Sneaky Jerk

Anyway, the light switch in my bathroom is placed strangely. Rather than being right next to the door as you walk in, it's actually on the wall right across from the door. When I went into my bathroom to get something or to pee--or maybe even to poop, I don't know--I didn't bother turning the lights on in my bedroom first. I just walked through the dark straight to the bathroom. I then planned to walk right in and turn on the light, but instead I stepped on something. 

It was the plug for my hair dryer. And it was pointing straight up, laying in the middle of the floor, right between the door and the light switch. And I stepped on it. And I now have another hole in my foot.

Now, how does that prove I'm an idiot and not just careless? Because it's not the first time the exact same thing has happened. Also, because I didn't pick up my hair dryer, and because there's a really good chance it will probably happen again. See, idiot. Me. Yes.

Troublemakers

While soaking up the cancer, I left the back door open so the dog and cat could come and go as they pleased. I had my headphones on listening to Pandora on my phone, and suddenly I heard Kahlua barking like crazy.

I sat up to see Moonshine over at the next door neighbor's house taunting their cat, which was an inch away on the other side of an easily tearable screen, while Kahlua basically played the role of the thickheaded, loudmouthed sidekick. I can only imagine some of the stupid things she would have been saying if wearing one of those dog to human translator collars. She was probably calling him a pussy. You know, a cat.

Anyway, on Moonshine's second day allowed outside, he almost got in a fight with the same cat, but I quickly put a stop to it. Instead, the fight was between the next door neighbor's cat and their ten year old daughter's face. The neighbor cat is allowed to go out on the screened-in porch, but they don't let him outside. So now, ever since his first encounter with the neighbor cat, it seems like Moonshine's favorite activity is to go over there and flaunt his freedom.

I've caught him doing it quite a few times, and one of these days, that neighbor cat is going to flip out and claw his way through the screen. And we all know how crafty cats are. Most likely he'll make a hole somewhere in the screen so he can get out, but he'll make sure Moonshine isn't around when he does it. Then, the next time Moonshine goes over there, as soon as the hissing and growling starts, that cat is going to come flying through the screen and whoop Moonshine's ass.

I won't be there to put a stop to it either, but I'm not going to let the risk of a pretty inevitable cat fight keep me from letting Moonshine outdoors. More than likely, the neighbors will complain to me about my cat harassing theirs before any actual fight, and I'll deal with that when it happens. 

And did I really just write about my cat twice in less than a week? This could be the start to a very dangerous trend. I should probably go play some Modern Warfare 2 now and rack up some of that double XP to get my M16 back. Hopefully that will give me something to blog about that's not as creepy as making my cat seem like a major character in the story of my life.

Like a grumpy old man, he thinks he has the right to poop and pee wherever he sees fit, and unfortunately it's in spots I'm not at all pleased with. Before moving into this house last May, there were no problems. Now, it's not at all uncommon to find cat poop on the stairs, by the back door, in the spare bedroom, in the loft, and occasionally in his litter box. The poop I can deal with. The pee, I cannot. The last thing I want is one of those houses that smells like cat piss. No me gusta.

At first, I couldn't figure it out. He seemed to be in excellent health, and nothing I tried worked. Recently, though, I've realized he may have been trying to send me a message. He misses pooping outdoors.

Back in the summer of 2001, I had just started living alone for the first time, and in my apartment complex, there were a lot of cats, most of them strays. Some of the other tenants would leave food out for the cats, and some took a couple cats in. One day when I came home, there was this black cat sprawled out in front of my door. I said hello and went inside.

From that day on, he was always around. I started leaving food out for him and letting him come inside from time to time, and whenever I would walk over to my neighbors' apartments, he'd follow me there, usually staying a couple hundred feet behind me and hiding in bushes like a creepy stalker. When I'd leave to go home, he'd be right there laying outside the neighbors' doors. He quickly became my strange little sidekick, and after a week or so, I started calling him Moonshine.

Around that same time, the apartment complex was bought out and placed under new management determined to make lots of changes. When I got the notice stating that all cats must be indoor-only and no one was allowed to leave food outside for the cats anymore, it just seemed logical to take Moonshine in.

The first thing I did was get him neutered because years of watching Bob Barker on The Price is Right had taught me well. When I took him into the vet, I also pointed out this weird growth on the back of his ear right at the base. It seemed to me like extra cartilage, but the vet said he was willing to bet money it was a pellet from a pellet gun. So, since he was already going to be under anesthesia, the vet offered to check out his ear at the same time.

Sure enough, when I went to pick up my cat sans balls, the vet handed me a little orange prescription bottle with the pellet in it. That just made me feel extra bad for Moonshine. I was already suspicious that he had been abandoned by his previous family, but knowing some asshole had actually shot him in the head with a pellet gun broke my heart.

He was a survivor, though, and as ridiculous as it sounds for me to say this, my damn cat was an inspiration to me. At the time, he was exactly what I needed in my life.

For the first couple months of him being an indoor-only cat, I'd still let him out if he wanted. I put him in a collar complete with ID and rabies tags, so I wasn't too worried about animal control snatching him up as the apartment complex had threatened. However, I was not enjoying my furniture getting clawed up...or my face in the mornings when he decided it was time for me to wake up. So, that's when I decided it was time to have him declawed.

And no, he was not traumatized. Get off it.

Well, Moonshine was a bit of a bully. I caught him fighting on more than a few occasions, and one time my downstairs neighbor even insisted she had caught him trying to rape her cat. She was kind of weird, though, so I wouldn't be surprised if her mind just skipped a few steps and landed on rape.

What made the decision to get him declawed hard was knowing that he would truly have to be an indoor-only cat afterward. I wasn't about to let him get in a fight sans balls AND sans claws! That's just a recipe for complete loss of all dignity. 

After the surgery, he was fine being inside all the time. He rarely tried to get out, and if he did, you could almost always catch him before he got too far. On the few occasions that he did go far, though, I'd get really worried, but thankfully he would come back home quickly. I could just call to him, hear him meow back, and then it wouldn't be long before the meows would get louder and he'd come into sight. 

One time when he was out for longer than usual, I couldn't hear him when I called to him. I'm naturally an anxious person, so I was worried out of my mind when I woke up the next morning and he still wasn't home. I started calling to him, and I could hear him very faintly in the distance. It took a very long time for him to come into sight, and when he did, he was walking super slow. 

Now, to explain this next part, I wish I just had a picture. Because I don't, though, we will just have to hope that my descriptive writing skills and your imagination are both good enough for you to envision this correctly.

The building I lived in was raised about four feet, so you had to go up a few steps to get to the first floor. There were four apartments on each side of a big breezeway, two upstairs and two downstairs. In the back of the breezeway, opposite the few steps to get up to the first floor, was a railing. Some buildings had stairs on both sides if the walkway went all the way through, but my building didn't. On the other side of that railing was a bunch of bushes and weeds between the two first floor rear apartments.

Okay, can you picture that? Even though you just said yes, you're probably picturing it wrong, but that's okay. 

So I'm freaking out, and here comes Moonshine around the corner of one of the back apartments and into the bushy grass area. He then goes to jump up into the breezeway under the railing, but instead he slips and falls. It took him two more tries to get up, and when I let him into the apartment, he couldn't jump up on the kitchen counters either.

Initially I thought he had just hurt himself when he fell, but I quickly noticed that something was wrong with his tail. it was just hanging limply from his butt and his jumping skills were not improving. As soon as I could, I took him into the vet, and after getting checked out, the vet determined it seemed as though he had been in a fight and got bitten on his back near his tail. 

Dignity lost.

With some medication and a little TLC, Moonshine was back to jumping around and and lifting his tail in the air in order to properly stick his butt hole in your face like all cats just love to do. All was well. Except, he never really gained back any feeling in the last inch or two of his tail, so now you can step on it and he won't budge. 

From then on, I did everything I could to make sure he didn't get out, but around that time, he also quit trying to get out as much. And in Virginia, it was almost like he had lost all interest in the outdoors. Occasionally he'd chill out on the balcony, but in the three years we were there, I think he only ran out the front door twice and quickly turned right back around to run back inside.

So anyway, back when it first started getting warm again here a few weeks ago, Moonshine would try to escape out the back door every time I went to let the dog out. A few times I let him go, and all he'd do was roll around on the concrete, and then he'd come back inside with the dog. I didn't let him out every time, though, because sometimes it was cold and I didn't feel like keeping an eye on him.

All that did was make him more persistent. He got a tiny taste and from that point on, he was reminded of everything he loved and missed about the outdoors and couldn't get enough of it.

And I'm pretty sure what he loved and missed most was pooping outside.

He's an old fart and wants to have some fun, so who am I to deny him that? When I let the dog out this morning, I let Moonshine out too. And, when the dog came in, I let Moonshine stay outside. I figured I would just let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do, and if he got in a fight, so be it. I need to stop worrying about stuff so much, so letting him outside is good for me. Plus, he still has his collar and ID tag.

Once he had wandered into the next door neighbor's garden and started making face-love to their tiki torch, I decided to go back inside. After some time, I went to look outside and see if he had bothered leaving the yard yet. Sure enough, he had. And what was he doing?

Yup, that's right. He was pooping in another neighbor's back yard!

So far today he has spent a large chunk of time outside, and at one point was outside for a few hours while I completely forgot he wasn't even in the house. When I went to get the mail, I realized it was a good day to turn on the sprinkler, and when I was setting it up, Moonshine came walking around the corner of the next door neighbor's house and wanted to come inside. Now he's out there again. Probably pooping peacefully under a tree. Or chasing some birds. Or raping neighbor cats. Or probably not.

All that matters is that he's going to spend his last months or years or however much longer he has left doing what he loves and being happy.

That may not completely solve my problem of him pooping in the house, but once again in my life, I find myself inspired by my damn cat. It's time to start pooping outdoors! Metaphorically speaking, of course. 

The Murder Weapon

The project we are currently working on in my design class is practically identical to the first project we did. And the second one. Oh, and the next one we're going to be working on too. All four projects are the same format, the same cutting and pasting, and the same gigantic headache. The only difference is which principle or element of design we're supposed to be demonstrating.

We've had two other projects that were completely different, and I enjoyed those. One was to demonstrate value, and the other was for texture. What I don't understand, though, is why four of the projects all have to be the same thing. Why can't we do different things for each? We're supposed to be building our portfolios, and these projects aren't exactly giving us an opportunity to fill our books with a diverse set of work.

Worst of all, the process for these projects is tedious and draining. I'm beginning to think the person that designed the workload for the class is secretly wishing for death by X-acto knife.

I'm still riding that wave of creativity from before, but nothing is coming to me for this, probably because I just really don't want to do it. But, it's due tomorrow morning. I gave up yesterday and decided to quit worrying about it and start fresh today, but I can already tell it's going to be a rough process. My lack of interest is creating a major road block.

Once I finally get some ideas down on paper--easier said than done right now--I am then faced with several hours of cutting and pasting black, white and grey paper. That sounds okay, but once you get started, it sucks.

There are so many other things I'd rather be doing today. One of those things is a project for my computer imagery class, a project I'm looking forward to working on. But, I can't get started on that one until tomorrow after this X-acto knife nightmare has been completed and turned in.

Unfortunately, the next project for my design class, another one of the same, is going to be assigned tomorrow and due a week later, the same day as the project for my computer imagery class is due. Also, in that same week, I have real work to do for a legitimate client.

Managing my time wisely is something I've never been very good at. I'm the queen of procrastination, but I can already tell school is going to dethrone me. I've been working hard to stay on top of things and not waste time, but it hasn't been easy. Trying to juggle all three upcoming projects is going to cause a lot of stress for me, but I know I can do it. And, after all is said and done, that sense of accomplishment will be totally worth it.

That's all starting tomorrow, though. Today, I need to figure out how I can get the gears turning and channel my creative energy into something I have no desire to do.

A big problem I have always faced in relation to my habit of procrastination is my tendency to not do things at all if I don't think I will like the finished result. Rather than doing a slack job just to get it done, I almost always choose to take a zero than be bothered. This has yet to bite me in the ass because I get A's on all the things I do turn in. A couple zeros usually only bring my final grade down to an A- or a B+, grades I am content with.

I want to put a stop to that, though, so I'm trying to convince myself to just turn in anything, even if it gets a crappy grade. Then the devil on my shoulder says, "if you don't do the project to the best of your ability, you're not going to want to include it in your portfolio, so why waste your time?" Touché, little shoulder devil. Touché.

Let the battle begin.