The Cats Move

1.

“He peed on my Senior picture?” Thea’s delighted giggle fills the still empty living room of The Mansion.
“You think it’s funny?” I ask.
“Yeah.....” She laughs again, this time shaking her head. “Don’t you?”
“No, I fail to see the Amusement Factor. I don’t want him peeing in my new house. Goddamn stupid cat!”
She grins, then shrugs.
“Of all the things he coulda chosen to pee on though, it does make you wonder....” I muse.
“What?”
“Well, it’s like he’s letting me know that you’re not welcome. Interloper. Who are you to come here to his new home only 4 days after he’s moved in?"
“Yeah, it is a little weird,” she agrees, then shrugs again, “Well, at least he didn’t pee on me!”
Now I laugh, “Yeah, at least he didn’t do That!”

2.

“Oh My God!” My soon to be ex-landlady exclaims, “She scratched you!”
I let loose the struggling tortoiseshell who bolts out of the yard and over the fence. “Damn,” I mutter to myself, feeling the blood on my cheek.
“Are you okay?” E is staring at my cheek, real concern all over her face.
“Yeah,” I mutter, eying the blood on the back of my hand. “It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to pick her up just now. There was too much going on.” (I’d had my hands full of cleaning supplies for the cottage; E’s husband was watering next to us) “It’s just that I wanted to get her in the box so I could take her over to the new place, but guess I’ll have to wait.”
E stares at me for a moment, then nods, “Yes, I guess she didn’t want to leave yet.”

3.

“I waited till after you’d had your coffee to tell you this,” Ian eyes me, tentative.
“What?” I demand, instantly stressed out.
“Well...” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I didn’t want to tell you this but.....”
“Tell me what for Chrissakes?!”
“You know that box you had to the side of your desk....”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I was saving it for you thinking you might want it back.”
Ian shakes his head, “Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Pablo peed on it and.....”
“Shit!” I exclaim, immediately beyond pissed off. Pun intended. “I can’t believe it. That goddamn cat! I hate that cat! I’m gonna take him to the pound. I can’t have him peeing all over my new place!”
Ian shakes his head, eying me sympathetically, “I know. It’s bad. But he’s an Old Man. He doesn’t have much longer and.....”
”I don’t care!” I cry, stomping into the kitchen to retrieve the pee clean-up substances. “Where was it? Can you show me?”
And he does. And I spray it with anti pee pheromones that don’t work for shit.

Goddamn Cat.

What the hell am I gonna do? Here I’ve spent all this time and money getting into this new place only to have the stupid cat start peeing all over it.

I am so sick of it. But yet, I know that Ian’s right. Pablo is an Old Man, and yeah, probably doesn’t have that much time left. Though I recall mentioning to Thea how I couldn’t believe Pablo has survived all these years and her answer was “Of course. He’s such a Bad Cat. He’ll probably live forever.”

And to be honest, isn’t that what I really want? For him to live forever? Of course he won’t. But when he does go, I know I’ll be devastated. Don’t ask me why.

He is the bane of my existence.

But I guess we all need some cross to bear, right? I just wish mine didn’t involve so much goddamn cat pee.

Scratch & Dent Decision

“Do you have any cats?”
Fred, our Scratch and Dent Clerk Extraordinaire, gives us a little grin. “Yes, I do.”
This delights me, of course. I’ve been dreading my trip to the Sears Outlet Scratch and Dent for weeks. My Agent Extraordinaire,Daphne, was supposed to escort me, but a Kid Situation arose, so she had to cancel.

Grrr....

Fortunately, Dashingly Handsome Boyfriend could come with me instead.

Daphne voiced much disappointment (“I love that place! I really wish I could come! Lemme know how it goes). But I couldn’t wait till later. It was getting down to the wire; the moving date was looming and I needed, at the very least, a fridge. Though being a homeowner and all (and the hook ups were there), I’ve decided to get a washer and dryer too.

Which is luxury beyond all luxuries. To have my own washer and dryer! Wow! No more trips to the Laundromat. No more sharing with Anal Landlords. No more Laundry Schedule Worry.

This mustsa been how the subject of cats had even come up with Fred. We were looking at dryers. Rows and rows and rows of them. All of them were white and square. Well, yeah, duh. But when you behold rows and rows of white square appliances, well, I was suitably awestruck and overwhelmed.

Thanks goodness for Fred!

And he has a cat. Who of course loved to snuggle in the just dried clothes.

“What’s your cat's name?” I ask.
Fred continues his little grin, “Felix.”
“Oh, cute!” I exclaim. “Is he a black and white kitty?”
”No....no....he’s like that famous cat....” Fred struggles for the description? Or the English? Which is very good, but again, he’s Latino. Which Famous Gatto could Felix be like?

DHBF immediately starts listing Famous Cats. None of whom I’ve heard of.
Fred keeps shaking his head, “No...not that one....no.....”
“What’s he look like?” I interrupt.
“He is striped and ....”
“Like Morris?” I offer. “Is he an orange tabby?”
Fred looks at me; then away. Orange Tabby does not register.
DHBF tries again, “Is he like Garfield?”
Fred lights up. “YES! That’s the Cat. He is like Garfield. He is like a dog though more than a cat.”

I nod. Having a dog-like cat in Pablo myself, I offer some dog-like characteristics. “Does he come when you whistle?”
“Yes yes. He comes. And when I say come here to the window.....” Fred stands to one side and pretends like there’s a window next to the row of dryers, “....he goes there. And when I say ‘Stay’, he stay.”
“Wow,” I marvel. No way would Pablo do such involved tricks. “How’d you get him to do all that?”
“I train him!” Fred announces proudly as he marches us over to the cash register to ring up my hundreds of dollars of appliances. “From when he was a baby kitten. I hold him. I train him.”
“That’s so cool,” I nod, nervous now as we approach the register.

What the hell have I done? Talking about Felix has been cute, but has it distracted me from my purpose here? Have I forgotten anything?

But no, Fred picks up all the necessary cords and hoods and other essential attachments that I trust are correct before heading up to the register where I apply for my Sears Credit Card to get 5% off.

“Do you want to sign up for the Kmart Rewards? It comes with your Sears Card,” Fred asks as he rings in the monumental amounts.
“No, I don’t shop,” I announce.
Fred stops for a moment and stares at me.
“She means it. She doesn’t shop. Really,” DHBF chuckles, backing me up.
Fred smiles his salesman smile, “Okay. You want the 5-year warranty? It’s only $150 a year and....”
“I don’t want it,” I interrupt, trying to stop him before he gets started.

I’ve always thought these warranties they sell when you buy something are a rip-off. And also a strange sort of undermining of their own merchandise. It’s like they’re saying, hey, we’re selling you something today that’s brand new (with the exception of a few scratches and dents that Fred marked on the little picture), and it does come with the 1 year warranty from Sears, but it’s gonna break so you better buy this other warranty on top of it.

It’s like they don’t believe in their own products. Or they're just scamming consumers; praying on their fears. And making a LOT of money!

Hell, I used a washer that was 40 years old at my place on 63rd street for 16 years; and granted, everytime I ran it, it sounded like it was gonna take off, but it limped along the entire time I lived there.

Now I’m buying brand new appliances and they need another warranty on top of the one that already comes with it?

“It might be a good idea,” DHBF interjects.

I turn and glare at him. What the hell? I don’t want it and I don’t need him undermining my decision here. Of course, I’m sure this isn’t his intention. He’s just weighing both sides as is his want, but it feels like he’s contradicting me in front of the salesman and while I like Fred cuz of Felix, I know that he’s sensing a Couple Power Struggle and is gonna go in for the kill.

“It costs $149 to have a repairman come in and even look at it,” Fred asserts.
“That’s right,” DHBF nods, “you have to hire a special guy to....”
“I DO NOT WANT IT!” I try not to shout, but it’s hard. What part of “No,” aren’t they getting?

Is it cuz I’m a woman and don’t know about repairs and machines and therefore better buy this extra warranty? Or is it cuz they really think it’s a good idea or deal?
Am I being a stupid Blond to not buy it?

Fred backs off. He wants me to email him the 10 rating so he gets his bonus points.

And later, out in the parking lot, DHBF agrees with me when I say I think these warranties are Bullshit.
“Yeah, I think you're right,” he nods as he opens the car door for me.
“Then why did you contradict me when we were in the store? I felt like you were undermining my decision.”
”I wasn’t undermining you,” he answers. “I was just trying to help.”
And I know this is true. And I also know that I’ll probably get in trouble for writing this, but....

Sometimes I don’t want help. Sometimes I just want to make the decision and right or wrong, it’s mine.

I just hope I don’t regret this one.

I’ll let you know in a year when the warranty runs out.