Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Cat Watch 2008 begins

(Note: This post adapted from a frustrated email sent at 2:24 a.m. last night/this morning.)

Today was officially the most comically frustrating day ever. I swear to you, this must be what purgatory is like; it isn't affirmatively awful enough that you feel like you really have a right to complain (I'm still living here for free, right?), but I can't imagine more little things going wrong.

First, after Bar class, Tina (who is living in the extra room here for this month) went to In 'n Out, where we discovered that, due to the current salmonella scare, there are no tomatoes. Bollocks. Then we came to the condo, where we found (1) a note from the post office that Tina's package had arrived and would be waiting at the post office, and (2) that I didn't have the right key to the condo. I took the leopard print key from the extra ring at home, because that's the condo key. Actually, I took the wrong leopard print key. There were more than one. That's my sister in action...neither my dad nor I knew what the other one was for, but basically, we had to wait 25 minutes for my dad to make his second trip to the condo today (he dropped by in the morning to leave some of my stuff here for me, which was nice), so we could get in the door. In the meantime, we went to the post office to pick up the package, but learned that the mailman had left the note today because we weren't there to accept delivery, and that the package wouldn't be available till tomorrow morning. Boo.

Then, for some bad karma, on the drive there Tina made a joke that openly disdained poor people, and at the post office itself, I made a joke about homeless people (my friend had previously text messaged me asking, "Is Santa Ana Spanish for 'homeless?'"), in front of two people who I immediately thereafter realized appeared to be homeless. In line at the Post Office! Why would I predict that? Also, Tina made a comment about how Santa Ana is like Mexico rather than America, just as the woman in front of us in line went up to the desk clerk and conducted her whole transaction entirely in Spanish. Nice.

So we finally got in, started acquainting ourselves with the cat, and I showed Tina around the condo. All was well. Until it was revealed that this cat is possessed, a demon in furry flesh, an absolute holy fucking terror. We played with the cat for a while, with great success (Tina said it appeared to be her favorite cat ever to date), and then went about our business, when out of nowhere it just ran up behind Tina, grabbed her leg with its claws and bit her with its evil little demon teeth. It drew blood in 6 distinct places (finding a bandage was also a prolonged and only marginally successful ordeal). Then Tina and I went on Google, searched for "cat allergy and bite," and discovered an encyclopedia of data about abjectly terrifying diseases, infections, and reactions to cat attacks. We stopped when the Google results preview of one of the hits ended "can often lead to septic..." We didn't want to see the end of the sentence.

Then a few hours later, while I was sitting on the couch eating dinner and watching Top Chef, the cat randomly lunged at my wrist and bit me. What the fuck? Admittedly, I was petting its paws, but I'd been petting it before! It liked the petting! Why the biting? My startled jerk scared the cat off the couch, and then, understandably furious, I flung 2 pillows at the cat's face, one after the other. Rather amusingly, the cat looked directly at the oncoming pillows as they rocketed forward, hurtling inexorably toward her face, and made no attempt to dodge either whatsoever. Rather disoriented from the two direct pillow-to-face blows, the cat fled upstairs to plot its vengeance. The whole process led to a number of discussions between Tina and I about tort liability for this. We determined that, because a possessor of property (me) need only inform a licensee (Tina) of known artificial dangers (including domestic pets), and I had no idea that this cat was a fucking sociopath, I could not be held liable. The same could not be said about some people.

Shortly thereafter, I fielded a call from my mother. When I recounted the cat's antics, she basically replied, "Yeah, that happens." My parents aren't much for sympathy, or for effective warnings. I went on a multiple-expletive-laden rant about the cat (when my mom called it fearless, I retorted that, "She isn't so fucking fearless when you hurl two pillows at her face. That puts the fear of motherfucking God in her right goddamn quick."). She suggested we use my sister's laser pointer to tucker the cat out enough to abate the danger, which worked for about a minute, until the only possible instrument of our salvation ran out of batteries. Wail. Tina has officially predicted that she's going to wake up from a nightmare-ridden, fitful sleep tonight (behind her closed bedroom door) to discover the cat is sitting on her face and that the door is still mysteriously, inexplicably closed. She asks that if she doesn't make it out alive, we tell her parents she loves them.

Eventually, it was time to print Tina's practice Bar essay, since she finished well before me. First, we emailed it to ourselves so we could get it from my sister's computer and print it there. She didn't have Word. Then we got a trial version open and printed, but the printer jammed over and over. So we tried Scott's computer, once we figured out what was the computer -- the decrepit looking tower with multiple gaping holes in it (yes), or the shiny black monolith that appeared to have few if any buttons or ports (actually a shredder, which I suspect would have made for a better computer system at this point). It took like 7 minutes to boot up, involved about 8 error messages, demanded a password prompt for which the right response was pressing enter with no password, and featured a desktop that had literally every single possible space covered with some useless shortcut or mp3 or video or something (we tried to play one promising looking AVI called "awebutt011," but he didn't have a working codec for the file that was on the fucking desktop). Then we opened email and opened the essay, and it wasn't until it opened in WordPad that we realized that he, too, did not have Office. It is unclear how these two participate meaningfully in society.

All of this was intermingled with Bar study for today, Bar study for what we missed last week, background cat allergies of unpredictable and wavering intensity for both of us, and episode after episode of absolutely hysterical laughing fits in which we were literally reduced to tears and unable to function at all for extended periods of time. We've decided that this is like the movie 1408 (not that I've seen it), except instead of having an evil, possessed hotel room, it's actually this entire condo. If I climb out the window and into the window of the unit next door, I'll discover that I'm back in the same condo, and the cat will be sitting there in the middle of the living room floor, staring directly at me as its pupils widen (the crazy eyes being surefire sign that it's got the demon jitters again and it's about to do something dangerous and unstable).

So if anyone wants to bring me something to make me feel better, at this particular moment, the answer is, "Cat poison." I'll try to think of something else that won't constitute a criminal offense or lead to a major family incident.

1 comment:

Mars said...

lol. That's all. lol.