Saturday, April 30, 2011

A post about my cat.

Like the title says, this post is about my cat.  It is not cheese related, and for that I do apologize. I promise the next post will bring us back to the wonderful world of cheese.

Remember back at the end of February when I told you that I was moving back to Vermont, and then in March I did, but was living at my brothers' house and didn't have a job or car and was thinking that moving without a job or car or any real $$ in the bank was one of the most impulsive (and stupid) things I'd ever done, and I'd lost all my pants somewhere in Ohio or Indiana (long story) and I was pretty sure that that was a sign that I shouldn't have moved back to Vermont, but then things got better because there was an opportunity for me to work on a farm store and I could move out of my brothers' place and everything was going to be okay, and it was a good thing that I'd gotten out of Chicago?  Remember?

Well, one of the things that I hadn't really considered was how the cat was going to adjust.  After living with just me (or me and one other person) for the past 7 1/2 years she was a bit freaked out about moving into my brothers' house.  Lots of people going in and out, and another cat was living there.  She hates cats.  I thought that moving out to a quieter part of Vermont, and living in a quieter house would be good for her.  I even had the dream that she be an indoor/outdoor kitty and would find her inner wild kitty.  She would hunt and chase things and then there would be rainbows and unicorns and glittery sparkly stickers!

I was wrong.

A few days ago I took the cat out to walk around the farm. Everything was okay.  She was a bit timid, but was starting to enjoy following me around the farmhouse.  I had high hopes that she would become a wonderful outdoor kitty and would kill the voles that have been terrorizing the tomato plants in the greenhouse.

That didn't happen.

Someone pulled into the driveway.  And a super friendly and curious dog (she usually likes dogs) came around the corner.  To my cat that meant one thing; time to panic.

She fled to a corner of the workshop filled with all sorts of solvents, an air compressor, and tools that could poke out an eye.  I had to drag her out of that hole two times.  After being in the workshop I gave her a little bath to try to get any gunk off of her.  I shold've known something was wrong when she just sat there with huge, green, bewildered kitty eyes and let me give her a bath.  Not a good sign.

The past few days she's been living in a state of fear and nervousness. I don't know if she's afraid of the outside, of the other employee who lives in the house, farm tools, gravel, grass or a combination of all the sounds and smells of springtime in Vermont.  All I know is that she's taken to hiding in a bag of clothes, or in the bathroom cupboard which startles me every time. I squeal, she freaks out and goes to hide under the bed. 

I'm pretty sure I broke the cat.


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