My cat is sad because I can’t sleep, which is keeping her awake too.
I’m overworked. No, really, I’m always overworked but now I’m acutely overworked. That’s why I thought that before resuming work, I could grab a blogging break. Not a break from blogging but a break to blog. You know, so I could feel guilty afterwards for not having been working.
Overwork is an awesome way to boost your existing mental issues and get yourself new issues you didn’t know you had. At this state of overwork, I don’t have normal response to stimuli because all my brain capacity is taken up by working and thinking of working. My reaction to ordinary situations is either of the following:
I’ve been successfully excessively panicking today on multiple occasions. To an uninvolved observer, it would probably look extremely hilarious. Even I, a very involved actor in the fits of panic, could appreciate some of the humour in it.
I had the best meltdown when I couldn’t find my favourite cat toy. Not my cat’s favourite toy, she is indifferent to all toys, but my preferred toy out of the collection of cat toys I use as home decorations. I was looking for it everywhere. Repeatedly. I blamed the cat for losing it.
I have no idea how the cat does that but she sometimes does lose a toy. She must be eating them. When I was on the verge of hanging myself on a cat string toy, it occurred to me that I must have collected the missing toy accidentally from the floor with the bed sheets I was changing and must have put it in the laundry basket.
Yup. There it was. I thought I lost it forever. I’m unreasonably attached to cat toys and I probably only have a cat because of the toys. To immortalise said cat toy, I just snapped and Snapseeded it and it goes with this post. So much panic for such a little thing. Seriously.
It’s been such a wonderfully quiet day. No one called me, no one mailed me, no one came banging at my door in the misled belief that when I’m the concierge, I can set their problems and the world to rights.
Only the cat has been disturbing me. She’s excited I didn’t leave her forever after all, as she was home alone the whole day yesterday. So tonight she’s been climbing on my desk when I was working or sitting sullen and awake on top of the radiator, further from me than usual because the human put her big reference book at the cat’s usual spot.
Humans suck. I agree with the cat. This quietness means one thing. An apocalypse is impending. I’m scared to go to sleep. Which is why I’m typing this, in bed, in the dark, with the cat nowhere to be seen, which means she’s up to no good either. Catocalypse is coming.
Cats are generally deemed to be plotting the early demise of their owners. I don’t think they have it well thought-through because procuring a new owner might present a problem. It doesn’t make sense for the cat to dispose of the human, unless the cat wants to feast on the dead body. But cats don’t make sense. Neither does mine, however, she is not be underestimated. She doesn’t simply plot to murder me, she also actually acts on her murderous intentions. Her schemes for getting rid of me are extremely clever. You’d never expect that, especially if you believe that your cat is dumb.
I avoid conflicts at all costs and my cat knows it. Anytime I’m preparing myself a meal, the cat acts like a drama queen. She makes as if she wants my veggies, tofu or soy. She doesn’t actually want any of these things. The only thing she eats is dry food and the gravy from meat pouches. Not the meat, she chose to be vegan. So, I always prepare food with the cat meowing like I’m murdering her and making me feel guilty. The cat places her hopes in my inclination to avoid guilt and conflict and expects me to stop making myself meals, hence dying of starvation.
My cat scares the shit out of me. That’s her thing. Not only does she creep on me, disappears and then reappears at a spot where she absolutely couldn’t have got herself in the split second that it takes. She also haunts me when I sleep. She recently undertook to climb on the cushions next to my pillow in bed. So when I wake up, she’s hovering over my face, very close and very big. Her other move is to position herself at my nightstand and wait for me to turn my head when I’m reaching for my phone. It’s pretty scary to look up the first thing in the morning and see the cat triumphantly towering above me.
My cat is a living assault weapon. It’s not just the usual love bites and scratches which I incur when I show as little sense as to touch her when she’s in play mode. Cats have a somewhat violent idea of what constitutes play. When my cat has the crazies, she runs around like crazy (hence crazies), jumps like a bunny and basically walks on walls and the ceiling. She also waits in ambush behind the fridge for me to walk by and then jumps at me. This is normally okay because she bounces off, but the other day she hit my shin. The impact was surprisingly painful. I guess she graduated to aggravated assault.
Heyall (my autocomplete corrected heyall to Jerusalem, WTF was it thinking)! I have some news. I’m literally bloody dying here on so many levels (the autocomplete suggests a Bloody Mary).
One, my radiator man is a Godot (I don’t know the word for the guy who does radiators). It’s the second time he promised to show up and was no-show. The bastard is reimbursing me for my electricity bill because my electrical heater is at full blast all day and night, since my regular radiators don’t work.
Two, I’m translating a contract concerning an extrusion line. Don’t ask me what that is. That’s to remain a mystery both to me and anyone who will read my translation. A sensible translation speed for a day’s worth of work is about seven pages. I’ve done fifteen in the last twenty-four hours and have fifteen more to go. Deadline tomorrow. Got the job yesterday. FML.
So what the heck am I doing here (besides dying)? Procrastinating. No, really, I just needed to stretch my legs. So I swung them on the window sill and am typing this in the mobile app again. I might even come to like it. Or hate it less.
If you’re knowledgeable in radiators, extrusion lines, legal English and legal Czech, or one of the aforementioned, come over. Now. Otherwise, send pizza and Oreos. Thanks. I’m off to die.
My cat does the usual catty things and some other things that might be catty or not but are, hands down, definitely crazy. My cat is my favourite person but, damn, she is so dumb. She didn’t take after me.
My five-year-old cat hasn’t yet discovered that her nails are retractable. She gets regularly stuck in the blinds, hanging there, meowing helplessly and waiting for me to disentangle her. Which I do but don’t fail to inform her how dumb she is and how it serves her right (my parents used to do the same to me, so I assume it’s good upbringing). It doesn’t serve my blinds right though.
The cat recently unlocked her jumping skills. She uses them to hang out at my bedside table. The miniature table is already occupied by a lamp and a cactus pot. It might seem that the cat is smart to squeeze herself on top of it but she’s really dumb because she keeps on swiping her tail around as she settles, sending dirt from the pot flying to my bed. Since I’m not (as) dumb, I was forced to move the pot. Cat hair in the bed is one thing but dirt is dirt, literally.
Apropos my cat’s supposed smartness in fitting at the bedside table, the other day I heard some noise and came on the cat slipping down from the top and trying to avoid the fall by holding on to the cacti desperately (both the cat and the cacti were desperate). Both the cacti and the cat escaped unscathed, but I came to doubt my cat’s intelligence even more.
My cat probably doubts her own intelligence too because she regularly gets stuck in a tight spot, where she remains illustriously calm, quiet and waits for me to discover her. Most recently, she got stuck between my oil radiator and the wall, right next to me. I spent forever looking for the little bastard, wondering whether she has flushed herself down the toilet or what. When I saw her, she growled and when I let her out, she ran to hide elsewhere. She’s so clueless that her cuteness is her only redeeming feature.
Part of WordPress’s photography course Developing Your Eye I.
I can’t get enough of challenges. I should challenge myself not to accept any challenge for, say, thirty days. On second thought, that seems excessive. I shall not accept any challenge for the next thirty minutes.
I’m done with WordPress’s photo challenge Developing Your Eye part II, so I subscribed to the prequel, part I. I’ve received the first few prompts now and they fiercely amuse me. They are so, how to put it nicely—dumb?
Don’t even consider joining this anti-challenge unless you’ve never attempted to take a photo in your life. Task one is to locate your camera, find the fire button and take a picture of what home means to you. I haven’t felt at home for many years, so instead, here’s my cat at home.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in.