Still Further Proof that the Man Upstairs Hates Me with an Unabashed Passion

After penny-pinching for a few months and holding out for the best price possible, I recently bought some much coveted airfare at surprisingly low rates.

But necessity also compelled me to purchase a couple more outfits for work (figured "business casual" didn't call for holey shirts and frayed pants bottoms), which I did whilst enjoying a friends and family discount for the Republican Banana.

I even started shopping for a new wireless phone, as my contract was about to expire and it was time for an upgrade.

But God would have none of that.

Oh, no.

Rather, Maude has been suspiciously lazy and keeps adding on weight (not to mention, urinating in weird places), and a routine exam at the vet revealed that she most likely has a rare (though not entirely unheard of) condition that causes cysts — and secondary infections — to form in the bladder. What's that mean for me?

X-rays. Blood cultures. Urinalysis. Antibiotics via oral syringe. Temperature taking by means I'd rather not describe. Needing to add two more litter boxes to my one-bedroom apartment. Dietary supplements she turns her nose up at.

And lots and lots of money.

But oh, no, that's not all!

Of the two new litter boxes, the vet insisted one NOT have a lid.

So can you guess where Maude and Guest Cat both prefer to do their business?

Yes. That's right — number one and number two... from both cats... in the same, unhooded box.

That means litter all over the floor, occasional spill-over, and a smell that no amount of Glade Plug-Ins can erase.

The other two bigger, prettier — and most importantly, covered — boxes remain pristine.*

But that, still, is not all.

I went in for an oil change and found out my car was due for much more costly maintenance. So I paid the price, only to have them say, "Everything looks good."

But, hey, they topped off the windshield wiper fluid, and we all know how expensive that is (SMIRK).

In other words: I paid almost $200 for a few ounces of something I had a whole container of in the trunk of my car.

But wait — there's more!

Early this week, my cell phone (which is my main phone) went from old-but-functional to doesn't-hold-a-charge-overnight.

In other words: the battery is shot. As is its car charger, the bluetooth that goes with it, and the corded hands-free set I purchased to try and replace the latter on-the-cheap.

So I can replace the battery, bluetooth and car charger for my current phone at full price, or renew my two-year contract and get a new, better phone at a discounted rate.

OK, OK. I'm complaining when I shouldn't. But here's my real beef with the powers-that-be.

(And in this case, I mean Warner Bros).

The next Harry Potter film — originally slated to release this November — has been pushed back EIGHT MONTHS.

That's right. No more witches and wizards until July 2009.

That sound you hear — shhhh... — that's my heart dying.

A moment of silence, please.


*My priority, of course, is Maude's health — and I don't care if that makes me a crazy cat lady. Of course I wouldn't gripe about the money if I suspected she wasn't going to be OK. I'm taking donations all the same.

Look Who's Coming to Dinner

As you may recall, Maude does not deal well with other cats.

Previous stints with her fellow felines have resulted in all manners of hissing, growling and stalking.

Granted, she adapts well enough to another cat with time, but for the most part she's an entirely different cat the first few days (weeks) she has company.

So imagine my... concern... when I volunteered my pad to a friend coming into town to pick up a Scottish Terrier puppy for he and his wife.

Maude's never seen or heard a dog before, except for maybe through the comfort (and safe distance) of my well-sealed windows, possibly watching the passersby down below. So I had no idea how she'd respond to sharing her living quarters with another species when she gives other cats such a hard time.

When my friend first walked into the room, Maude was clearly curious — begging for affection, rubbing up against his legs, as is custom for this person-friendly cat.

But she hadn't noticed the pet carrier in his hands, and when he set it down on my living room floor — and the carrier moved — and then barked...

Maude was none-too-pleased.

But she neither growled nor hissed — simply looked at the carrier and slowly retreated (so as to maintain her dignity and not let on that she was scared) to the safety of the rug underneath my bed.

She stayed there for two hours.

When she later emerged — creeping across the floor of my living room, getting closer and closer to the sleeping pup — it was apparent she wasn't strictly anti-dog.

At one point, she even let him sniff her (and she sniffed him back), under our careful surveillance to make sure the pup (who was very curious about her and clearly wanted to play) mostly kept his distance (because we all know that what to him would be "play-time" would to her imply she was "under attack").

But he was a good little dog, just staring at her and wagging his tail, trying to get in closer but not putting up a fight when we'd hold him back.

And Maude's response:

She watched him, never growling or hissing, and even purred when petted (when she's around another cat, nothing can get her to purr).

My hope is that this means I'll be able to get a dog at some point in the future — or maybe it's just that she liked this particular dog?

Can't say I blame her.

Super Fat Tuesday; Or, "Float the Vote"

So the life of my goldfish, Jude, has ended and I believe the snails I most recently added to my aquarium are to blame.

Poor Jude. I discovered him late last week, still alive but lethargic with brown spots near his gills and his fins tattered and torn as though infected with leprosy.

Most likely some parasite, so I removed him from the aquarium and put him in a bowl with an antibiotic. The brown started to clear away, and I thought he was going to get better... but 36 hours later, and he was dead.

Go ahead and make fun of me, but I felt a little sad watching him lifeless and limp on his side, moving only with the water's flow.

But as is tradition in this calloused world of fish ownership, I cleaned the original aquarium, spent a day of mourning, and then went to the pet store not only for another goldfish (I wound up with two), but also for a beta to put into a tiny, low-maintenance tank I'd finally been given the go-ahead to bring into work (after making my initial request a year ago).

But I quickly resolved to leave the beta at home; in part because I didn't want to open a can of worms at work even if I did have approval; and in part because it's rather amusing to watch Maude have fits observing this new creature, which is out of her reach but not her field of vision.








So, anyway, I haven't named any of the new fish. The goldfish will either be "Dido" and "Aneas"; "Barnum" and "Bailey"; "Lavinia" and "Ophelia"; "Echo" and "Narcissus"; or "Prudence" and "Eleanor" (those snails didn't really live long enough to claim title to their names).

The beta will either be Narcissus (because male betas are notorious for their big egos and brilliant colors); "Milton" (for the bottle-cap glasses guy in Office Space)or "Swingline," for similar reasons.

In honor of Super Tuesday, I thought I'd do the democratic thing and enlist your help in naming the newest members of my ever-growing dysfunctional family. See the upper right column of this page to float your vote.

It's Not Delivery, It's Degrading

No longer afraid of people, Maude stood in front of the open doorway, staring up at the pizza delivery guy.

"Wow, that's a big cat," he said. "A really big cat."

"Yeah, she's big-boned," I explained.

"Oh, really?" he said, obviously not buying my lame excuse for Maude's recent obesity.

"OK," I admitted. "Maybe she's had a little too much pizza."

"You feed that cat pizza?" His face turned serious. Concerned, even.

"No," I said. "I was kidding. She's fat. She's on light food now -- promise."

I turned to Maude, sighing. She glared up at the pizza guy, her feelings obviously hurt by his disparaging remarks.

You Know You're (Going to Become)a Crazy Cat Lady If...

1. Whenever co-workers tell stories about their children, you interrupt with a comparable anecdote regarding your cat.
2. Whenever someone says you "live alone," you get offended and promptly remind them of your kitties/kiddies.
3. You have pictures of your cat(s) up at work and/or in your wallet.
4. You think it's terrible that your health insurance doesn't include "cat coverage."
   
5. You tried (this Saturday) to put a harness/leash on your cat so you could take her for a walk.
   
6. Whenever life hands you lemons, you go to the shelter and get another cat to boost your spirits.
   
7. You're terrified that when you die, no one will discover your body until after your cats have picked your skeleton clean.
8. You're willing to stay in the same awful apartment for decades out of fear that a "move" would be too traumatizing for your cat(s).
9. Seeing your cat(s) is the one and only thing you look forward to in your day.
10. You spend your Fridays by putting your cat(s) in unusual headgear.
    



11. You're a bit of a cat whisperer in that you're certain you can tell what your cat is "saying" to you based on the sound and duration of her meows.
12. Your eyes well with tears of happiness when you think about something cute your cat(s) did — like, say, waiting for you at the front door when you come home.
    
13. You don't mind so much when the cat(s) jump on the kitchen counter.
14. Finding cat hair in your food no longer grosses you out.
15. When people say your cat is "fat" you hastily jump to her defense, claiming she is just "big boned."
    
16. You speak to your cat(s) using "baby talk."
17. You send out a "family newsletter" at Christmas time, bringing people up to speed on your cat's health (not to mention, her various hijinks).
    
18. You avoid dating because you don't want your cat(s) to become confused by men coming into (and then leaving) their lives.
19. You list "playing laser tag with my cat(s)" among your hobbies.
20. You celebrate your cat's birthday.
    
21. With a party.
22. There's cake.

This list is a work in progress. Feel free to add your own in the comments section, and/or shoot me an e-mail.

Auld Lang Syne

On Missing

Off and on for several months, and then non-stop for the past two, Maude has been entertaining a guest cat.

Now you may recall she started off chasing him out of his own litter box, growling whenever he'd dare to sit in her favorite chair, or hiss when he'd sniff her, uh, "region."

But after awhile there was a sort of playfulness about their interaction. They didn't cuddle or clean each other, but they'd take off after one other down the hallway, sometimes often well into the night. At first I thought they were fighting -- thought Maude was being cruel again.

But then I realized sometimes he was chasing Maude. And sometimes he'd take off running while she was sitting and licking her own paws, causing her to pounce up and make way for him.

And sometimes when he'd be up in that aforementioned chair, tail wagging just inches from her face, she'd paw at it as though it were a toy mouse scotting along the hardwood floor.

But as of yesterday, he's gone.

And since they never cuddled, or preened, I never would've thought she'd miss him.

But she spent much of yesterday walking around my apartment, peeking into corners, and meowing this pathetic little cry.

At various intervals she'd return to me in my chair, meow, and then resume her search.

Is she sad? Lonely? Confused?

I'm starting to think it was cruel, honestly, to have made them part.

Talking with Strangers

You know how when you're a kid, you have to watch these terrifying videos at school about not talking to strangers?

Or maybe you had to read a book where a perfectly handsome young man (or normal-looking woman) lures a girl into his car with a puppy?

[Lesson: not all child abductors are dirty old men]

In any event, my mother always obsessed over the possibility that I might be swiped up from our yard by the nomads who frequented the nearby "dormitory," and I was never allowed to play outside alone.

Not until I was in college, in fact.

But we'll save those emotional scars for another day. And, please, whatever you do: don't tell her what I did last Thursday.

You see, last Thursday I went into a stranger's house.

Completely uninvited...

Completely alone...

In a big city...

In a neighborhood that's anything but perfect.

And it didn't even occur to me, until later, that what I did wasn't necessarily the "smartest" thing to do.

It just sort of... happened. And then later I laughed to myself, thinking of what my mother would say.

You see, I was taking out the trash when an orange and white cat ran up to me, meowing.

I didn't want to touch him — for fear of what I could transmit to my cat, and also for fear that he would then insist on following me — but the poor thing wouldn't give in. In fact, when I walked to my car to get something out of the trunk, he insisted on following me.

He crossed the road behind me and kept meowing. And when I returned to my apartment, he followed me back across the street, still meowing and rubbing up against my legs.

"All right," I said, giving in, picking him up, and looking for his tags. "Let's see your name."

His tag happened to include his owner's phone number AND address. They lived about four blocks away — close enough that the cat probably wasn't entirely lost, but far enough away that the distance, coupled with his persistence, made me feel like I should at least try to return him.

So wearing socks and flip flops along with a business suit (don't ask), I headed east towards the address on his tag. The cat purred all the while, and was honestly one of the friendliest I've ever had the honor of escorting home (not that I do this often, but you get the idea).

What happened when I arrived was something out of a cheesy movie: a little girl, about 6 or 7, answered the door and actually started crying when she saw the cat in my arms.

"Jasper!" she screamed. "I've missed you so much!"

Her parents stood a few feet behind her, smiling at their daughter's delight. At this point, Jasper jumped out of my arms and began nestling up against the girl. She picked him up using both her hands, squeezing him just under his front legs.

"Where did you find him?" the father asked. "He's been missing for almost two weeks!"

I explained to them how Jasper was following me around, and they were amazed to learn he was actually so close to their house.

"I wonder if he wandered too far from home but was trying to find his way back?" the mother speculated.

"Whatever it was, thank you so much for bringing him back," continued her husband.

"Yes," added the little girl. "I've never been so happy!"

***OK, so by this point you're probably thinking: there's no way that happened.

And so to you skeptics out there, I say: you're exactly right.

Yeah, a cat was following me around. Yeah, I picked him up and took him to the address on his tags.

But what followed was much more boring; certainly not worth the time to tell a story. So I fabricated a few details.

Like the gleeful kid. And the happy family. And I left out the part where I rang the wrong buzzer at first. I left out the growling dogs. And also the part where a neighbor told me to just "put the cat in the backyard if no one answers [once I rang the proper buzzer]."

And, yeah, maybe the lady that owned the cat actually lets her cat outside from time to time. But she did say "Oh, I wondered where he'd gone off to! He's usually not gone so long, I was just thinking of looking for him." So that's something... right?

Honestly? I felt like a jerk for bringing him back.

I mean, they let him out. And he'd probably have found his way back.

But, yeah, I'd still do it again — 'cause I'm a sucker like that.

But, please, don't tell Mom.

The Cat Lady of Shallot

Major CATastrophe

If I were to describe my morning in too much detail, it might cause you to toss those proverbial cookies.

Suffice it to say, I was an hour late to work. I have hardwood floors AND rugs. And, no, this time it wasn't Maude.

For more details, watch this. Just go into it knowing this was possibly the most disgusting morning I've ever experienced in my life, and that link doesn't even begin to capture the actual horror of what I witnessed.

(Not to mention, clean up.)

Misery Won't Let Company Use the Litter Box

So I'll be cat-sitting for the next couple weeks and Maude — who's quite territorial, as it turns out — is being everything but a gracious host.

Sure, I didn't expect them to hit it off; I know cats aren't the least bit like dogs in that regard, but I did hope that by Day 3 she'd at least let the poor guy "do his business" in his litter box without her glaring eyes and guttural growl just inches from his face.

Instead, she frequently chases him out of his own box, refuses to let him near hers, and then makes use of his facilities just to spite him.

In which case, I'm quite convinced that if my guest cat (a neutered 10-year-old male) had a temperament at all like Maude's, they'd have engaged in an actual fight by now (he could take her... she has youth on her side, but he's twice her size and has talons of steel that've never been trimmed). Luckily, guest kitty is mild-mannered and — though he'll growl and hiss right back at Maude — he's generally quite content to ignore her and (I'm sorry to say) he frequently submits to her hen-pecking.

This has been brutal for me, as that means I'm awoken frequently throughout the night with sounds of Guest Cat being chased away from his litter box, his food dish, and his water on 8 out of 10 attempts (Maude occasionally "lets" him get what he wants). The sound of cat claws against the floor is often preceded by, and then followed with, a variety of growls and hisses by both parties.

Maude often won't even let him leave my bedroom, where he's spent most of his visit hiding under the bed.

And, no, she doesn't let him stay under there in peace; rather, she joins him at the opposite end; eyes glaring and tail flipping. I feel terribly sorry for them both; Guest Cat because he's made visible attempts at "making nice" (unlike Maude — who's only sweet to people she knows — Guest Cat is sweet to everyone).

And Maude because being a hateful [expletive noun omitted] is clearly quite exhausting. She's less inclined to be picked up and/or petted, as her now sporadic purring is almost always interrupted by hissing and crying once Guest Cat comes into view. The only time any of us get any rest is when she drifts off to sleep, fighting Morpheus with every ounce of her growling, angst-ridden being.

Zeit // Geist

I'm not saying my new pad is haunted, but if Maude could talk... she probably would.

Starting with a couple weeks ago — coincidentally, the same day I hung a full-length mirror on the hallway wall — she's been, shall we say... intermittently spastic.

Granted, she's an odd cat anyway. And for a couple days I excused her elevated neuroses for a fascination with the mirror (which never seemed to intrigue her at the old place). But now that it's up at this place, she'll look into it, all wide-eyed, and then run screaming, back arched at first (and then quickly dropping low to the ground) for no apparent reason.

And while a part of me wants to say that this just means "cats" have no place on the list of mammals that appear to have some degree of self-awareness (alongside humans, chimps and elephants), I'm starting to think it's a bit more complicated than that.

From about 8:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. every night, she dons an entirely new persona. She'll cry and moan, sometimes insisting on walking between my feet every step of the way. If I try to pick her up, she'll purr in delight for a second or two before she sticks out her claws — pupils dilated — and turns her head every which way staring at imaginary images swirling over and around my shoulders. She'll cry until I put her down, at which point she resumes her position between my feet.

When I first told Washington about this, he discounted it as usual Maude shenanigans — and then he happened to stop by around 10 one evening. Here are some resultant quotes:

"You're really creeping me out, Maude."
"It's like she sees something that we can't see."

and my personal favorite:

"You'd think there was a poltergeist here or something."

Prior to this, I had referred to Maude's behavior as "tweaking" and had hypostheised that perhaps she was tripping on Murphy's Oil (or whatever) that she licked off of the floor. I even considered that perhaps a tiny bug had caught her attention, though she's usually much more pleased (rather than terrified) to chase after them.

However you look at it, things took a turn for the worst this past Friday, when Washington was trying to reach for a cat toy under the radiator, but returned with a damaged photo instead.

It was of a wedding (or perhaps a prom), circa 1982. A man and a woman were standing next to each other, hand-in-hand, smiles big on their faces (though you couldn't see all of the man's face -- the photo had been damaged by some spilled liquid, and time).

Washington handed the photo to me, and my arms started to shake. I thought it was just nerves at first, but then my apartment lights went out, and my body turned cold. My spine ached.

Next thing I knew, the photo was on the floor, and I had burn marks on my fingers.*


*Just kidding about that last part. Everything up to, and including, the discovery of the photograph is true. Any "reasonable" explanations about Maude's behavior that do not involve the paranormal are VERY MUCH appreciated.

Haiku/Gesundheit (Volume XLX)

washington's two-hour stint as tom selleck
(or, "my cat speaks for us all")

man shaves his goatee
leaving only a mustache
maude hisses & runs

---

the idiot speaketh
(or, "what not to say at an important meeting")

a week's worth of work
summarized by yours truly:
i wrote on my face

---

rethink doublethink

chief among those was
a mighty warrior, armed with
syntax like arrows

---

you are my napalm pilot

old tongues burn to speak:
if i say i am lost would
you come to find me?

You're the Best

Haiku/Gesundheit (Volume XLIX)

because you're so much more important than everyone else

you walk side by side
in a hallway built for two
guess i'll turn sideways

---

and i thought maude was neurotic before

she leans toward the sink
meowing as water drips
"cup your hands or else"

---

a philosopher's post script

my dearest nietzsche:
what doesn't kill us today
kills in increments

---

a fortune cookie haiku

the pleasure of what
we enjoy is lost in the
desire for more

I Bought My Cat a "Birthday" Present. Someone Help Me. PLEASE.

Though I don't know for certain, I estimate Maude's birthday to be about this time. I purchased a nice new bed for the occasion, which she enjoys lying next to on the floor. She does occasionally play with the mouse it came with, however, and I even caught her resting her head on the cushion (though the rest of her body, still, was on the carpet next to it).

Weirdo.

Check Your Bags

My cat may be the most mischievous (and high maintenance) creature this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but I certainly wouldn't want anything to happen to her. She's been through enough already.

So when I read that about 40 different lines of cat and dog food are being recalled, you can bet I dug further to get all of the details.

If you have a dog or cat too, you may want to check this out as well.

POST SCRIPT: The news story was updated to say this recall does not impact dry food... just wet food that comes in cans and/or pouches.

Only One Letter Separates "Loner" from "Loser"

A recent picture of Maude (along with other photos) arrived in the mail yesterday. I shoved the stack into my bag, and re-disovered them this morning when retrieving my padfolio.

I figured so long as I had the picture out, I may as well show those 2 or 3 people who've heard so many Maude-themed horror stories. It seemed harmless at first, but I quickly realized that I'm just two steps away from having wallet-sized prints made. Perhaps even a "100% Maude" flip book.

So, yes, it's official.

I'm one of those people.

Maudenetic Poetry

Wouldn't you know it: Maude likes to write poetry, too.

Or should I say: she likes to chew on various words I've posted to my (metal) kitchen cabinetry.

And though I've figured out how she makes her way nine feet in the air to sit atop the cabinets... and though I've figured out how she knocks the post cards off of my fridge... I'm not entirely certain just how, exactly, she manages to knock off the magnets.* I mean, they appear to be firmly in place. And yet, on several occasions, I've returned home to find various words on the floor, some left untouched; others torn to shreds.

My only solace here is the knowledge that Maude has yet to eat her carefully chosen words. Were she to do so, that would doubtless result in yet another trip to the animal hospital.

And though I thought she was possibly making a statement about how much she despises my own magnetized poems... a co-worker has suggested that she may actually be "writing" me a secret message. In which case, I should wrangle up all the words she's chewed to see if it forms a complete sentence.

I'll let you know what I find out.


*I do have a theory and — in order to altogether remove any temptation Maude may have to eat the magnets — I'm taking measures to make it more difficult for her to acquire them.

Diary of a Crazy Cat Lady

Pet ownership is not at all what I remember it to be.




But this may have something to do with the fact that the only indoor cat we ever had growing up used my father's head as a litter box early some mornings (and so the era of "indoor cats" was substantially short-lived).

Most of our cats lives were short-lived, for that matter. We lived in a rural area replete with racoons, possums, coyotes and even foxes (not to mention, the usual dangers posed by man: speeding cars, drunken hunters, etc). I hate to say it, but I don't recall a single cat living past three years of age. And even that may be stretching it.

Our dogs usually got a little better treatment. We did have one get shot by a hog farmer (I was only seven or eight at the time and was TERRIBLY traumatized by that). After that, we started to tie them up, a procedure which inflicted an entirely new degree of horror on a girl with an almost unhealthy degree of empathy for animals. Shortly thereafter, we got our first "strictly indoors" pooch... a cocker spaniel who enjoyed life well into her teens.

But somewhere in-between, I witnessed all varieties of pet tragedies; one cat, for example, died defending her kittens from a predator (a tom cat or a possum — hard to tell for sure). I spent that summer bottle-feeding her litter, only to lose the runt (who was also blind) early on to an end I'd rather not mention; and still another to a local boy my mother gave two of the kittens to one day while I was at softball practice (they still needed to be bottle feed at that point — something he was not prepared to do). I cannot even begin to express how angry I was with my mother when I returned home to discover the missing kittens... and how nauseous I felt when he brought one of the kittens back several days later... she was emaciated and sickly, and weighed less than half what she had when she was in my care. It took great attention to get her back into shape.

[Which I did, only to later have her get run over when my parents refused to let me bring her indoors.]

I was maybe nine at the time. And the incident was just enough to transform my empathy for animals into an almost disheartening sense of despair for life in general. Suffice it to say, that was not a good summer.

Aside from incidents such as that, pet ownership was generally "easy." You fed and watered them, and you snuck them inside when your folks weren't looking. But predators were always a stressful concern.

So when Maude came to live with me, I thought having an indoor cat would be a veritable peace of cake. Aside from the inevitable concerns associated with big city landlords, there are no predators in my apartment to speak of. I keep the place clean, so there's unlikely to be a bottle of poison enticing her on the floor, and I'm careful to only leave out "safe" toys when I'm not at home.

But I've since determined that I may very well be cursed when it comes to pet ownership. Though Maude is alive, healthy and well to this day... she's in such a state despite herself.

Regular readers likely recall the ponytail holder incident that cost me just over a grand. And while I don't want to jinx myself by admitting that nothing so awful has transpired since then, we haven't been without close calls.

Here's a snapshot of Maude's day-to-day:

• Maude regularly sneaks into my shoe closet, and my clothes closet, when I'm selecting the day's wardrobe. She does this quickly, and unnoticed, which has resulted in her being shut in the door once, and repeatedly locked inside for 5-10 minutes at a time (luckily, she loves being in there, and I always look around for her after a sustained period of silence)
• 
• Ever since the ponytail incident, she refuses to drink water from a bowl. She now only drinks from the faucet or — if I don't leave that on for her — a water fountain made especially for weird cats like her
• As a result of this quirk, she's taken to jumping up on my kitchen counter to catch water dripping from the faucet. Clean freak that I am, this grosses me out and has resulted in a substantial increase in the amount of time I spend cleaning the kitchen
• One night I woke up to this awful screeching sound. I ran into my living room, only to discover one of Maude's toys in the water fountain; it had soaked up ALL OF THE WATER, and so the engine was in the process of burning out. (She throws her toys in the air, sometimes for great distances... I imagine she was attempting to disembowel her stuffed polar bear when the incident occurred)
• Because of some unusual post-op behavior, we suspected Maude had a touch of taxoplasmosis, and so I spent the last month giving her an antibiotic, twice a day (turns out she probably was NOT a carrier, but with my sister being pregnant, I didn't want to risk it). Ever given a cat a pill? Not fun at all.
• While I keep the number of "treats" to a minimum, since they're mostly for adult cats, I was giving her the occasional treat as a thank you for swallowing the pill. One morning I didn't do this, and Maude contested by disappearing for over 30 minutes. I searched my closest and under the bed before leaving (I ALWAYS make sure I know where she is before I leave), only to later find her just sitting in her covered litter box. She refused to come out until I opened the bag of treats.
• Last week I returned home only to discover three piles of vomit on three different rugs. I immediately panicked, wondering if she'd discovered a stray ponytail holder again. She seemed OK... but then vomited again an hour or so later (again, on three separate rugs). I made an appointment with the vet, but then cancelled after she successfully ate (and digested) food.... much to my relief.
• I discovered a possible cause for her upset stomach a day or two later when my stereo delivered deplorable reception. There were little bite marks up and down the wire antennae, and she'd even succeeded in gnawing all the way through one part of it (not to mention the speaker wires — only one works now). I must've forgotten to spray these wires with Bitter Yuck, because I doused all other cords with the stuff several weeks ago (when she first showed an interest in electrical things)
• This week I awoke to the sound of her playing noisily in the hallway; I decided I was thirsty anyway, so I got up and went into the kitchen... only to see a beloved post card (previously on my fridge) sitting on my dining room floor, the corners of it chewed away. The magnet that had been holding it there was in the hallway upside down... it had a few teeth marks in it, but apparently didn't meet with her tastes and so was otherwise unscathed.
• When I mop, Maude does one of two things: sticks her head into the mop bucket and displays a level of curiosity that borders on "Hey, I wonder if I should try that water!" OR she runs across the freshly mopped floor, slides... and then licks the cleaning agent from the pads of her feet. Maude now hates it when I clean, as I have to lock in various rooms as I mop elsewhere... I'm not sure, but I suspect Murphy's Cleaning Oil isn't good for kittens.
• She weighs less than five pounds, and yet takes up half the bed. She gets right up next to me, and I'm terrified of rolling over her. So I remain in the same position, pushed to the side, before she gets up after her "cat nap," starts making a ton of noise playing with things that aren't toys... and gets kicked out of the room (at which point she entertains herself for awhile, but then comes back to my bedroom door and paws at it — no claws out, luckily — until I let her back in).

I could go on, but this post has already overstayed its welcome. Essentially, I'm starting to see an entirely new world of dangers in my comfy little apartment, and I'm terrified Maude is going to succumb to an untimely end I had previously assigned only to outdoor cats.

For this reason, I now check my floors multiple times (for ponytail holders and such) before I leave for work or go to bed; I sometimes walk back into my apartment after locking up because "I can't remember" if I shut the closet door; and I regularly rearrange furniture to minimize the number of exposed electrical cords.

In short: I've become quite OCD, compliments of Maude.

And to those of you out there who encouraged me to get a cat — to those friends, family and co-workers who said indoor cats were "easy" to take care of, and too smart to cause any real trouble —

I'm holding you all responsible for this. Your bill is in the mail.