About 10 minutes ago I disconnected my laptop from the Internet because the Internet is really freaking distracting.
I believe it can either be a writer’s best friend (when using it for fact-checking) or worst friend (when suddenly wasting an hour+ scrolling BuzzFeed or Pinterest).
Since the Internet can be such a time devourer, occasionally I like to go old school and disconnect from it altogether. It helps me to really ‘zero in’ on finding writing inspiration in the real world that’s happening all around me.
Today, I’ve found said inspiration while watching my fantastically, pleasantly plump, 20-pound orange cat run—okay, more like gallivant—around my dining/living room.
What he is chasing exactly I do not understand… I brushed him and checked him for fleas and he came up clean so that’s not it. Since he’s 13 years old now I’m beginning to wonder if he’s getting a bit delusional… either that or he’s seeing ghosts. I don‘t know which I’d prefer.
Along with his chasing, he also keeps abruptly stopping and then whipping his head around super-fast from one direction to the next. A moment later he runs to a specific spot on the carpet and scratches it with his claws that we‘ve never had removed. After a few seconds of that, he then turns around and again sprints—gallivants—back the direction he came from.
It is the strangest thing.
But then again M.G. (short for Mr. Goldie) is a very odd cat and I love him all the more because of it.
Buying him was probably one of my best—OMG HE JUST RAN INTO OUR TRASH CAN AND KNOCKED IT DOWN. He seriously was just doing one of his sprinting sessions and I actually think his butt bumped the can and knocked it over. What am I going to do with this goofball?
Okay, so what was I saying? Oh, yes… I believe that buying him was probably one of my best decisions ever. You see, a girl needs a cat. And furthermore, a writer needs a cat. I really think such things go hand in hand.
Not to mention that M.G. just makes things better. He’s entertaining, he’s another living thing in the house—I’ve tried plants, killed them all—and he’s the first animal ever that I’ve had to take care of on my own. Because let’s be real, although my husband also loves M.G., I’ve never ONCE seen him clean out the litter box. Not. Once.
I call my husband and M.G. ‘my boys’ when they spend afternoons on the couch lounging around watching golf or their man shows together. It’s so cute. M.G’s like the cat version of Caleb, or Caleb’s like the human version of M.G., I’m not totally sure which one.
I think a few of my favorite memories with M.G. are:
- The time we accidentally had the groomer shave him bald (we didn’t understand what ‘lions cut’ meant).
- The time I put a Christmas sweater on him and he kept walking backward thinking he could escape it.
- The first time I ever brought him home.
During the first few hours of me owning him and transporting him to his new home, he meowed non-stop. I almost took it personally, but now that I know him better I’ve realized he just really hates cars. Even the soothing sounds of Matchbox Twenty through the stereo didn’t calm him.
Then, when we finally made it home, he wandered all around the apartment and gave everything a good sniffing. After he finished his sniffing he went behind the couch and hid for a few hours. I decided to give him his space.
So, I sat on the couch and watched a few episodes of Friends and The Simpsons while I waited.
Later into the night he cautiously wandered out and sat a few feet over to my right. I could tell he was sizing me up out of the corner of his eye, making sure he was close enough to see what exactly I and this place was all about, but not too close so that if I tried to like, pet him, he wouldn’t be able to get away. We sat like that for a while.
At first, it was weird thinking I’d bought this animal and released him into my home. And since my husband was out in the field during my cat-buying excursion, I can only imagine M.G.’s thoughts when Caleb finally came home. M.G. was probably like, ‘NOW WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY!?’ Just when we’d started getting used to each other he now had a whole other human to deal with.
There truly is something weird about buying an animal and just placing it in your home though. It’s like you’ve decided their fate and you’re pretty much saying, ‘welp buddy, this is it! This is as good as it’s ‘gonna get!’ I mean I guess the pet could run away if their home was ever that dire… but then again, if the animal’s never let outside that could pose a problem. Huh.
But I think M.G.’s happy here. We buy him the food he likes; he has a nice fluffy bed filled with his toys he spends his cat naps in, and at night I let him sleep on the top right corner of our bed as he likes too. We love him.
We also take him to the groomers for a good clean shaving now and then because after that first accidental shaving… he kinda seemed to like it. He was like a whole new man.
We even give him treats sometimes even though the vet explained he’s ‘hefty’. He’s lost 2 pounds since we’ve owned him, and he’s 13. So, I say let the big dog eat.
Yes, I’d say buying the big fluff ball and adding him to our little fam is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I can officially claim I’ve become a cat person ever since, telling stories about M.G. in public and showing off his pictures. He’s the best.
I’d always dreamed of owning my very own real-life Garfield one day and little did I know he’d be there waiting for me in a foster home in the middle of Seattle. Life’s funny like that though, one way or another it appears to always have a way of leading The Good Stuff to us, even if it’s in ways we never expected.