It is What it Is

In Which The Dogs Question That Whole "Pack Leader" Thing

Unfortunately, last night was another night for deadly storms in Alabama. My thoughts are with the families who lost loved ones and homes.

You might think that you would eventually get used to the sound of weather sirens in the night, but I think most people who live in tornado alleys would second that it's always an unnerving and unsettling phenomenon.

Since I live in a house with a concrete slab foundation, our "place of safety" (the real term if you don't live in inclement-weather-prone parts of the country) is the only room in the house without windows -- otherwise known as the guest bathroom. It is also the only bathroom with a tub, so it's where the dogs get their baths. Whether it's claustrophobia or bad memories, neither pooch was too crazy about the idea of getting in there with a bunch of fleece blankets, pillows and the Kindle fire at 3:30 in the morning.

Christmas Ornaments Of A Different Ilk

For all you dog and cat lovers out there, Shelter Partners, a great organization that helps dogs like Goofy the Great Dane find homes all over the country, is selling ornaments for Christmas to benefit their organization. I personally know a rescue dog who is hoping we can all spread the love.

Is There Any Chance This One Is Multiple Choice?

We all get asked a lot of hard questions in life:

“Was someone roller skating in the house?”

“Are there going to be parents there?”

“What do you want to major in?”

“What is 17 squared?”

Most of us figure out the answers  -- or pretend we do. (Except for that 17 thing – that’s what calculators are for.) Even when we’re plagued with doubt, there’s usually an answer somewhere, or an answer we lean towards.

Last week, while I was visiting my doctor (aka therapist), she asked me a question that absolutely left me floundering: Where does your self-worth come from?

In The Event Of The End Of The World

I realize that some people think the world might end tomorrow. I’m not actually one of those people, and honestly, I don’t even know what the theory is based on, but I do pay attention to the four stories that pop up on my Yahoo! home page, and May 21 has been getting a lot of attention lately.

I mean, if the world is going to end, it’s not like there’s a lot I can do about it. (Not that this is an excuse to stop recycling or pursuing green initiatives in case there are still any conservatives left in my blog audience.) As I was discussing with a friend over the weekend, I think most generations would almost like to think that the end of the world would come within their lifetimes. It’s a good way to put off the unnerving truth/realization that, most likely, life will go on without us, for generations and generations, and possibly even eons. An ongoing world means we’re all a little more forgettable, and no one wants to be forgettable. (Sorry to get a little dark there.)

I also know some people are freaked out by the fact that the Mayan calendar ends in 2012. Anxiety disorder and all, I think this is one of the least upsetting signs of a possible impending apocalypse. Let’s be real. For a group of people that went out around 1450, I think it’s pretty impressive they even bothered taking the calendar to 2012. How far out front are you supposed to get with those? I doubt anyone is working on day planners with New Yorker cartoons in them for 2415 right now, and I hardly take it as a sign that the world will end whenever the people down at the warehouse decide to stop making kitten calendars. 

However, since we never know what can happen, I might need to get a few things off my chest before tomorrow – just in case.

Storm Damage And Sequin Shoes

We had quite the storm here in Birmingham on Sunday night. I, of course, was catching up on Friday's Medium while the SO was away, when I heard pounding against the side of the house that sounded like an invading army wanted in. In actuality, it was hail.

Hail rained down on the house like I haven't seen in years. (It looked like someone had taken garbage cans full of that rabbit pellet ice and dumped it all over the yard and driveway.) It was one of the loudest storms I can remember.

The dogs stuck pretty close to me, but other than that, they seemed to be handling the stress OK. However, when I went to the back room of the house to look for Kitty Cat Jones (he knows how to use the dog door), I realized he had not taken refuge from the storm, and I was going to have to go out there.

What No One Tells You

I always thought that being able to work from home would be my perfect job. I think that's true for most Americans. After all, you can be in the comfort of your own home, work in jammies and avoid all of the office politics. There's no pretending to care about Peggy's photos from her trip to Phoenix, pressure to buy $10 gift wrap because Paul's kid has a school fund raiser or having to remember to swing by Winn Dixie at 7:30 a.m. because you're the one in charge of pimento cheese for the company pot luck.

Work from home, live the dream, right?

I once even accepted a piddly salary (that I later found out put me about $8,000 behind all of my male counterparts) because I was told there would be the possibility of working from home on some days. (Said possibility never materialized.) And every time I've been part of a large office and overheard someone talking about spreadsheets or how to shake the toner cartridge in the copier to get more life out of it, I've stared off into space and dreamed of doing my daily tasks from home. 

Let's just say that after a year of working from home, yet another of my dreams is dead. Here's the stuff they don't tell you about that domestic office:

The World's Weirdest Cat (or How I Learned to be an Optimist)

As we all know well, my cat, unlike 99% of all cats, will not go near his litter box. After purchasing four different litter boxes, three different kinds of litter and investing in enough Swiffer products to start my own maid service, I was pretty much at my wit's end. 

I finally decided that since the cat seems to think he's a dog anyway, maybe a daily walk with Cassidy would help.

Have I always been the person who makes fun of anyone who puts a cat on a leash? Yes. Did I ever, at any point in my wildest dreams, see myself as the kind of person who would walk a cat? Certainly not. Was I more embarrassed to walk my cat in front of the neighbors than the time I climbed in the car half-dressed with a towel on my head to drive to a friend's house because my hot water went out just as it was time to rinse the Nice 'N' Easy gray coverage dye out of my hair? Yes.

But, as well all know, desperate times call for desperate measures, so I suited the animals up.

Toonces the cat spent 60% of the walk lying on his back in the middle of the sidewalk refusing to move and trying to squirm out of his collar. He spent the other 40% flattening himself against the ground and creeping along like a crab.

Cassidy, excited for a chance to run and play and sniff was not pleased to have such a sedentary companion.

The only aspect of the walk that seemed passable was when we passed some barking dogs and Toonces clung to me for dear life. I thought, "Maybe, at least now, he'll appreciate me. Maybe now, he'll realize how lucky he is to have a safe, warm and loving home."

No such luck.

Poor Products

I love animals, I really do. My dog is one of the most spoiled creatures on the planet. (Only, though, if you count her wardrobe and chest of toys; she in no way has the demeanor of a spoiled dog because she is sweet, loving and perfect.)

I didn't even like cats until I got my own, but now I am enamored, and he regularly sleeps on my chest. Hell, the cat isn't even litter-box trained, and I still love him, and I think we all know there's no true test of one's devotion and affection like finding random puddles of pee -- or worse.

If you were to hurt one of my pets, you would most definitely know my wrath. But, despite how strongly I feel about animals, I'm not so sure where I fall on the spectrum of animal rights. If you abuse an animal, you should go to jail, and I think people who hurt animals deserve a special, fire-filled place in the great beyond, too. However, I also have no problem with the food chain. Mama loves her meat, after all. I own leather handbags (and once upon a time, I had a pair of leather pants).I never objected to a biology class dissection, and when it comes to life-saving, cancer-fighting kinds of drugs, I'm pretty OK with what it takes to make sure those are safe for humans.

My Cat Thinks He's A Dog

I have a love/hate relationship with my blog's stats. On the one hand, the narcissistic part of me has to know how many people clicked on my website in a given day. On the other hand, the numbers themselves can be a bit of a downer. Thank you Mom and Dad for continuing to visit, but in comparison to even some friend's Twitter followers, I'm not causing much of a stir on the world wide web.

For those of you wondering what any of this has to do with my cat's identity issues, here goes: One trend I have noticed is that anytime I put "cat" or "dog" in a blog title, my number of visitors doubles. (Strangely enough, my mention of "Scott Bakula" has a similar effect. Whether or not these two are related, I can't say.) So, in an effort to give the people what they want -- and boost my Google search rating -- here are the top three indicators my cat thinks he's a dog:

3. He tries drink out of the toilet. I have no idea where this came from, but it happened. I'm just glad I was around, and he didn't drown. I don't think he knows he isn't the same size as the dog either.

2. While he clearly has no use for the litter box, he has shown some success in the house-training department with puppy pads. My next step: putting the puppy pad in the litter box. Please keep your fingers crossed. 

Happy Early Halloween!

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