There are definitely moments in which the bitterness of being laid off takes over. They are, for now, fleeting and inconsequential. But I think it all stems from the feeling that I just faded away unnoticed and unannounced, without ceremony. They insisted my termination was budgetary and not performance-based, but you would then think that there could be some fanfare to my departure. I didn’t need a goodbye parade, but there is certainly space between that and being swept under the rug. A card, maybe.
In any case, in my throes of moping, my room has become the set of a future episode of Hoarders. So last night, as I waded through the knee-deep swamp of pizza boxes and Duane Reade bags and dirty sweatshirts, I felt like perhaps it was time to do something. I felt I should at least take out the trash (I think there was a bag of moldy bread in there). At 11:45 PM, I collected a large bag of trash to take out to the cans that sat in the vestibule in the front of our building. As I threw it away, a little friend came up to greet me. Hello, kitty cat!
Now, as any true Hall family member knows, cats have a way of finding us. It is as if we give off a scent of feline compassion with a touch of gullibility. So this little cat, collarless and adorable, pawed around looking lost and confused. There are only four apartments in our building and he was indoors, so he had to belong to a neighbor. He was much too comfortable being held and petted to be a stray. But instead of knocking on doors in the middle of the night, my roommate and I felt the best move was to take him in our apartment and leave some notes.
If you are a careful reader of my blog, you may already know that I have recently been diagnosed as allergic to cats. What the allergist didn’t catch was my big suckerdom for cuddly creatures. So I set up a little bed, a bowl of water, and some of Viva’s dog food with a splash of water (to soften the big pieces too big for little kitty’s mouth). I put him in the bathroom because I felt that when he did eventually poop in my room, it would at least be the easiest place to clean. So I bid him goodnight, turned out the light and went to bed. But this cat was in no mood to sleep. He wanted to play! And he felt that if I were not going to play, then he would find his own game. His favorite game is apparently knock down objects in a bathroom. Several times in the night, I had to get up and rescue something that I figured should not be battered around by a cat.
And of course, after he finally fell asleep, I realized I now had to use the bathroom. Let me tell you what is always a fun time: sitting on a toilet as a newly-awakened and attention-seeking cat rubbed its allergen-y body all over your cold and swelling legs—all the while you are praying that smell is you and not some yet undiscovered mystery in the corner. Worse yet, I found myself talking to him. “Give me a minute!”
I made him a toy out of toilet paper that he enjoyed about as much as a bad gift from your crazy great-aunt. “Oh, wow a toilet paper ball! Let me politely bat it around a couple of times before I go back to knocking shampoo bottles into the tub. Oh you want to see me play with it again? Ok, here are a few more polite swipes with my paw. Happy now? Great.”
I got back in bed, but he was definitely awake. After scratching at the door for a while, he went back to fighting the evil safety razor cover in the bathtub. “Go to sleep,” I would shout, “It’s late!” In the morning, I went in to brush my teeth before heading out to a doctor appointment. Rare are the times that you say things like “thank god you pooped in the tub,” but it was certainly the easiest way to clean it up. And let me tell you, he is shaped like a little kitty but he can certainly poop like a man.
When I got home, I let him explore my room (as I put the various bottles and hair straighteners back into their proper places). His favorite place, he decided, was my pillows on my bed—which should be fun to sleep on tonight. This was after testing out the inside of my coat, my lap, my lunch, and the inside of my other coat.
But as he closed his little eyes and fell asleep (in a Sphinx position, no less. I swear he is related to the fat cat back home), I felt a genuine bond to the little guy. I mean, you don’t clean up someone else’s poop and not have a bit of a bond. It is why freshman year college roommate has a special place in my heart, for sure. But it was at that moment that the neighbor who owned the cat came by. So I had to give up my new friend (not before playing the keep the cat away from the dog keep the dog away from the door don’t lock yourself out of the apartment game). I’m going to miss my twelve-hour companion. But don’t you worry, I still have some hives to remember him by.
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