Another week passed, another week spent in Indianapolis. Despite being armed with several movies, I sat on the couch and watched soap operas every day. I had spinach dip for dinner and then lunch (from the same batch, and I still have one serving left! Hooray for me!). I tried to have a peaceful, back-to-nature moment feeding the ducks outside of my apartment, only to be chased back upstairs by jealous, frighteningly-fast geese. I washed laundry. I read this book (which, though funny, is filled with too many typos to ever read again). And I went to PetSmart to look at kitties, because guess who wants a kitty? That's right.
This has not always been the case. My parents hate cats, particularly my mother, who swears that when Samantha was only a few months old, the feline we had at the time tried to suffocate my sister by sitting on her face. I've never cared either way, but since we've had a dog in the house for as long as I've been potty-trained, I assumed my first very-own pet would be a dog. These last few months I dreamed about getting a cute little beagle I would call Buddy, and we would take long walks together and share our hopes and dreams and take adorable pictures and print them on Christmas cards. Because what else would you expect from a dog named Buddy?
This was the fantasy until Luke said that maybe my one-bedroom apartment was too small for a dog and I'd have to let him out all the time and what would I do with him on the weekends I'm out of town? So now my fixation is on cats, as they are less maintenance and still cute and I can get a dog later when I'm in a lovely brick house with two floors and a basement.
So I went to PetSmart. And there were kitties. Cute ones. Ones that scratched their little kitty paws on the glass when I bent down to their level. Ones that almost came home with me until I talked to a pet lady and she said I should wait until I'm in a ROUTINE, because cats like routines and right now my here-a-few-days, gone-a-few-days pattern is too NON-routine to make one truly happy. Thus, I walked away pet-free.
I'm sick of waiting. Waiting to graduate. Waiting for work to start. Waiting to get my precious little companion that will be named Hermione. Waiting to feel like I'm really home. Because I don't yet. I miss walking to Busy Bee to experience the latest Flavor of the Day. I miss hanging out at Julia's to hear local musicians do their thing. I even miss complaining about the lack of food choices there are in town; at least it's familiar. Maybe that's what I'm really waiting for--to regain the sense of familiar.
I think I did hear some old wives' tale about people used to believe that cats would steal your breath whilst you slept. But we had cats, and it's more of a sleeping-where-and-when-they-want issue, which is usually a place of inconvenience for their owners, like the middle of the hallway or in your favorite seat just before you want to sit down.
Posted by: Luke | May 27, 2005 at 04:05 PM
Hermione!! Great cat name. Don't listen to the PetSmart lady. What does she know? Nothing. Nothing at all.
To be honest though, if you're gonna be gone for weekends at a time, I'd suggest either bringing the cat with you or just holding off on getting one. While they're much more independent than dogs, I've come to find that they get really pissed when they don't have fresh water.
Posted by: Phil | May 27, 2005 at 06:05 PM
Luke's right... I've heard that before, too.
There's even a movie about it... "Trilogy of Terror," based on a book by Richard Matheson, I think. It's three separate, short tales, all with the same starring actress (I think).
Although it's from the 70s and incredibly lame, it was one of my favorite movies when I was a kid... the bad guy in one of the tales is a little voodoo doll that runs around and stabs people... cool stuff :)
Posted by: Becky | May 28, 2005 at 11:18 AM
Oh, my God, I remember that movie! At the end of the story with the little voodoo man, there's a crazy woman squatting in her living room and bringing a blade up and down through the carpet. Or something.
Posted by: Frema | May 28, 2005 at 01:02 PM
Yes! That's the one!
And doesn't she throw him into a fan or something, and he gets all chopped up?
I can't believe my parents let me watch that movie.
Posted by: Becky | May 30, 2005 at 01:41 PM