Trapped at Work

I’m trapped here at work,

The walls closing in.

I’ll never escape here,

The light…it grows dim.

What did I do,

To deserve such a fate?

I look at the clock,

The hour now late.

“I’ll never be free!”

I scream round the room.

But no one looks up,

No one senses my doom.

I’m all alone in perdition,

My life at an end.

So goodbye, friends, loved ones,

My last moment now…[send]*.

*Sent in an e-mail.

Funny Cats

Recently I have seen a spate of hilarious cat related items on the internet and I thought this would be the perfect vehicle to share a couple with you. Here are my two favorite:

Emotional Psych-Out

I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre.

This is the refrain that now runs through my head every time I look at my cat Ernest. Clearly, his plan of psychological warfare is working. Let me explain…

As you all know, Ernest has been something of a spineless, wimpy rabbit around me since he first came into my care a little over a week ago. Every time I enter the room, he goes into hiding. Every time I get too close to him, his breathing changes to a hoarse and rasping snort. Clearly, my very presence is trying his sanity and, potentially, his continued physical well-being. Signs of improvement have been seen, however. On Friday night Ernest flopped down on the floor in my living room on his side rather than posing in his usually belly-down crouch. (The belly down crouch is usually paired with a look of skepticism and deep distrust in my general direction.) He even went so far as to bathe in front of me. Progress, indeed. Then on Saturday, Ernest allowed me to give him a bath. (I say allow, but I’m not sure how much allowing there is when you’re talking about an 8 pound cat versus a 130 pound human.) In any case, he behaved very well. We got through the bath without a hitch and then I spent an hour blowing him dry (not a task I would really recommend as fur goes everywhere and cats really don’t like it). After he was fully dry, I spent an additional thirty minutes brushing him and scratching his head, which he seemed to truly enjoy before he ran off and hid from me. The next morning, there was more cause for celebration. Ernest came out of hiding while I was on my couch downstairs and walked (no slinking) around the living room, seemingly completely comfortable with my presence. After all this good behavior I was starting to feel pretty good about myself. Clearly, Ernest liked me. We were friends. Nay! We were best friends!

Then, the bomb dropped. Thinking we had made decided progress and were now on friendly terms, I walked up to Ernest, sat down next to him, put out my hand, and leaned in to scratch his head.

Ernest. Flipped. Out.

Gone was any hint of the passive, sweet kitty I had seen over the past two days. All that was left was a terrified little rabbit confronting a giant, horrendous ogre (me). Ernest looked up at my hand, past my hand to my face, leapt up into the air, twisted around like a pretzel, flung out his claws, scratched my hand (inadvertently, I think), and then scrambled away, darting from hiding place to hiding place in an effort to confuse the evil monster chasing him. This all happened in about 8 seconds.

I sat in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. I decided to give Ernest some time to calm down and not search for him immediately. An hour later though, with no sign of the little guy, I got up and went in search…and there he was, hiding behind the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. As soon as he saw me his breathing turned raspy and he cowered away as if I had just kicked him. I couldn’t believe it. How did we go from best friends to this in just 8 hours? Clearly, he just needed a break. I would try again in the morning.

This morning I woke up expecting to see Ernest out and about, back to where we had been Sunday morning. Instead, after walking downstairs and going in search once again, I found Ernest hiding beneath a side table next to a chair in my living room. Hiding. From me. Again. I couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Then I looked into his eyes and the answer floated into my brain (from Ernest, I am sure): You are an ogre. Go away, monster. I swear, that is what I heard. I left for class, determined to make up once I returned. Upon my return, however, Ernest decided my presence was so difficult he had to go back to hiding behind the toilet. Looking out at me, I heard once again: You are an ogre. Go away, monster. To my knowledge, he’s still behind the toilet, too scared of the monstrous beast living upstairs to come out into the open (or to even play with the new cat condo I just bought for him – yup, I’m so awful I bought him his own house).

What can we learn from this insane behavior? Ernest is waging a diabolical form of psychological warfare: Step 1: Be scared around the human; Step 2: Slowly warm up to the human so it starts to feel good; Step 3: Flip out around the human; Step 4: Use cat ESP to insert negative self-impressions into the human’s brain; Step 5: Take over the world. Clearly, Ernest is an evil genius. Emotionally psyching me out so he can take over the world. Clever kitty. But I will prevail. Stay tuned, dear readers, because I’m about to turn the tables on dear little Ernest.

[Echoing in my head: I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre…] 

The Camper

No rain was then falling,

The forest was dry.

A sudden breeze soon blew up,

There was dust in my eye!

I had been starting a fire,

The match on its way

To the wood just below me,

But now I must say:

It jumped to the breeze,

Flew away in a flash.

And the fire was started,

Nothing left now but ash.

I lay here in jail,

Aware I did wrong,

Next time I’ll just sit there,

And freeze all night long.

Anonymous Fame

There is something wonderful about being anonymously famous – a sense of pride and self-importance that is created by the knowledge that you could be recognizable, even if you’re not. People are anonymously famous all the time: they have a picture posted on a website without a caption, they are mentioned in an article in the local county paper that no one will ever read, or they are honored at an awards ceremony that no one attends. All these things say, “Hey, you’re amazing. You’re a star. Look at you!” You instantly feel a boost and start to think a lot of yourself, even knowing that you’re not famous by any real standards. You know that the page mentioning or picturing you is out there to the masses (even if they are a very small mass) and that is enough. You are now famous, at least to yourself.

I have recently become a victim of just such anonymous fame in two ways.

First, my law school gave me a certificate for participating in a moot court competition. Last semester I joined one of the two National Appellate Moot Court teams for Lewis & Clark Law School. We went to the Regional competition in November, which my team won and then went to the National competition in January.* Really, we were amazing. But we were not the only moot court team at the school. It turns out there are somewhere around 10 different moot competitions of one kind or another (moot court, mock trial, moot negotiations, moot legislative writing, etc.) at Lewis & Clark and following the conclusion of them all the school holds a small reception for all participants. Yesterday was the reception. Each student who participated in one of these events was given a certificate, which serves no real purpose beyond stating that the student was a participant and team member. (Actually, you didn’t even have to be a team member. People who just facilitated these events got certificates too. Yup. All those people who simply scheduled rooms for us to use or acted as a bailiff were “honored” for their “participation” as well.) Now, I knew going into this event that it was fairly pointless and the only real reason I attended was because I wanted a little recognition of my teams’ achievement, which had been sorely lacking even though we were amazing (can you tell I’m still bitter?), but for some reason, when I was handed that certificate, a truly meaningless piece of paper, and looked out at the crowd (the crowd of other moot courters and a few faculty members who showed up for the free beer and wine, basically 35 people) I felt an enormous sense of pride. I was famous. I was a hero at Lewis & Clark. I was a goddess. Yes, I’m not ashamed to say that I went stark, raving mad. I had become anonymously famous. To my own mind I had suddenly grown to mythic proportions even knowing that no one outside of that room had heard of my accomplishments and that the people in the room really didn’t care.

The second instance of anonymous fame came just this morning in the form of an e-mail from my dear brother, Scott. Evidently, I am being featured in a magazine produced in Baja, Mexico – and by featured I mean there is a picture of me on one of the pages without a caption or any other indication of who the fisherwoman in the Tilly is.** But who cares?! I’m famous!!! Everyone can see my picture...in this one magazine…only available in Mexico…only produced in Baja… only if you can find it…and once you flip to page 31. Ok, maybe I’m anonymously famous. But regardless, I feel good about myself now and I feel like a super star. (Now even more so since I’ve shared my glory with all of you.)

So give it a try sometime. Become anonymously famous. I have no doubt that true fame would be a pain in the butt and not worth the hassle, but anonymous fame is something else altogether – all of the glory with none of the drawbacks. If you’re ever feeling down or just a little bit blue, become anonymously famous because anonymous fame is a beautiful thing.

*My silence on winning or losing the National Competition basically tells you the outcome.

**Click here: http://issuu.com/paradisemags/docs/paradise_magazine_5?mode=window&pageNumber=1 and go to page 31

Daily Interaction with My New Cat, Ernest

For those of you yet unaware, I have a new cat. He’s a six year old Persian (aka the flat faced breed) whom I affectionately call a red-head, but which breeders claim is a “flame point.” Basically, he’s adorable. He also is a complete and utter wimp. I suppose my view of catly behavior is somewhat skewed as for the past 15 years or so my primary cat interaction has been with feral barn cats who would shred your face as soon as look at you. But really, by any standards, Ernest is a wimp…a wuss…a rabbit. If there is a loud noise, Ernest is hiding. If there is a quick flash of movement, Ernest is hiding. If the sun is out, Ernest is hiding. I swear this cat is petrified of everything! I’m sure most of this fear is due to the fact that he was recently sold and has changed homes three times in the past month. First, he was sold from the breeders’ house where he lived his entire life with 5 other male cats and went on a car ride with my sister to her room in Los Angeles. After a week, my parents drove down to Southern CA to retrieve him where he spent the next week locked in a small room while loud noises and stomping footsteps terrorized his every waking moment, creating hourly panic attacks about what he could hear, but could not see. Finally, he took a trip on an airplane to my house, where he is stranded with a crazy, asthmatic, sneezing monstrosity who insists on petting him every night and shoving treats he doesn’t want under his nose. (That monstrosity is me, by the way.) So, his life has been in extreme turmoil. Thinking it over now, I guess it’s really not surprising that he often stuffs himself into random corners or behind my fridge whenever I am in the room. But, I will say, he is getting better and hiding a little less when I am awake/around. Here is an example of our daily interaction.

8:00 am – I open my door to find Ernest lying down somewhere in the short hallway outside my bedroom door. He’s not allowed in my room (I need at least one cat free zone in deference to my poor nose and lungs), but he really likes sleeping/hanging out in that hallway at night. I have a number of theories about this behavior: (1) he is afraid of the dark and therefore doesn’t like to be alone downstairs at night and the last light on in the house at night is my bedside lamp in my room, which he can see under the door; (2) he likes the smallness of the hallway outside my room because it makes him feel safe; (3) he is waiting for the proper moment to attack and kill me and has decided he will have the most success first thing in the morning when I am least awake and aware, therefore, he lies in wait outside my room.

8:03 am – after three minutes of staring at each other during which time Ernest’s breathing gets increasingly raspy and panicky due to my presence, I walk past him on my way downstairs. His eyes following my every step.

11:45 am – I come back home following class and the gym and glance around the house for Ernest. He’s nowhere in sight. So begins my hunt for my new kitty. Without calling out or announcing my presence in any way, I tiptoe around the lower level of my house, looking in every corner and crack where he could squeeze his small body. Nothing. Next, I head upstairs and, sure enough, there he is…still lying outside of my room in that hallway. Since I left, he’s only moved from lying in front of my guest bathroom door to my guest bedroom door. With a sigh, I look at him. He looks at me. The sound of his panicked breathing steadily increases. I walk past him into my room after saying hello.

4:05 pm – I walk past Ernest in my hallway again as I leave once again for school. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence beyond watching me with his enormous eyes.

9:47 pm – I arrive home and once again make the rounds looking for Ernest, but this time I start with the hallway upstairs and my search is cut short because that is where he is hiding. I walk back downstairs and grab his brush and return to spend some time with my kitty. As he watches me, rasping in breaths, I sit down on the top stair, speak in a low, crooning voice and begin to brush him with one hand while scratching his head with the other. Slowly, Ernest relaxes under my attention. His breathing calms and he closes his eyes as we enjoy a quiet moment together. I stay with him for at least twenty minutes. For the rest of the night his breathing remains regular whenever I pass him on my way up and down the stairs.

11:35 pm – While lying in bed in my room I can hear Ernest coming up the stairs after a visit down to his litterbox, water and food. (His breathing really is quite noticeable.) I hear him settle down in the hallway and after about 10 minutes I hear a gentle snoring noise. Yup. My new kitty snores. Like a little chain saw. After four days or so, Ernest has adapted to my routine and knows I won’t be coming out again that night and so feels comfortable enough to go to sleep. I fall asleep with the knowledge that the suspicion will begin again tomorrow, but he’ll be a little more comfortable and a little more at ease. Maybe tomorrow he’ll even come downstairs while I’m down there. Who knows?