just a minor step towards crazy-cat-lady-hood...

Near the deli where I have breakfast almost every morning likes a kitty.A street kitty, hungry and sad. it broke my heart evry day but I did nothin because I was scared of looking stupid.
then, the other day, the kitty sat on the steps of the deli, tremblig there and looking so hungry that I had to get him some food. I went to the counter and asked the lady for some diced ham for the kitty.
and she said no.
the store policy is to not feed the cat so that it won't hang around the shop.
there is a friking cat dying slowly in front of their shop, and their policy is to let it die.
I was so furious I could have spat at her. I am quite sure it showed in my face.
I resolved right then and there to carry a small amount of dry cat food to feed the kitty, and any hungry-looking kitty, whenever I felt like it.
and that's what i'm doing. carrying cat food everywhere in the hope of feeding stray cats.
I sort of knew it would happen eventually. I already wore the prerequisite cat hair layer in all my clothes.i have more photos of cats than family members in my computer. And I baby-talk to my cat, sure sign of impending cat-crazyness.
Still, this one kinda sneaked on to me.

Update on the driving thingie...

I drove all the way to Pinones Beach. Long winding road, not as bad as I was told. At the end of the two hour drive, I was staying on my own lane consistently. Next class, I will be learning how to change lanes.

The next class is scheduled for next saturday, but I think I will have to postpone it. Both the ophtalmologyst and the optometrist said I would need at least a week to readjust distances after I got the glasses, so I don't think that is a good time to start messing with cars. "Objects may appear closer than they are." Damn.

The optometrist lady told me what the prescription meant. Will post it here when I figure out what it all means.

She said I have to wear the glasses all the time. But there are places in the net that say you can exercise the iris muscles or something like that, and fix part of the problem. And since my sight loss started so suddenly, I am willing to try. I get the glasses, of course, but I will also stare at objects at various distances in the vague hope that they will start to go into focus.

Anyways, that's how things stand.

Here Kitty, Kitty...

Five years ago, my sister got a black kitten, and I, of course, wanted one.

She got one for me, a “Persian” mix from a local crazy cat lady. Simba was taken too young from his mother; he fit the cup of my hand perfectly. My family called him Booger.

I remember when I bottle fed him; he scrambled for purchase for his little paws and scratched his own face.

I don’t have photos of those times. I will try and see if my sister does.

Anyways, when I moved into my own apartment, Simba went with me. He was the consummate indoor kitty, and the few times he stepped on grass he shook his foot off at each step, as if to say: “Ewww! Ewww!” It was so funny.

He had a little trick that he taught himself. If I called him, he would not come to me. But if I made scratching motions with my hand, he would saunter towards me to be petted.

Once I was so broke, I only had one dollar in change in the entire house. There was no human food. There was no kitty food. Not a question of survival, since my boyfriend would be paid the next day. I only had to choose who ate that day and who went hungry.

Simba ate, of course.

I had the dengue fever, and I had no health insurance, so I spent it at the apartment alone. A week of the bone-break fever, alone, too weak to ask for help, too unconcerned to make an effort. I remember Simba placing his cool nose on my cheek awakening me. He kept on insisting I wake up, probably only so that I fed him, but since I was up already I ate too, and washed, and survived.

During my periods of unemployment, he was there to purr at me. During the periods of employment, he greeted me at the door when I returned home.

Not claiming he was perfect. He could be quite the little dictator.

Just saying I loved him.

He died on March. It broke my heart like you can’t imagine. I felt, and still feel, like I let him down, like a bad mother, because I never noticed how sick he was until it was too late.

That first weekend after he died, while I was doing the laundry, I found one of his whiskers on my clothes, and I had to sit right there on the floor and bawl my heart out. I dreamt a few times that I was in a labyrinth looking for something, and it was vitally important that I find what was in the center, only to find Simba there, with his engine on and a mischievous glint in his eye, waiting for me. I grab him, but there I remember that I can’t take him home, that he has to remain there and I have to return alone.

Not alone, really. We still have Kojiro, my husband’s cat and Simba’s playmate.

He is funny, energetic, and playful. He follows me around going: “Miw! Miw! Miw! Miw! Miw!...”. He demands attention, and when he wants to play he wants to play right now!

I love him; don’t doubt it for a sec. But he is such an energetic kitty, and as he is alone most of the day, I am sure he would appreciate someone to torture/play with.

When Simba died, a whole lot of well-meaning people started to offer us random cats. We declined.

But I dreamt the other day of cats, and for once, Simba was not in it. I dreamt that we were overrun with cats. There seemed to be an invasion, kitties entering through the windows, the A/C vent, the clothes dryer vent… And I ran around trying to get the cats out of the apartment, but they kept on coming in. At last I got most of them out, but there was one kitten that simply refused to leave. It was fluffy and gray. Looked like this.

I threw it out the door, and as soon as I turned around, there it was on my couch, looking pleased and quite at home. I allowed it to stay.

Maybe the dream is a sign. Simba at the Rainbow Bridge, telling me to go on with my life.

I want to get a pet for our cat!

Well, maybe for me too.

What do you think?

Yes, I need glasses

The experience at the ophthalmologist was less than spectacular (pardon the pun).

They looked at my eyes while I looked at things, and told them what I thought I was seeing.

I had a moment of panic when I was going to do the glaucoma test, as it involves a thing touching the eye to check the eye pressure. I am a bit phobic about my eyes. There were several tries, until I finally decided I better stare at the doctor’s tie instead of the thing about to poke me in the eye.

But what really pissed me was that I was not given a diagnosis. I asked the doctor and his answer was … somewhat insulting, I think. He said I have “glasses-itis”.

Twice he mentioned that I warranted a stronger prescription than what he was writing down for me, since I have never before used glasses and I might have trouble adjusting to distances again.

WTF?!?!

I am blind enough to have to adjust to distances, and he won’t tell me what I have? Long term? Short term? Curvature of the cornea? Blood flow? Nerve damage? Are the glasses for driving? For reading? Computer work?

What a ripoff! I could have been better off just going to an optometrist.

So, anyways, this weekend I’ll be taking the doctor’s writ to one of those places where they make glasses. Didn’t do it yesterday because I’m broke.

Thinking of taking my old frames with me and really screw them. LOL

For you see, when I was about 15 I was convinced I was losing my sight and my parents took me to an optometrist. My mother took the opportunity to have new glasses made.

The guy immediately declared I needed glasses, gave me a prescription and let me out to check the frames with my dad. The lady started with the Calvin Kleins.

“Out of my range. Cheaper.” I said.

She kept on showing me brand names, and I kept on telling her to go cheaper.

Finally, she took out of under a display a black box. Inside were a lot of glass frames in basic wire wrapped in transparent plastic baggies. At about 10 dollars each, I took them.

My mom got herself a brand name for a few hundreds of greenbacks. I remember they were imitation tortoiseshell. She left them in the sun a few weeks later and they warped/melted.


Dad thought it was hilarious. He kept saying I was showing good sense. LOL

Anyways, I think there was nothing wrong with my sight. For a few months I wore the glasses, but I really saw no difference with or without.

So I stopped…

Until now…

What do hair dye and driving have in common?

Did I tell you? Did I tell you?

I dyed my hair blue!

I’ve been talking about it since I was 16. I should have done it at 16. Blue hair looks at its very best at 16.

After a certain age, blue hair no longer looks good. It only looks stupid. And since I was turning 30 last month, I felt it was now or never.

So, anyways, I figured I might as well do it.

I bleached the last 6 inches or so of hair, twice, with peroxide 40. My hair is very thick and black; it never went under dirty blonde.

Then, the dye was applied, with heat and a long waiting time, because the stylist was worried it might turn out green. (Noooo! I want gothic blue, not emo green! ) The other stylists were taking bets on what color it would turn.

Then, the unveiling…

It was blue. (Whew!)



First time I washed my hair, it bled like it was dying, and thank goodness the shower-tiles are blue-green, ‘cause it stained like crazy. But no biggie, it is clean now, and it no longer bleeds so badly. (Bled blue, of course, so I feel entitled to say I am certified nobility.)

I have a bottle of blue for when I need to retouch. And Oh,God! I will need to retouch. I am losing color constantly. Last week I stained blue the back of a gray t-shirt because I was wearing a ponytail and my hair touched it.

Why can’t they make a permanent, really permanent blue?


After this, two things might happen:

1- I could get it out of my system and dye it back to black. All returns to normal. Or…

2- I could lose all fear of unnatural colors, and next thing you knew, I would be sporting a tie-dyed Mohawk.

I am considering, in a few months or so, dyeing more of it blue, leaving only a bit in black.

But I’m cool as of now. I am happy with it. Glad to get the nerve. Pleased with the results.

Just to show how screwed up my priorities are right now, last thing I will mention is the driving class I took.

Teacher was very nice looking.

Very, very nice looking.

A hunk.

I will not mention it again.

I just had to express my appreciation of the kind of eye-candy he is.

That’s it.

Anyways, he took me to a suburb to practice my turns. And by “he took me” I mean he told me where to turn. I drove there.

Turns out I have trouble staying in my lane.

I do not have measurements quite figured out yet. I tried to avoid the potholes, only to fall straight into them.

And I forgot once which was the brake and which the gas. (I stopped the car at an intersection, but the engine sounded revved up. My teacher tapped me on the knee and said: “Up!” He had stopped the car; I had accelerated. )

In any case, it went OK, and he told me that considering it was the first time, it went quite well.

It made my day.

Next week we will be going to the beach, taking a long, one-lane road he says he finds useful in teaching people to stay in their lane.

You either stay in your lane, or you take to the sand.

I’m a bit scared, but what the hell!

I figure driving is a bit like dyeing your hair in a totally unnatural color.

It is best done at 16, but really any age is better than not doing it at all.