Thursday, October 20, 2011

Separation Anxiety - Cat Style

Just look at her pretty face!!!

My move out has been hard on everyone.  Ok, that's a lie, it totally hasn't been hard on me at all!  In fact, I feel great!!!!  My mother has taken it well (though every time she sees me, she clutches me to her bosom like I fell off the Titanic and she's only recently discovered that the daughter she never got to know is alive and well), and my father keeps calling me to ask me for help around the house and to subtly imply he misses me by telling me that Fatty has been asking about me.

There is one lady, though, that hasn't been taking my non-constant presence well.  And that, dear readers, is my sweet and wonderful Fatty!

Fatty is feeling mixed emotions.  While she's happy that I've finally bucked up and proven that, in fact, I can take care of myself to an extent, she's wondering why she is not part of the packaged deal???  Fatty's well read, and she is especally fond of the Philip Pullman series, "His Dark Materials."  She is pretty sure that she's my daemon, so she's not clear as to how she can live in my parents' house while I gallivant to and fro, hanging out with my roommate's cat and cockatiel.

Fatty knows I've been cheating on her.  The first few times I came home, she sniffed me like I was a total stranger, turned herself around, and left the room.  She's lightened up since then, and now she does the usual run up, meow, plop over, and roll around to which I am accustomed.  I can tell, though, that she harbors resentment, but it's that kind of resentment based in true undying love.

For example, when I try to pick her up (which she normally hates), she lets me do it, but not with at least 4 meows of disgust.  But she doesn't get all tense and uncomfortable and unsqueezably board-like like she would when I lived at home and would hug her 24/7.  My fat cherub misses me.

Fatty is a master of the "WHAT?  Why are you leaving the house?????" look whenever I go out, but now, it's soooooooooooo much more deeply pathetic.  It used to be just a look, or maybe a mild gaze.  It has turned into a full-body rejection.  She walks across the room, turns her back to me, then turns her head over her right shoulder, the whites of her eyes showing all around.  She looks simultaneously enraged and deeply depressed.  Thank goodness I don't have a cat who goes and pees on all my stuff when she's mad.  She's too classy for that.

Fatty, this is an open letter to you:  I LOVE YOU!!!!  YOU'RE THE ONLY CAT FOR ME!  In fact, the only animal for me!  I'll come squeeze you a lot, so have no fear!!!

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