Oscar and I had a fight yesterday morning. He had spent the night stepping on my hair and trying to play push-push on my face. (If you don’t know what push-push is, you don’t have a cat. Push-push is a game that cats play in which they push on you with their paws. Usually they focus on the tender bits. Because they are all assholes.) Also Billy was at work until almost 2am because his company launched their website/social network/game for the public. (It’s really cool and fun!) I was a little mopey for having had to go to bed by myself because I’m a spoiled baby. And in the morning, for some reason I decided that I needed to leave the house without a lick of cat hair on my legs. I was committed to that idea. In retrospect it’s pretty clear that I was picking a fight with Oscar. Because there is no way I could ever leave the house without a nice layer of cat hair covering my legs from the knee down. Not to mention the cat hair that always appears on my food, in my mouth, on my face, etc. And who cares anyway? Like I’m trying to impress anyone. But that was what I wanted and I didn’t care. So every time he headed towards my legs for his usual morning assholery, rubbing all up on my shins and getting under my feet, I just tried to side step him. Not easy. Plus it seemed to annoy him. Sometimes I think he’s not that smart, but then I realize that he’s actually an evil genius. When I wouldn’t let him rub on my shins he decided to get me where it hurts. In my small orange plastic animals collection. Yes, I have a collection of small orange plastic animals. A dog (Orangey), a cat (Ginger), a fish (Mickey Blue Eyes), another cat (as yet unnamed), and a dolphin (Susan). I’m very fond of this collection. Orangey used to travel with me in my pocket. I find comfort in small things that I keep in my pocket, not unlike a six-year-old boy filling his pockets with little frogs. Anyway. Oscar started swiping at my small orange plastic animals, knocking them to the floor and chasing them around. One after another. I tried to ignore him first, then I tried yelling at him, then I tried spraying him with water (which only worked for like 5 minutes at a time, then he’d be back at it). Eventually I tried chasing him out of the room with my bath towel. When that didn’t work I gave up and put some wet food in his bowl, and proceeded to burst into tears, sit on the bed and attempt to wake up my exhausted boyfriend. Of course Billy was half asleep and very confused about why his girlfriend was weeping.
In summary, my uterus is all better but my mind is starting to go.