a cat lady musing

I simply can't resist a cat, particularly a purring one.

They are the cleanest, cunningest, and most intelligent things I know, 

outside of the girl you love, of course.

- Mark Twain

I have a feeling that Mark Twain and I would have gotten along quite fine. Bosom friend status.

There's something about the cat-less population that I find quite sad. The cat-hater is typically a person that is missing something lovely, something like a cuddly spirit, a purity of heart, an affectionate nature. A soul.

The world needs its harshness, of course, but I find it hard to imagine dealing with it without a furry friend to guide the comfort levels of your home. 

A home without a cat -- and a well-fed, well-petted and properly revered cat --

may be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?

- Mark Twain

I am sensitive, affectionate, romantic, loyal, devoted, warmhearted, friendly. And I am a cat lover.

Or am I those things as a result of loving cats?

World-changing questions.

I find myself changed by their sweetness, calmed by their presence, soothed by their tired, sleepy grins.

Happy to care for them, happy to be with them. 

I had a friend recently say that if and when we are able to care for them the way we do, vet bills and messes and all, we are good stewards. It made me smile and I think in most cases that's true.

What an odd little gift they are, such strange little creatures, like having my very own pokemon.

I choose you, fluffychoo!

I can never fully put my trust in someone who hates cats. (I am also inconsolably sad for those who are deathly allergic). The cat-loving world is like the best of secret societies, really -- you hide your adoration, knowing in your heart that 1.) others will never truly understand 2.) you have something precious that they cannot have 3.) you're not alone in the world.

 When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade,

without further introduction.

- Mark Twain

You pass by cat-related merchandise and point and laugh, or show your friends, secretly knowing if they weren't there you'd probably make it all the way to the cash register with it before realizing you could never wear it in public anyway, because people would shun you.

You are unnaturally thrilled that cat sweaters and graphic Ts have become a somewhat quirky exception in the fashion world, allowing you to partake in the celebration of cattiness in style.

How much is too much? The cat lady will never know.

I do know that my life has been measured by the constant embellishment of animal interaction, by the sweet little souls within beings that make me laugh and cry. 

Every home I've ever lived in has had these treasures, these accessories of life and activity and playfulness. 

It's how I was raised, how I love to live, and how I live to love.

The wide-eyed way in which I take in the world, and come home to the purrs of a day well spent.

Mark loved cats...and pool, or pocket billiards. 

Whenever he played pool, he'd tuck a pet kitten into a corner pocket. The antics of the cat as it pawed at passing balls amused and relaxed Mark Twain...sent him back in high spirits to write the stories that endeared him to all.

Americans today have the same shrewd understanding that one relaxed moment 

helps you work and fight harder.

- Royal Crown Cola ad, 1940s 

student workers: trifecta

All of these posts remind me of another blog I once read. It's definitely worth the read, I sat laughing for hours reading it.
(Go read Hammerhead Theater!)

I find myself faced with my own version of Hammerhead Theater over here, and can't help but wish that you could all be here with me, seeing and hearing all of this.
I also really, really want to be able to articulate the sound of someone's voice and laughter via font or description, but I just can't. 

Charles: "[Mumbling]...C, C, C, C...."
Matthew: "Huh?"
Charles: "There's a "C" written over here, so I figured it was for my name."
Matthew: "Is that what you always think when you see the letter C?"
Charles: "Do I sense sarcasm?"
Matthew: "Not at all."


Before long the aspect of being "shallow" came up, the other major topic of yesterday.
(See Student Workers 2).
While not all of this has to do with the all-important "What is Shallow?", it all circled around and came back to land on it over the course of the entire day.

Boppity: "I am pretty shallow sometimes. It's easier."
Charles: "It's easier to be shallow?"
Boppity: "Yes."
Charles: "No it's not."
Boppity: "Yes it is! It's not hard to be shallow, Charles!"

Back and forth, back and forth...

Boppity: "Ok...define what you mean by shallow. I don't think it's the same shallow, we're talking about here."
Charles: "Ok...not real."
Boppity: "Ok, define not real. So shallow is...fake?"
Charles: "Well that's an interesting question."

The subject of dating tries to interject...

Boppity: "The first time you go up to bat is important, because if you go up and strike out, you'll never want to bat again!"
Charles: "Well, there are three outs in an inning, and 7 innings..."
Boppity: "No, Charles, there are 3 strikes. And then you're out."
Charles: "Yes, but it's not like you go up to bat ---"
Boppity: "NOBODY LIKES TO STRIKE OUT, CHARLES."

That came about because Charles had began asking me questions about my life.
About meeting my husband, where I'm from.
Like,

Charles: "Did you meet in Arizona? At college?"
Me: "No, in high school, actually."
Charles: "At the same high school?"
Me: "Um...yes."

Then,
Charles: "Was he your first boyfriend?"
Boppity, startled: "CHARLES! Good Lord, stop it! You hardly know the girl!"


Winding around and eventually landing back on Shallow...

Charles: "If you have to actually think about what your words mean or what's really happening, then it's hard, so it's easier to be fake, in a sense, then to just..."
Boppity: "Uuuoohhh...okay. I mean, kind of, I kind of understand what you're trying to say. This is all crazy, because I just meant sometimes I like to take a brain vacation. Be shallow for a while, which is what is easy, to take a break. "
Charles: "So how do you define shallow?"
Boppity: "No, you never answered it for me!"
Charles: "Ok..."
Boppity: "Shallow just means you never go below...it's like a survey course. You don't go into it too deeply but it's enough to get by."
Charles: "I wouldn't even say that."
Boppity: "About survey courses, or..."
Charles: "No, you're defining shallow by the actual definition of shallow water. That's what you're defining it by."
Boppity: "No, you're going too deep. "
Charles: "No, I'm not even thinking..."
Boppity: "HAHA!"

(This conversation went on for a full 20 minutes. They asked three separate people who came into the office what their definition of shallow is. They still don't know what shallow means to one another.)

Boppity: "But children all the time say but why, but why, but why..."
Charles: "Yes, because they're REAL. They're inquiring minds and they're REAL."

After talking to Matthew and asking him a few questions...

Charles, leaning against Matthew's desk: "I'll bet your wife really likes you. People ask you questions and you just say, "Meh, sure." You just seem really passive. I'll bet she loves it."

Later on, this Shallow idea somehow transitioned into...

Charles: "There is a very deep meaning to french fries."
Boppity, Me, random-student-worker: "[blank stares]"
Charles: "It symbolizes the great symbol of America. It shows us, for one...especially fast food fries. It shows that we don't care what we eat...it's all about instant gratification."
Boppity: "Speaking of fries, I wouldn't mind having some steak fries."
Charles: "But it goes much deeper than that. There is a very deep meaning to this."

I never found out what that deep meaning was. Although I'm really, really fine with that.

Later,

Charles: "I think Caitlin is taking a brain vacation."
Boppity: "HA! She's not listening to us. She tuned us out a long time ago."



Sigh.

student workers: the sequel

Yesterday was a giant pot of weirdness for the student worker antics.
Instead of wacky one-liners or casually short conversations, they ended up talking about "bouldering" and the definition of "shallow" for hours. I tuned in and out (I think I may have even passed out at one point) and so I've had to chisel it all down to my favorite excerpts. There's just no time, no capacity, to record it all.

(If you missed part 1 of "student workers", check it out here).

Before the giant topics of Bouldering and Shallow came up, Charles was on a roll. He talked for most of the morning, and at certain times I feared for the lack of oxygen going to his brain when he wouldn't take any breaks to breathe and/or let us recover.
I'm not sure if Boppity was having a bad day or was just "taking a brain vacation" (to be explained later) but she didn't have as much to say.
She didn't even come in to join the fray until we had had our fill of alone time with Charles.

Matthew: "How's your day?"
Charles: "Pretty good, I took a nap on a bench outside for an hour...well, like 10 minutes."
Matthew: "Oh. Nice."
Charles: "Yeah, I wasn't really planning on it. It was a really hard bench."

I think he felt comfortable with us at this point, because he began to really bond with Matthew and felt totally at home going closer than even I'd go, into his personal working space. Which is a very sacred thing.

Charles [randomly pausing, jumping up, and walking over to Matthew's desk, picking up a stack of paper): "Is this recyc...recycle...recyc...[30 seconds later] can you help me?"
Matthew: "Recyclable?"
Charles: "Recycle...recycable...no, that doesn't sound right. Say it again."
Matthew: "Recyclable."
Charles: "Wow, what a word!"

Around lunchtime, still before Boppity joined us:

Charles: "Did someone eat Chinese food for lunch?"
Matthew & I, exchanging glances (neither of us had eaten Chinese food): "........."
Charles: "I had a waft of some kind of soy sauce. Or it's my imagination."
Matthew: "It's your imagination, although...I have some ground beef and some peppers..."
Charles goes over and sticks his face in the tupperware, taking a giant whiff.
Charles: "Ah, yeah, must be the peppers."

Charles, about 2 hours later, leaning in closely to Boppity: "I smell...Chinese...in this room."


What's funny is that on some days, not a word is spoken. On others, a goldmine of nonsense.

Later on, Charles once again wanders too closely to Matthew's desk:

Charles: "What kind of hot sauce is that?"
Matthew: "Tabasco."
Boppity: "Ah, ah-ha, that's too hot."
Matthew: "No, it's not too bad."
Charles: "I think Tabasco is mild, to be honest."
Matthew: "You should try Melinda's, you'd probably like it."
Charles: "Oh, does that have a--a wooden, a wooden like, top? A wooden top?
Matthew: "No, that's Tapatio."
Charles, nodding, his eyes narrowing, with a strange smirk: "Ah, so you're a hot sauce fan."

A while later, Matthew was over by the packing area (we pack and ship a lot of books) and as he turned to go back to his desk, Charles was standing right behind him.

Charles: "Do you eat a lot of nuts?"
Matthew (pausing, staring, walking around him): "Sure, sometimes. They're good."
Charles: "Me too. I like nuts. I've seen them on your desk."
Matthew: "Oh? Well...yeah, I've had them before."
Charles: "Yeah I've seen at least two jars. You had a trail mix at one point. Planters, maybe? At least one jar of peanuts, probably a week ago."
Matthew, at a loss: "...could be, could be."


These last bits are what I like to call the Bouldering Excerpts.
I'm unsure how and why Charles is so observant of Matthew, but I suppose that will remain to be seen. It all started with...

Charles: "Do you boulder at all?"
Matthew: "Boulder?"
Charles, walking over to him: "Boulder, like climb, a lil' bit?"
Matthew, somehow understanding, and looking back at a pair of climbing shoes behind his desk: "...no. They're my wife's ...I've been trying to sell them for a while, I kind of forgot they were there."
Charles: "What size are they?"
Matthew: "Well they're women's..."
Charles: "Yes, but what size? I've been meaning to perhaps purchase a pair...can I just see them? [he grabs them and puts them against the soles of his feet for comparison] Oohh, yeah right. My friends, I've tried some shoes from them that I could sort of walk in, they're like two sizes smaller."
Me: "You've tried on your friend's women's shoes?"
Charles: "Heh, heh, heh, no, they were climbing shoes. So, can I possibly just try and stick my foot in here?"
Matthew: "[raised eyebrow]"
Charles: "Because...if I can walk in them, then I might possibly get them off of you, if I...well...let me try them on first...
"Well this feels fairly normal, actually...although I don't know how much I could take of this. Ouch. I think my right foot may be larger than my left foot. I think the left one could maybe stand this in about 3 minute increments...
"[three minutes later, triumphantly] Well they definitely would work in a pinch!"


Matthew: "So when would be the next time you have the opportunity to climb?"
Charles: "Well, I would basically just use it for the climbing wall...I think it's closed during the summer but I think I'd just keep doing it and getting kicked out throughout the summer. Heh, heh, heh."
Matthew: "Thats...a good strategy..."
Charles: "I've never been that into it but my friends are definitely great boulderers."
Boppity: "You know, climbing can be really hard, it's a good workout."
Charles: "Well, I'm actually in good shape. I would say very, very good shape."

One rabbit hole later...

Charles: "I actually got into Chess for a while."
Matthew: "Chess?"
Charles: "Yeah, but...I actually felt like I was getting into a Chess cult. So I just ripped up all my books on Chess and didn't ever let myself get seriously into it."

Matthew, trying to participate in the bouldering conversation (which if I was a mind-reader, I would have told him that was a really bad idea)...

Matthew: "Did you ever hear about that one free climber--"
Charles, perking up: "The Indian?"
Matthew, startled: "Uh...no, I don't think so."
Charles: "Yes, it is. He's native american. He died."
Matthew: "Um...no."
Charles: "Different guy?"
Matthew: "Yes."
Charles: "Hm. Don't know him."


Stay tuned for more Student Worker excerpts, coming to a blog near you.
I think I'll go take a nap on a really hard bench.