My co-feeder, now the main feeder (god help those kitties), was not thrilled when I said I’ve had enough.
Suddenly, after months of me saying, could any of your friends around here help us out from time to time (uh, no), she suggests oh maybe this or that person can take over for me.
She calls today to say instead of her going at 1 and 6 a.m., she went at 4. And it was great. She will just feed once a day at 4, from now on. Maybe one other time a day, if I could contribute financially a bit.
So I guess the friends were a fizzle. Or maybe they will figure it out and maybe really unite against evil. Who knows.
I got five straight hours of sleep last night and it was GLORIOUS. But I still feel like shit.
Like, when Cocoa was alive and someone at Publix or Petsmart would ask how many cats I had, I’d say 10. Three inside, seven outside.
Then I got that punch in the fucking heart every time people would ask, after Cocoa passed. Nine. Just nine.
Today I got to talking with a gal at Publix about our cats. My haul was tiny today. Usually half my bill is cat food. Today, maybe six cans.
She said how many do you have. And I channeled my bio dad when I asked him how many children he had, when he said, “Just two.” (Neither of which was named me, but I digress.)
I started to say nine. But I said, no, just two.
Old habits die screaming.
The gal told me she got her kitty because some dumbass family in her neighborhood moved and left her. She found the cat, took it to Peggy Adams, and they held her for 10 days, during which they tried to get in touch with the name on the chip.
The owners did respond, nah, we don’t want her.
So they called my casher, and she was like YEAH.
She showed me a pic of a gorgeous Calico. Like my Maddie. I said what’s her name. She said her dad named her Mooch … after he bought her a cat tree, five cat beds, every flavor of food under the sun and other critter comforts.
I said the best day of Mooch’s life was when you went back to that shelter.
I texted my friend here to say, well, if Butterface DOES manage to take a cat to Peggy, you’re the name on the microchip. They are going to call you.
OH! I got home from Publix and I swore I saw Butterface out walking past my parking spot. I circled the lot three times and took lots of photos.
It’s … definitely the lady in the photo I posted the other day. But she seemed like she could not give less of a shit about the world around her.
Like, the other one looked a lot healthier and sounded a lot less literate. Not that this one talked, but she had a good aura about her up close.
In any event, I won’t lie that it felt GREAT to sleep till 7:30 a.m. on this Sunday morning.
I also won’t lie that I have no intentions of being outside at dawn or dusk, when I would often sneak out to see the kids. It will kill me to see them and be someone else who let them down.
But, knowing that I will never have to be within NOT punching distance of Carl and all those other bitches/bitch boys is kind of nice.
There were many nights I would give the kiddos rotisserie chicken or turkey or even split a few quick cans at 7 or 8 p.m. since I knew my tag-team partner doesn’t roll in till the wee hours.
I can still do that. I just don’t want to be reliable right now. I’m barely parenting the kiddos I got, with everything else going on.
All I ask the universe right now is to let me have October. I have schemed and dreamed and planned and paid for something, and I need for it to happen.
“I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind
People need a key to get to the only one is mine.”
It is literally the only thing I’m living for right now.