I try not to talk about relationship stuff on this blog—wouldn’t want anyone distracted from the poetry, recipes, running adventures, pop psychology, and occasional funny cat stories. Ha. But in the aftermath of my most recent breakup, I’ve noticed something. I hate being single. I know I’m a grown woman and we’re supposed to learn to love ourselves and be happy with all the other types of love in our lives. We are supposed to pamper ourselves, enjoy the chance to do whatever we feel like doing, and be happy and fulfilled alone. Mostly, I can do that. I’m an introvert by nature so I’m fine with my own company and I do think I’m pretty awesome most days. I’m often selfish, so I’m good at pampering myself and prefer to be in charge of my agenda. I love my friends and my cats and they love me back. I stay in touch with my family via phone calls and Facebook. So why do I get all morose just because I don’t have some doofus texting me a couple of times a day to tell me what he had for breakfast or ask me what I want to do with the evening? Why on earth do I feel such a strong need for attention from some male person? Argh. Even when I know what I should be doing and what I should have learned by now, there’s still that little voice that says “I need a sweetheart and I need him RIGHT NOW.” That little voice must be ignored. I will use my free time to get some crafty crap completed and text my friends a little more often and maybe plan a couple of girl’s nights to distract me. And I absolutely will not pay attention to the hot ex-boyfriend who has gotten in touch with me because I try not to make the same mistake twice.
I also try not to talk too much about my cat. There are plenty of reasons that I’m crazy—there’s no need for one more. But do you remember how I said I was volunteering at the animal shelter? Almost every time I volunteered, I’d fall in love with one of the cats. The next week, that cat would be gone—adopted. Eventually, that adoption streak had to end. I noticed one cat who had been there longer than most of the others. Bailey was sweet and liked to be petted, but always looked miserable and sick. He crouched in the bottom of his bed as if someone were pressing down on him. I told him that he’d have to sit up and look friendly in order to find a forever home.
One day, I introduced my (now former) boyfriend to him and of course, he just had to find out the cat’s story. (After I heard the story about Titan, who was found with a rope around his neck, I’d stopped asking.) Turns out this little guy had been taken from a hoarder 2 years previously, when he was a kitten. He had been there longer than any other cat. He’d been part of a bonded pair and had been adopted out briefly when he was less than a year old. The person returned him but refused to return his sister. He was a staff favorite, but they knew he’d have to find the right household if he was going to have a real forever home. Well. I wanted to take him home before I heard the story. After all that, I was determined. He came home with me a couple of weeks later.
|Had to brush my teeth in the kitchen that morning!|
He lived in my teeny-tiny bathroom for a few days. One morning, he was curled up in the sink so I figured he was ready for more exploring. I let him into my craft room where he promptly disappeared, was found, disappeared again, got found again, then disappeared once more. I rearranged the room to limit the hiding places and he got comfy in his bed under a clothes rack. He explores the room late at night and has started coming out to see me when I stop in to pet him and feed him. He’s still terribly nervous but finally beginning to show signs of relaxing. It’s been amazing to watch and it makes me smile just to think about it. In the last couple of days, he has begun to walk around the room a bit even when I am in there with him. This gives me hope for his future. Sure, he may never be gregarious, but he may come close to normal. Bella hasn’t met him yet, but she knows he’s in there somewhere. Let’s hope the little diva is as sanguine about him joining the household as Bailey and I have been.
|Bailey up and walking around, even with a spectator!|