what creamer, what size creamer, what brand, etc they are going to decide to purchase. It's like getting stuck behind a lottery crack head at the gas station. They did cheat death, but only because children were present.
There are times I envision myself clearing those offensive and obnoxious displays, screaming at the top of my lungs. Usually it is after getting stuck behind the fam-damily as they walk as slowly as possibly and taking up the entire aisle. Even if a passing opportunity becomes available, they will spread out just to ensure they make it to the 10 items or less lane with their full flipping cart before I do. I have 4 items. I qualify to enter this lane. They have 60. They do not qualify, but they do not care. They have no regard for rules, values, human decency or puppies. They just suck.
It then takes these morons 15 times longer than necessary to pay. Because not only do they have more than the qualifying number of items, now they are going to pay partially with a check and the remainder with their EBT card. How I am not incarcerated, I really don't know. But the fam-damily is not done just yet. They eventually move on, I make my purchase in under 3 minutes, including the entering of my pin code, and I think I am on my merry way. Nope. Nu-uh. Fam-damily has it in for me. They have walked as slowly as possible to the exit and again, leave me no passing opportunity. Their toddlers are still touching things that will surely give them some disease that even the most experienced ER doctor has yet to see in their petri dish. They are still in their spandex camouflage and wearing their hair in the most gawd awful 80's mullet. And they are still in my flipping way. As we near the exit, NOW they have to stop and rent a movie. It is only by the grace of God that an opening appeared to go out the entrance, in direct defiance of my need to exit through the exit. I no longer cared. I took it.
The world is in chaos. No one cares if the sign says entrance or exit, if they are paying attention to large, reflective white arrows, if they notice a stop sign, if they notice a DO NOT ENTER sign, or if they look in the mirror and call TLC's What Not To Wear on their own - begging for an intervention.
On any normal day, these life experiences would just produce a small sigh. But when a woman is PMS'ng, it become nuclear. Osama and Hussein have nothing on us. If you men want to win a war, just find a bunch of PMS'ng women and make them think they are in WalMart. It will all be over and ready for you to rebuild in less than a week.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Life With Tinker Volume I (chapters 43-63)
A Compilation of Life with Tinker so far......(chapters 1-43 are unrecorded as of yet)
Life with Tinker Chapter 43: Yoga is not permissible. If you lay on your yoga mat, close your eyes, arms at your sides, palms to the ceiling, breathing innnnn through the nuse and ouuuuut through the nuse, there will be a cat attacking your hair, trying to eat it and alternately wrapping his entire body in it. The length of your hair does not matter.
Life with Tinker Chapter 44: When it's time to sit on the couch, watch TV and facebook, it is very likely that a cat will end up laying on your arm and shoulder and spend the next 20 minutes washing himself and biting his nails. You can move him, but he will be like a homing pigeon and end up right back where he was.
Life with Tinker Chapter 45: (he's full of lessons tonight) Just when you are thinking about to getting up to go pee, the cat will hop up and begin kneading your bladder. Cats have sense about these things. They can sense a full bladder from a mile away, or at least from across the house.
Life with Tinker Chapter 46: whenever you attempt to facebook about the wisdom of your cat, said cat will walk in front of your monitor and stick his butt in your face.
Life With Tinker Chapter 47: cats who drool do NOT rule. Ok, maybe they do, but it is by coercion. Do what I want or I will drool on you OR pee on your stuff. Your choice.
Life with Tinker Chapter 48: How to completely annoy the person who feeds you and cleans your poopy box: if there is a bag with something in it, garbage or groceries, it is imperative that you dig through it and make a mess. Then meow as if you are being abused when you are shooed away. Run away momentarily so that the human thinks they have a chance for peace. Then come back, climb up on their back and shake your head, doing your best impersonation of a St. Bernard and fling drool as far as you can, making absolutely sure to hit the monitor of the human's laptop and their face.
Life with Tinker Chapter 49: Just what part of STAY OFF OF MY COUNTER do you not understand?
Life with Tinker Chapter 50: Sometimes it is imperative to lock your cat on the porch so you can eat your dinner in peace. Otherwise, you will be hopping up every two minutes to chase the cat who will not eat chicken under any other circumstances away from the bowl of shredded bbq chicken, and not just any bbq chicken, but bbq chicken that has chipotle and sriracha sauce in it. I sincerely believe that he didn't want to eat the chicken, but to disturb my peaceful dining experience. :/ It might have been kind of funny if he had ate it. Oh, wait no, that would be Life with Tinker Chapter 51: barf and other nasty cat expulsions.
Life With Tinker Chapter 51: when your human has gone to work, spend as much time as possible sharpening your claws on the scratchy post. This is after digging through the trash, walking all over the counters because no one is there to shoo you away, investigating every new smell, and staring at the evil birds flying right outside your window, tormenting you, sticking out their beaks and squawking
Life with Tinker Chapter 56: cats can emulate bats inasmuch as thy are capable of sleeping upside down. The only difference is that their perch is you arm.
Life With Tinker Chapter 57: NEVER turn your back on chicken you have just washed and set on the counter. Your meal will be missing part of it's protein.
Life with Tinker Chapter 58: Pay careful attention to what your human is wearing when they get ready for work in the morning. Follow them around, meow continuously, making them think you just want food, but what you REALLY want is to determine if the clothes your human is wearing are subject to snags and other forms of destruction by claw. Once you have determined that the article of clothing is e
Life with Tinker Chapter 59: How to have some fun at your human's expense. This only works it you are a cat with white fur. Here's what you do: When your human sits on the couch and proceeds to play stupid games on the computer instead of making sure your every wish and demand is being met, get behind the human and rub all over their head. Only stop when you have left a sufficient number of white
Life with MR. Drools aka Tinker Chapter 62: I knead, I drool. You may not need or want my drool, but it's all about my kneads and wants...yours are inferior and not really worth my consideration. Meowr.
Life with Tinker Chapter 43: Yoga is not permissible. If you lay on your yoga mat, close your eyes, arms at your sides, palms to the ceiling, breathing innnnn through the nuse and ouuuuut through the nuse, there will be a cat attacking your hair, trying to eat it and alternately wrapping his entire body in it. The length of your hair does not matter.
Life with Tinker Chapter 44: When it's time to sit on the couch, watch TV and facebook, it is very likely that a cat will end up laying on your arm and shoulder and spend the next 20 minutes washing himself and biting his nails. You can move him, but he will be like a homing pigeon and end up right back where he was.
Life with Tinker Chapter 45: (he's full of lessons tonight) Just when you are thinking about to getting up to go pee, the cat will hop up and begin kneading your bladder. Cats have sense about these things. They can sense a full bladder from a mile away, or at least from across the house.
Life with Tinker Chapter 46: whenever you attempt to facebook about the wisdom of your cat, said cat will walk in front of your monitor and stick his butt in your face.
Life With Tinker Chapter 47: cats who drool do NOT rule. Ok, maybe they do, but it is by coercion. Do what I want or I will drool on you OR pee on your stuff. Your choice.
Life with Tinker Chapter 48: How to completely annoy the person who feeds you and cleans your poopy box: if there is a bag with something in it, garbage or groceries, it is imperative that you dig through it and make a mess. Then meow as if you are being abused when you are shooed away. Run away momentarily so that the human thinks they have a chance for peace. Then come back, climb up on their back and shake your head, doing your best impersonation of a St. Bernard and fling drool as far as you can, making absolutely sure to hit the monitor of the human's laptop and their face.
Life with Tinker Chapter 49: Just what part of STAY OFF OF MY COUNTER do you not understand?
Life with Tinker Chapter 50: Sometimes it is imperative to lock your cat on the porch so you can eat your dinner in peace. Otherwise, you will be hopping up every two minutes to chase the cat who will not eat chicken under any other circumstances away from the bowl of shredded bbq chicken, and not just any bbq chicken, but bbq chicken that has chipotle and sriracha sauce in it. I sincerely believe that he didn't want to eat the chicken, but to disturb my peaceful dining experience. :/ It might have been kind of funny if he had ate it. Oh, wait no, that would be Life with Tinker Chapter 51: barf and other nasty cat expulsions.
Life With Tinker Chapter 51: when your human has gone to work, spend as much time as possible sharpening your claws on the scratchy post. This is after digging through the trash, walking all over the counters because no one is there to shoo you away, investigating every new smell, and staring at the evil birds flying right outside your window, tormenting you, sticking out their beaks and squawking
"neener, neener, neeeeener, you can't get us!" ..what was I saying? Oh yes, sharpen your claws, take a quick nap, because you wouldn't want the human to come home and find you doing anything but napping. Then when the human sits down, find the most exposed piece of the human skin and KNEAD WITH YOUR VERY SHARP CLAWS. When the human moves you away, make a pitiful meow and declare superiority. Wait five minutes and repeat.
Life with Tinker Chapter 52: In order to make your cat happy, leave a small, quarter sized piece of clear plastic on the floor. This will give him, and you, many minutes of simple pleasure. Every time he saunters away to go do cat like things, stops and sees the plastic, pounces and runs maniacally through the house attacking the plastic, all is right in the world. That is until the fun ends and life returns to normal.
Life with Tinker Chapter 53: Every once in a while, you are reminded of what makes you love your kitty unconditionally. This evening, when I removed him from my (now) numb left arm, he didn't protest, he just curled up in a spot on my shoulder that was more acceptable to both of us. Then I laid my head on his and listened to him breathe...it's almost like listening to your kid breathe.
Life with Tinker Chapter Always:the sound of your cat snacking on a lizard is really quite unpleasant. I will have to remember not to let him breathe anywhere near my face for a couple of days. Hack, cough, hack. Where the hell are my ear plugs???????? Arghhhhhhhh.
Life With Tinker Chapter 54: cats do indeed like bacon. That is all.
Life with Tinker Chapter 55: listening to the soft snores of a cat curled up in the crook of your arm, making it challenging to type, is one of life's greatest moments. (I wonder when he will revert back to the horned feline and give me more sarcastic material to work with again. I'm kind of missing the evilness :/)
Life with Tinker Chapter 56: cats can emulate bats inasmuch as thy are capable of sleeping upside down. The only difference is that their perch is you arm.
Life With Tinker Chapter 57: NEVER turn your back on chicken you have just washed and set on the counter. Your meal will be missing part of it's protein.
Life with Tinker Chapter 58: Pay careful attention to what your human is wearing when they get ready for work in the morning. Follow them around, meow continuously, making them think you just want food, but what you REALLY want is to determine if the clothes your human is wearing are subject to snags and other forms of destruction by claw. Once you have determined that the article of clothing is e
asily damaged, wait until your human leaves the house and spend extra time during the day sharpening your claws. Once your human returns and sits on the couch, curl up closely to your human, purr, make a sweet face and begin to heavily knead the humans article of clothing. Make sure if they try to move your paws to curl your paw ensuring that your claw is firmly attached and must be removed, thereby creating a snag or hole. They think you just want to be friendly, but you really know the truth. Bwahahahhhahahahah...meow
Life with Tinker Chapter 59: How to have some fun at your human's expense. This only works it you are a cat with white fur. Here's what you do: When your human sits on the couch and proceeds to play stupid games on the computer instead of making sure your every wish and demand is being met, get behind the human and rub all over their head. Only stop when you have left a sufficient number of white
hairs on your humans head. Then be patient. Once the human gets up to go the bathroom, follow them and watch and wait. When the human goes to wash their hands, they will eventually look in the mirror and cry "oh shit! where did all of those gray hairs come from?!!!!" Run away quickly so as to keep the human from hearing your guffaws at their expense.
Life with Tinker Chapter 60: it is extremely difficult for a cat to maintain their stealth-like capabilities when their toe nails are too long and you have wood floors. Mark this down as one for the human :)
Life with Tinker Chapter 61: Cats are the ultimate Nosy Neighbor. They sit on the porch, watching, sniffing the air, and standing on their hind legs when their super feline hearing alerts them to abnormal activities in the neighborhood. Then they run from window to window, making sure to catch every bit of the action. They meow loudly to let you know "hey human! Somethin is uuuuuppp! Come check out THIS shit!" Only you as the human don't have super feline hearing or sense of smell, so you are left feeling as if you are on the outside looking in. Sigh.
Life with MR. Drools aka Tinker Chapter 62: I knead, I drool. You may not need or want my drool, but it's all about my kneads and wants...yours are inferior and not really worth my consideration. Meowr.
Life with Tinker Chapter 63: Unbeknownst to me, Tinker has decided to challenge the record holder in the Guinness Book of World Records for longest claw.
Empty Nest Syndrome aka Who the Hell Am I?
When I was a teenager, it wasn't unusual to find me watching a show called 'Empty Nest.' Yes, I know, strange show for a teenager to watch, but I have never been a person one would consider "normal." Watching this show left me unprepared for the real deal. The words Empty Nest Syndrome (ENS) are quite frankly a mockery of what really happens when one's child or children flees the coop.
I fully expected to be at a loss for what to do with myself, but I also imagined that I would continue to have a close relationship with my child, the way I had for the past 18 years. But oh, no. That is not how life works. Get used to it, accept it, embrace it. As anyone with a teenage daughter knows, they are completely unpredictable, cunning, smart, and sometimes they bite. Just like my daughter's cat Tinker, who happens to be male. To make it perfectly clear, (to use a too often used politician's preface to any statement they make, true or false,) I am so incredibly screwed.
Anyone who has started or finished the process of Empty Nest Syndrome knows that this is a personal and unique experience for every single person. It is not an experience that can be replicated, reproduced, experienced verbatim by another. Some mothers have it easier than others because somehow, some way, they were incredibly successful in the raising of their child. I bow to those mothers. Other mothers, like me, have a hell of time, and I am quite ready to acknowledge that it could be worse and that other mothers have it way worse than I ever will. But right now, in the thick of it, this is pure and total hell.
I love my daughter more than my life, but right now, I don't know who the heck she is. And worse, I don't know who I am. This is what I did not expect - to not have a clue who I am or who she is. In that respect, I owe my daughter a small snippet of gratitude for forcing me to tackle this question. Who am I? What do I want? What do I want to be when I grow up? Holy shit, this is overwhelming, scary, and quite frankly, I sometimes revert to the five year old I was never allowed to be and throw the proverbial tantrum screaming the words "but I don't wannnnnna and you CAN'T make meeeeeeee!!!!!" in the most whiny and pathetic voice you could possibly begin to imagine. (Even when I allow myself this indulgence, I also revert back to remembering the look my father would throw towards the paddle collection, which consisted of remanned cutting boards, and broken paddle ball toys, should I have an outburst of this sort, and I have to admit that this somehow snaps me out of it.)
But then I magically grow up (or maybe it's just the memory of broken paddle ball toys) and remind myself that I have to. That's just one of the crappy parts of being a 38 year old woman. It's time to put on the granny panties.
The first couple months of my forced solitude (which for the record, I am more inclined to be a hermit than a social butterfly) were incredibly strange, depressing, a roller coaster of emotions I never expected. On the one hand I looked forward to having the house all to myself. I was thinking "party time, excellent! (insert Wayne's World followup of dennannnananan!) But on the other hand I looked forward to the daily conversations I would have with my daughter, hearing all about how she was maneuvering through what was now the beginning of the adult portion of her life. Application DENIED. In big, bold, red, military like letters. D E N I E D. I didn't know what to do with this. I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to act. And sometimes, my not knowing how to act made everything that much worse because I acted badly.
For the past 18 years, she had been my sole focus, my reason for living, the person I lived through vicariously because she was always in so many ways, who I always wanted to be. I admired my daughter. In retrospect, my goodness did I put pressure on her. It wasn't until I read a book called 'Atlas Shrugged' that I started to see some of what was wrong in my relationship with my daughter, albeit not everything that was wrong with my relationship with my daughter, but it was a statement that forced me to accept responsibility for my actions and it was a statement that began to define the rest of my life:
I fully expected to be at a loss for what to do with myself, but I also imagined that I would continue to have a close relationship with my child, the way I had for the past 18 years. But oh, no. That is not how life works. Get used to it, accept it, embrace it. As anyone with a teenage daughter knows, they are completely unpredictable, cunning, smart, and sometimes they bite. Just like my daughter's cat Tinker, who happens to be male. To make it perfectly clear, (to use a too often used politician's preface to any statement they make, true or false,) I am so incredibly screwed.
Anyone who has started or finished the process of Empty Nest Syndrome knows that this is a personal and unique experience for every single person. It is not an experience that can be replicated, reproduced, experienced verbatim by another. Some mothers have it easier than others because somehow, some way, they were incredibly successful in the raising of their child. I bow to those mothers. Other mothers, like me, have a hell of time, and I am quite ready to acknowledge that it could be worse and that other mothers have it way worse than I ever will. But right now, in the thick of it, this is pure and total hell.
I love my daughter more than my life, but right now, I don't know who the heck she is. And worse, I don't know who I am. This is what I did not expect - to not have a clue who I am or who she is. In that respect, I owe my daughter a small snippet of gratitude for forcing me to tackle this question. Who am I? What do I want? What do I want to be when I grow up? Holy shit, this is overwhelming, scary, and quite frankly, I sometimes revert to the five year old I was never allowed to be and throw the proverbial tantrum screaming the words "but I don't wannnnnna and you CAN'T make meeeeeeee!!!!!" in the most whiny and pathetic voice you could possibly begin to imagine. (Even when I allow myself this indulgence, I also revert back to remembering the look my father would throw towards the paddle collection, which consisted of remanned cutting boards, and broken paddle ball toys, should I have an outburst of this sort, and I have to admit that this somehow snaps me out of it.)
But then I magically grow up (or maybe it's just the memory of broken paddle ball toys) and remind myself that I have to. That's just one of the crappy parts of being a 38 year old woman. It's time to put on the granny panties.
The first couple months of my forced solitude (which for the record, I am more inclined to be a hermit than a social butterfly) were incredibly strange, depressing, a roller coaster of emotions I never expected. On the one hand I looked forward to having the house all to myself. I was thinking "party time, excellent! (insert Wayne's World followup of dennannnananan!) But on the other hand I looked forward to the daily conversations I would have with my daughter, hearing all about how she was maneuvering through what was now the beginning of the adult portion of her life. Application DENIED. In big, bold, red, military like letters. D E N I E D. I didn't know what to do with this. I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to act. And sometimes, my not knowing how to act made everything that much worse because I acted badly.
For the past 18 years, she had been my sole focus, my reason for living, the person I lived through vicariously because she was always in so many ways, who I always wanted to be. I admired my daughter. In retrospect, my goodness did I put pressure on her. It wasn't until I read a book called 'Atlas Shrugged' that I started to see some of what was wrong in my relationship with my daughter, albeit not everything that was wrong with my relationship with my daughter, but it was a statement that forced me to accept responsibility for my actions and it was a statement that began to define the rest of my life:
I swear by my life, and my love of it, that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor will I ask another man to live for the sake of mine.
Powerful and profound. It was time to figure out who I am.
At this point, I am sure you are excited. You are believing that I have figured it out, that I am going to tell you what I have found ala Eat, Pray, Love. No such luck. Still in Capt. Kirk mode to be quite truthful. I'm still searching through the myriad of galaxies of the human experience. I'm still living in a world of semi-denial that I will figure it out in no time. This is not the case. This is a journey. A really long and hard journey.
So, to all the moms out there who have yet to come close to the ENS portion of their lives, here is my one and only piece of wisdom: don't lose yourself. Because when you do, you don't only find yourself wandering through a maze with nothing but your child's cat, you discover that losing yourself is precisely why you don't have the relationship with the child that you had always envisioned.
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