It is What it Is

Laurel's Unplanned Cat Rescue Service

A few weeks ago, I found a cat behind the SO’s house. This is not really an unusual occurrence. In general, the area behind the SO’s house is kind of like feral cat central (lots of woods), and none of the cats let me get near them. This is why I occasionally feel like I’m feeding a marauding band of homeless cats Meow Mix if Kitty Cat Jones dines al fresco.

(In my mind, they’re a gang kind of like The Outsiders, and they talk to each other in lots of, “What were you thinking man?” and “Ain’t nobody going to care about a bunch of greasers.” Yes, I know I’m nuts.)

This cat was different though. Scraggly, covered in fleas and crying, she didn’t seem like she was built for life on the outside. When she let me pick her up, I knew she was different. (And as soon as I realized she was de-clawed, I knew she was most certainly not running with the other gang.)

I treated the cat for fleas, and because of the intense crying, took her pretty quickly to my vet.

(As a not-really cat person, I still have no idea how I end up with so many cats.)

Cat Update

For anyone still keeping track of the cat's name changes, here are the latest developments in Kitty Cat Jones' life.

1. We started calling Kitty Cat Jones by his initials, so we've been calling him KKJ for a few months now. Then, one day, while yelling "KKJ" across the yard, we realized some of the neighbors might think we're racists if they misheard us or didn't listen too carefully.

2. I was asking a friend of mine whether or not she thought our neighbors might think we were extremely prejudiced when she paused.

"You know that Kitty Cat Jones' initials would actually be KCJ, right?"

So, not only might we be considered the white supremacists in the neighborhood, but we can't spell either.

3. I went home and told the SO about our mistake, and he responded, "No, that cat is KKJ. End of story. I don't care what his actual initials are."

4. Despite Coco, Cocoa, Toonces, Kitty Cat Jones, KKJ and KCJ, we've actually just been referring to the fluffy little dude as "the stationary cat" because he does not move from the spot in the picture for days. And I mean days. Other than raising his head occasionally, I don't think he leaves the dog's bed for hours (in the multiples of 24 variety) on end.

5. Meet the stationary cat! (Sure to be TSC or some other bizarre incarnation by Spring.)

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 You Should Know Should I Become Lost At Sea

When I teach, I tend to give my students lots of writing exercises. This mainly comes from the fact that I think writing must be taught by actually writing rather than just talking about writing. However, I often get the feeling that most of my students think I just like quiet time (which I do) and that I'm trying to torture them -- especially when it comes to free writing.

So, most of the time, I do the exercises along with my students. It's helpful for me to get some new ideas down on paper, and I hope it demonstrates that I don't ask my classes to do anything I wouldn't, and don't commonly, engage in.

Last night, I was leading a short workshop on "Personal Essay as Message in a Bottle." (It's for a local non-profit group/writing center -- hence, the theme.) The general idea was, "What would you want someone to know about you if this message in a bottle was your last communication with the outside world?" However, being that that's a little dark, we started with what you'd want someone to know about you that might help them find you/recognize the urgency of the situation.

My list:

1. I'm a small (5'3") brunette with blue eyes. I do not look very good after a few days without bathing, but the salt water will have done wonders for my naturally curly hair.

2. My parents are  Diane and Billy Mills. One is an engineer, and the other is a lawyer, so hopefully one will figure out a way to extract me from this Godforsaken place while the other will figure out who to sue the pants off/make me rich for life off of whatever trapped me here. (Hint: A large reward for my safe return -- emphasis on "safe" -- should be involved.)

The Crazy Cat Lady

In the list of stereotypes that I try to avoid, "crazy cat lady" is near the top of the list. (Not that there's anything wrong with that for my cat-loving friends; I'm definitely a crazy dog lady.) However, when you're Southern, 30, single and a often a bridesmaid, you'd be amazed how many people suggest your home life is full of stuffed animals, multiple cats and repeated references to Sex and the City.

For the record, I don't have stuffed animals. I didn't like Sex and the City. (Why do people judge you if Miranda's your favorite character? Wouldn't you be that dark if you spent all of your time with those three other crazies? Brunch chatter alone would be enough to push me over the homicidal edge.) And until recently, I didn't have a cat. 

I am so paranoid about people thinking I might be slinking towards "crazy cat lady" territory  that I won't buy cat food without buying dog food, too. Should I find myself in need of cat items alone, I will announce to the cashier and anyone within earshot that "I also have a dog." You know, just in case.

But, a few days ago, I found myself at a place called Cat Haven, and there really was no sense in pretending anymore.

Cat Watch 2010: Part Deux

I had the nerve to go out of town for the weekend. At least, I think the cat considered it nerve.

Maybe he was displeased. Maybe he doesn’t like other cats. Maybe he just really likes trees. Because sure enough, within four days of ending the first Cat Watch, the world’s oddest cat climbed yet another tree.

The cat food was disappearing each night, so I figured Toonces/Kitty Cat Jones (depending on who you talk to), was just out on one his adventures. Then, I saw a white and orange cat that was definitely not Kitty Cat Jones running away from the bowl one night and knew that Kitty Cat Jones might have wandered too far away from home. I grabbed the SO and insisted we patrol the neighborhood.

“Mew,” I called.

“Mew,” the SO reluctantly added his calls to my own.

Two houses down, a cat answered, but it was a black cat that was also not Kitty Cat Jones, so we kept going. Four houses down, I heard the distinctive – and loud – cries of one Kitty Cat Jones, and sure enough, rather than being on the ground like most four-legged creatures of God’s green earth, he was in a tree. And at least 25 feet in the air in said tree to boot.