Blues

On a day when the sky seems more teal than azure, what keeps me alive?

I came home a little under the weather, and am still feeling lethargic and out of sorts. Plus, a few not-too-peachy things have happened and it all leaves me a few notches short of "chirpy".

Still, I will remember that:

1. I'm not the only person in the world
2. Plenty of other people are going through much worse
3. I've been through worse, and survived
4. A lot of the things I'm tempted to worry about are beyond my control
5. A month from now, most of these things won't matter. A year from now, all of these things won't matter.
6. I'm not alone
7. I'll always have chocolate. (Or I would always have chocolate, if only I weren't fasting from it.)
   

I think I summed up my current state of mind pretty well in this e-mail to a good friend:

"Morning [name withheld],

"Help... I am leaving for Shanghai in less than 24 hours and fluctuating between a mellow, 'It's aaaaaaaaaallll good' state of mind (complete with illusions of warm yellow sunlight, and daisies, and bright-coloured VW bug carting me off to a blissful 2 days in Shanghai) and absolute panic, as in, 'What do I ask Paul Marciano [at the press conference]?', 'How am I going to look glamorous and get through an alcohol-soaked party (no problems with the alcohol 'cos I don't drink, but what about the other smoking, drinking, possibly not very coherent after a while, but doubtlessly very nice, people???)?' and 'Whose life is this, and how did I end up living it?'

"Hahahaha... can you tell that I am a little overwhelmed? The good thing is, my boss and colleagues are lending me their glammed-up outfits so clothes-wise, I think I'm ok. I am not even intimidated at the thought of meeting international fashion and entertainment celebs... after all, if I could *ahem* interview such illustrious, world-acclaimed artistes as... uh... Afroman? One-half of A1? I can... I can... siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Of course, my conscience won't let Philippians 4:13* out of its sight... [SNIP, this is where the relevance ends.]"

*"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Which is, after all, the bottom line when I think of any of the other challenges in life.

From the cat's mouth

This is Mudslide, posting on behalf of Sharon. She's one of my two humans who live in this house: the one who feeds me less frequently and usually with less yummy stuff. My other human, Pops, understands that all a cat really asks is three square meals a day of nothing less than boiled chicken in broth. That, and hourly grooming sessions, and to be left alone until I want a human foot to kick/scratch. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to understand. My remaining two humans who've moved to Bangkok seem to have the balance of chicken-in-broth/grooming/play sessions just right but well, they're in Bangkok.

Oh, all right. I'm not so ornery as that. I do enjoy the company of the two humans who live here. Which is why I like hanging out on the bathroom mat while Pops is taking his shower. So that when he comes out, I'm right there to greet him. Either that, or I'm right there to trip him up because he doesn't often look down where his feet are going.

Sharon just wipes her feet on me if I happen to be there, which is why I've learned to see who's going in the bathroom before I lie on the rug. Humans are filthy. This is why I always give myself a thorough cleaning right after they wipe their grubby hands on me. That's another thing about humans. They don't seem to know that such things as "hand towels" exist; they're always rubbing mucky hands on you and acting like they're doing you a favour.

Anyway. Sharon's down with bronchitis, which she at first thought was the common cold. So she doesn't actually know what she wants me to write about. But I'm an intelligent cat, in case you didn't already know, so I can take over writing for her this time. Most of us cats are naturally very intelligent. Although I've heard talk of a cat who used to have these same humans. His name was Nermal and he was, in Sharon's words, "a few catnip leaves short of a scratching post". Apparently, Nermal wasn't quite stupid; he was just "different".

Like, he would get put out of the house for jumping on the dining table and similar misdemeanours. After which, he'd stay outside the glass sliding door, miaowing his head off piteously at the great injustice done to him.

But Nermal was, after all, Not Stupid. So he learned: if you want to get out of the house and all the doors are closed, what do you do?

And he'd jump on the dining table, because that always got him thrown out, without fail.

After which, he'd stay outside the glass sliding door, miaowing his head off piteously at the great injustice done to him... for about 20 seconds, before he realised he'd asked for The Great Injustice and went off to his kitty appointments.

If you've read up to this point and are wondering why you just gave up 10 irrecoverable minutes of your life to read a post about some cat who's long gone to wherever good cats go, I'd sooner ask you: Why'd you start out reading a cat's writing in the first place? Surely you weren't expecting anything earth-shaking since after all, all I am is a small, fluffy creature who spends the better part of her days curled up on a cardboard box and nights skulking outside a suburban bathroom.

And aren't you wondering how I got this typed, seeing that most cats when placed on a computer keyboard will write something really profound, like "JIOP WEOHJH KHOIUEW JBFDJK(*GJKSD@*UO*#$"? Maybe, if you're really nice to me, I'll let you in on my secret so that you, too can get your cat typing. Just leave a comment with your e-mail address and I'll be in touch to let you know where to send the deliveries of gourmet chicken in broth as payment.

Sharon is now blowing her nose and asking me to stop "mucking about". Huh. Why do humans get so crabby when they're sick?