A lot of folx have been asking me about the procedure, as well as what made me finalize my decision. I’ve written about the latter in detail already (and will link here), so I will focus on the day of. But in short, I decided to do this because of health issues, being childfree, gender affirmation, finally having the means, and timing. I finally have decent enough insurance (but even with insurance, it was over 5k USD!), and with our political climate and reproductive rights being threatened… I figured I better get this done while I still could.
So, after the cut, the details on how it went. Imagery of my insides included! Content warning for talking about surgery, body stuff, and graphic imagery.
I’ve talked about the so-called growing pains of moving to Mastodon, and everyone’s talked to death about the egomaniac now at the Twitter wheel. So let’s talk about Reddit.
A decade or so ago, I used Digg when Digg was good. I liked keeping in touch with the news and other interests, and occasionally contributing to a discussion with a comment. But then they shot themself in the foot and drove most of its users to Reddit, self included, and it fell into punch line and cautionary tale. And now, Reddit is getting greedy. “Digg-ing its own grave,” a lot of people are saying, because we’ve seen this before.
On top of wanting more ads in front of your eyeballs and nuking NSFW outside of their official app/site, they’ve jacked up the API pricing so much that it’ll effectively kill the 3rd party apps and tools some users depend on. In protest people have been leaving for other platforms, scheduling blackouts, and dragging Reddit in the media. They’ve done some boneheaded moves before, but that API brouhaha appears to be the last straw for a lot of people– self included. History really is repeating itself.
The changes take effect on July 1st, but then I thought– why wait? So I deleted the app.
I’ve taken this opportunity to step back and reconsider how I’ve been consuming media.
I realized how guilty I was of using Reddit as a portal for all my news, entertainment, and mindless doomscrolling (especially the latter). Like many others I used third party apps and uBlock Origin to make it usable. And it was… a timesink. A good one, if only in the sense that it was something to read when I was too lazy to do other things. “Good” in other aspects is highly debatable. In my case, I certainly wasn’t contributing positively to most threads; when I wasn’t lurking it was to say something pithy or to insult a jackass. Whether that was due to Reddit’s changing atmosphere or my growing jerkassness, that remains to be seen. (Probably both, to be honest). Good timesink or no, I could have been reading literally anything else instead of threads upon threads of whatever.
So I went further. Next on the chopping block was Pocket. While it was great for squirreling away articles and stories, I just haven’t used it in years– things now are pinned, “Read Later” in my RSS readers, clipped to Evernotes. (And speaking of that, I switched from Evernote to Joplin for more functionality in my free tier account.) My final switch was from Feedly to Feeder (dot co); I didn’t need that AI stuff and I really hated how basic the functionality of pulling RSS data from most websites was behind a paywall. To differentiate, I don’t mean the custom build choose-elements-to-pull kind– Feeder has that paywalled too. But Feeder has a much better time just pulling what I need, with the exception of the really weirdly-formatted sites.
But what about a Reddit replacement? Weirdly enough, I like reading and commenting on things! And sometimes, I even like reading and commenting on what other people have to say! You know, as long as it isn’t a toxic cesspool of scum and villainy and whatnot. I lasted about two days before I caved and looked into some alternatives. So I went back: to Digg, Fark, Slashdot, and Tildes. Those were just thrown into an RSS folder since I had no interest in creating accounts there.
But where was I going to get that sweet, sweet community commenting commotion? I appear to have landed on Kbin since, why not continue my Fediverse trend? It is currently slow with all the growth, but the user interface is nice. I’m finding my footing. I like it. For now.
So, how am I feeling?
Loads better. I feel more deliberate in my media consumption, not just scrolling for the sake of it. And it feels… nostalgic. It has a lot of the vibe of what I remembered the Internet to be. Of forums with all sorts of people in it, specifically. A part of me will always be searching for that magical time where everyone made their own weird lil websites on the Internet, sometimes coming together in communities for shooting the shit and camaraderie. No data mining or rampant capitalism. No bending over backwards to either appease or circumvent the Ad Infestations.
In other words, The Old Web (and this Thread: “What do you miss the most about the old Internet?”). For the younguns, you can also check out NeoCities and mmm.page for more of That Feeling. That is the gist of all I want to say about it.
So, I don’t think I’ll be returning to Reddit. But we’ll see where I end up afterwards.
Damn, this is embarassing that I still can’t spell embarrassing. Nevertheless, I’m still glad I found this draft just bumbling about when I was switching from Evernote to Joplin. I wouldn’t shut up about this science fiction series and my nesting partner finally picked it up: Remembrance of Earth’s Past by Liu Cixin.
I threatened him with My Thoughts on The Third Book once he was finished. And yo did I have some feelings about it. So here they are! With minimal editing since I wanted to preserve as much as my initial thoughts as possible. This series– and the fourth book, when did that happen!? That’s amazing!– requires a (re)read as well.
OK. There’s some editing: I added memes. THERE’S ALSO SPOILERS.
EDIT: One more thing, actually.
I never posted this on Bookreads because there were waaaaaay too many sexism-apologist scifi bros being lil shits. So this was tucked away in my Evernote and rattled about. Until now.
But yeah, right at the jump: if you don’t agree with my read on this book, I don’t care. … Don’t bother engaging; I’ll just mock the shit outta you.
Another revisited post. If you know where I’m from you better shuuuush! But seriously.
Disclaimer
This is about my experience as a non-binary person and is not meant to be the end-all-be-all for the non-binary experience. There is no one-size-fits-all narrative since they are so personal. Your mortality rate will also skyrocket if you attempt any of the following: Cissexism, refusal to respect my pronouns, and imply that I am some sort of tumblrina or special snowflake. And I’ll gladly arrange for your funeral if you outright state it. Since people are killed for being trans and living their truth, it’s only fair to put you in the ground if you try that shit. 🙂
respect my trans homies or i will identify as a fucking problem
Probably AdrianLeewayne via Twitter, but it is all over the Internet and I was unable to find a definitive source
Now, with that out of the way…
Calling Card
Under the non-binary umbrella, I’ve been feeling agender these days. Agender demifemme, to be precise. I’m not on the gender binary whatsoever, nor am I a mix of both binary genders. I do feel a connection to femme, however, with butchy undertones. I feel like I’ve come a long way from my first label of "genderqueer" and still use that sometimes.
It is a possibility that I am genderfluid. This is pending further investigation. 🙂
I also consider myself transgender. I’m the black (or white) stripe in the middle of the transgender flag!
Pronoun Trouble
If the good sir Shakespeare thought well
enough to use a singular they,
hoping as he did, that his words would
carry to this modern day,
then how sayest you that ‘they’ upon thine ears land shrill?
If’t be good enough for him, then good enough f’r thou t’will.
ey/em, which I think of as they/them with less letters. I’m a lazy thing.
“Yo.” Yeah, seriously. It’s pretty dope. I tend to default to this when speaking, in place of “man” or “dude.”
Fun Fact: My VTuber persona uses px/px… like in pixel. I’m a nerdy thing.
Honorifics
“Per.,” (as in, “Person”), and it sounds like purr. Cute!
“Mx.” also works in a pinch.
“Captain” has also been used here and there. I enjoy the ring of it.
Expression
There is little precedent for fat androgyny. Generally our androgynous icons are svelte and lacking in secondary sex characteristics. David Bowie, Tilda Swinton, Katherine Hepburn; these small-bodied, predominately white figures of androgyny have created an aesthetic with little room for deviation. This means that for those of us with bodies that do not conform to traditional standards of androgyny, we are often misread and misunderstood, even in queer spaces.
Clothes have no inherent gender to me. If I like how it looks, I’ll wear it and break a few fashion laws in the process. My ideal is "neither," but I’ll settle for Confusing the Cishets. At any rate, I don’t have to bind my breasts and dress masculine and baggy in order to be neutral; deal with it. I also ain’t gotta be skinny af. Judasmyheart said, "FEMME AS FUCK IS MY ANDROGYNOUS," and I felt that.
Yet Another Binary
I take note when y’all just trade one binary for another. Instead of "man or woman" it’s "masculine or feminine" or "butch or femme." I’m stubborn and refuse to fully subscribe to those, as well; understand that "nah" or "whatever" is a valid expression. My personality isn’t inherently masculine or feminine and my traits are just… traits. While the butch/femme dichotomy doesn’t piss me off as much due to its queer roots…. tread lightly anyway.
Language
"Person" does just fine if you’ve just met me– when in doubt, stay neutral. However, my reaction to most of them is context-dependent. "Girl"/"girl friend" has specific Black culture/AAVE context, and I grew up in the South so most just roll off my back– a lot of it is terms of endearment, after all. I’m also amused at the occasional "sir– I mean– ma’am."
Connections
While pansexual is one of my oldest labels, bisexual fits me as well! It isn’t inherently transphobic and the current working definition is a bit more evolved from what people assume: attracted to more than one gender. In short: for the pedantic "Bi means Two!" crowd, I’m glib and say that I’m attracted to people with and without genders– that’s two things, isn’t it?
We should also consider adding "diamoric" to our dictionaries. Because if you’re into me, you ain’t straight. 😉
Diamoric is an intentionally flexible, loose term that describes a personal identity or a relationship (sexual, romantic, platonic etc.) that is neither “straight” nor “gay” due to the presence of one or more non-binary people.
Dysphoria and Misgendering
Body dysphoria does happen, but not nearly as often as the social dysphoria. It can either piss me off to death, or reduce me to an anxious wreck. You can say "Other" and "neutral" options are a requirement for me. Do you know what else is a requirement? Respecting my fucking pronouns!
I exist. I am here. Acknowledge this with your words and actions.
Other Thoughts
I hate it when the shit I do is gendered/coded male/masculine. I should not have to be "like a dude" to receive praise, especially if it’s a positive trait in men, but not in women.
“When I am assertive, I’m a bitch. When a man is assertive, he’s a boss. He bossed up. No negative connotation behind ‘bossed up.’ But lots of negative connotation behind being a bitch.”
Nicki Minaj
Patriarchy and toxic/fragile masculinity ruins every damn thing it touches. Masculinity needs to be deconstructed, reclaimed, and put back together. And not at the expense of femininity.
I decided that my masculinity would not be seeped in irrational entitlement; it would not be rooted in asserting power or control over women or femme folks. I wanted to create a kind of manhood that creates a safe space for women and femme identified people, so that everyone can be autonomous, carefree in their bodies, desire, and identity. This masculinity doesn’t assume any rank over anyone because they aren’t men or masculine.
Black femininity is amazing. Black femme is amazing. I’ve been trying to put to words how growing up as a black woman has and still influences me, but currently failing. It certainly isn’t something I wish to put in a box and away because I’m enby. This is also the reasoning behind my demifemme label.
I was also keenly aware that my recent ancestors were never granted the right to be seen as feminine, so avoiding femininity made me feel guilty. I felt like I was throwing away something precious.
My femme identity is a purposeful reclamation of femininity from the white supremacist classist heteronormative cis-patriarchy …it an act of resistance. Femme is a chosen, rather than assigned femininity. Femme is taking all the toxic representations of femininity that have scarred us our whole lifetimes, cutting out the rotting parts of shame, and finding a way to celebrate what we liked in the first place. …Femme is fat-positive, poor and working-class-positive, brown-positive, sex-positive, queer-positive femininity.
On a drive home from work I call mom, because my car can do that now and I need something to do on my 45 minute commute. We were discussing hobbies and things and I kept putting myself down: “My nesting partners are so creative with building things with their hands! All I do is stream video games and write for my blog.”
She goes, “What sort of things do you write?”
I reply, “Oh, anything that comes to mind.” And, I added with only a little hesitation: “I’ll send you a link.” To my credit, I actually did in a rather tight amount of time. And I did not forget, either.
In retrospect, I was only a little apprehensive. When I Officially Came Out on Facebook last year, there was only a little bit of apprehension then, too. I’m about to be 40 in a few years. It’s time I stopped pussyfooting to others about my truth. I’m also a firm believer in Show, Don’t Tell, so while I could’ve summed up my blog with “Introspection, Observations, and Rants” I really thought it better to just show it to her.
Besides, she knows what sorta weirdo I am already.
A blog is very reminiscent of how I handled my composition notebooks when Harriet the Spy was popular in the 90s. As the opposite of Harriet M. Welsh I did let anyone read my journal (and, thanks to the hard lesson she learned, I also learned to keep the really mean juicy bits in my head)! It was full of observations, quotes, song lyrics, boring day stuff, and doodles. In high school, a classmate was so enamored over the phrase “Satan’s Day” I penned that morning that he read the passage to the entire class! While it lacked malicious intent, said passage was still raw in my mind during that time, and I just felt mortified.
So, maybe I’m just predisposed to writing publicly about things. Just, you know, No Adults Allowed until I became one. And, perhaps, not so fiercely private– mom can attest to this; I was always as such from when I was a child. It was so I wouldn’t even tell her the nightmares I had so she could comfort me, and I refused to practice the recorder instrument in the house. I opted to make weak flute noises in the car, with all the windows rolled up.
Well, there’s still no nightmares here, and you won’t be getting context for Satan’s Day. Just things I’d like to share. If you’ve read my disclaimer you know the drill.
As for my mom’s response: she cried. But not in that “jfc you still think Garfield is funny” disappointed crying, the “you are so much like your dad, with your way with words and creativity” crying. Because he also wrote poetry and was a pretty damn good drawer to boot. I like to think I got my flair for storytelling from him, too… and my tendency to troll people. You know, annoy them a little. Like not telling people what the fuck Satan’s Day alluded to.
I’m proud of what I write, except maybe that one post on Halloween a few years back or so. So this was also like “ma lookit me” as I run up to her and show her my crayon drawing of flowers and rabbits.
As I keep mentioning, I’m from Florida. But what is more relevant for this entry is that I grew up in a trailer (and later, a house) in the woods. So when I was younger I was surrounded by trees and spent a lot of time among them– going on walks, sitting on giant rocks, crossing railroad tracks, and getting lost, tripping, ripping your shirt, and worrying your mother to death.
To say it was a culture shock when we moved the The Suburbs a decade and change ago was an understatement. There were houses where trees should have been, and the trees that were around seemed very spread out. I had to go to an honest-to-goodness nature preserve for my woodsy walks, and that is something I take advantage of. In addition, due to lack of a transit system and a steady set of wheels, I was used to walking everywhere.
I was drawn to the isolated patches of surviving wood, and the creeks running parallel to the highway. And the more I used the sidewalks, the more likely I’d wander off them. I forage for blackberries, green onions, and chives whenever they were in season. I explored some of the city on my feet, starting with the concrete, through the bush, along a creek, and back to a sidewalk again.
Hashing is a mixture of athleticism and sociability, hedonism and hard work; a refreshing break from the nine-to-five routine. Hashing is an exhilaratingly fun combination of r*nning, orienteering, and partying, where bands of Harriers and Harriettes chase Hares on eight-to-ten kilometer-long trails through town, country, jungle, and desert, all in search of exercise, camaraderie, and good times.
Last year I began hashing with my nesting partner; a combination of my pestering and his desire to share a hobby with me. I kept hearing amusing and frankly, fun stories from him and I wanted to experience it for myself. It was also a way to get my homebody out of the house (read: exercise), and to satisfy my “be more social” goal that was set back by COVID’s beginning. It felt very much like my ambling about in my college and early-post college days, minus the cheap beer.
Yeah, there is beer (if you want it)! The cheap stuff, because there needs to be a lot of it! And on the path, there are marks we could follow to the next stop (or get punk’d, if the hare is a jerk), and we drink another beer. Some of us run (and we make fun of them), but most of us walk (and we also make fun of them), but we all have a good time. Oh, and remember when I said “fun”? I meant debauchery. We sing rowdy songs. We (with consent!) slap each other’s butts. We sing a lot of vulgar songs, with cursing and naughty words. We also like to party, to the point where pants sometimes go missing.
It’s been a little over a year now since I began hashing. I saw interesting out-of-the-way sights, met some pretty cool people, and had a fun time doing all of that.
Hash House Harriers have different “kennels” around the world; the foundation is the same but each kennel have their own traditions and marks! One tradition is being bestowed a “Hash Name,” but how you get one differs from kennel to kennel. For our local group, you have to hare your own trail first. After being talked about, pestered, and interrogated, whoever is on your trail that day will decide on a name based on your answers and what they know from hanging out with you.
Oh. And the names tend to be Not Safe for Work (remember the debauchery and rowdiness). And you gotta hate it at least a little bit. I am excited to do my naming trail today. I am the normal amount of socially anxious/nervous, and (said in jest) utterly terrified of what bullshit name they’re gonna stick me with!
So, after a hiatus, I went back to streaming this year! I’m having fun, as per usual, and I even modified my model a little more. But uh, I’m avoiding closeups because I need to tighten and smooth out edges; you can see seams and it’s pretty rough. Not to mention finalizing my outfit: I want to keep it simple, but I’d like to nail down a shirt design.
Scheduling and Playing
My biggest hurdle is still, scheduling. Not only do I need to account for plans I have in meatspace, but I have to consider my energy level. I’ve canceled or postponed streams because I needed to rest, and that’s either because I don’t get enough sleep (insomniac life!) or worn down from the rest of my schedule.
I’ve been playing a LOT of ValiDATE, and while I enjoy it it is a lot of reading! After a while I just get tongue tied. Last week or so I played APICO for a change of pace, with Twitch approved lofi in the background. That is an amazingly chill combo that I should do more.
OBS is Intimidating
I have it downloaded… but not installed. HOWEVER, I’ve finally began using VTopia as backup storage for my streams– Twitch only keeps them for a week, and sometimes I either forget to download them or I have trouble doing so. Because I have a potty mouth and talk about ADULT STUFF, I flagged most of my vlogs as Mature Content– that’d explain the sparse page. There is another channel, for some reason. There’s where OBS will come in.
Also, cap my damn FPS at 60. Anything more and my poor hardware freaks out.
The Lore, you Say?
I’ve also been muddling about with the lore. With the rise of AI tools taking people’s jobs and committing plagiarism, I’ve half a mind to move away from the self-aware AI bit. But… it’s so cool– I mean "real" artificial intelligence, of the science fiction actually-self-aware sort. While I’ve been dipping my toe in the water of vt.social, I’ve come across other AIs, programs or computers personified, and even a rad calculator! Concepts are awesome, and I suppose I need to solidify my own spin on the AI thing. Being around other VTubers is inspiring, as usual!
So, yes, the sentient AI thing is still going to be a thing, but now I know how I want to get weird with it. I’d like to do longform entries on another platform instead of just infodumping here, but in summary:
Like a lot of people, I’ve been in what’s been called “Survivor Mode.” You do enough to get through the day, most times by any means available to you.
I feel like I have been doing that since I graduated college.
Now, this happened over a decade and change ago. I graduated at the tail end of a nasty recession and the job market was hit hard. Furthermore, I had a ton of student loan debt– and due to predatory practices of this particular degree mill and student loan company collaboration, it was a lot. This combination forced me to still live at home a little longer and grab any job I could (and being a mailroom clerk, conveniently, did count toward the school’s lofty “over 90% employment rate” upon graduation). There was freelancing done here and there, and sometimes I managed to land the fabled Job in my Field, and I even started a media company with some college friends.
To put it gently, I have been burnt out from “the industry” and have PTSD symptoms when I think about going back. But my college degree, while not worth the paper it was printed on, is proverbially collecting dust. But in being able to survive business implosions, “relieved of my duties,” cheapskate clients, scams, and eviction, I had to settle for the classic 9-to-5.
I think about the “How I Got Here”s quite a lot: like a lot of folks, we were instilled with the “earning a college degree will get you employment” thing– and disappointed when it wasn’t that simple, or even possible. The aforementioned for-profit school and predatory loan distributors. My weaknesses in interviewing in an over-saturated market. My portfolio, which won awards but not jobs. I dwell on the negatives and the “What If”s along with the steps I have taken.
It’s a little harder to remember why I wanted to go into Web Design in the first place– but not as hard as I always think it will be.
Way (way) back in high school, I took all the computer courses available to me. I enjoyed them all, but the ones I liked the most were when we dealt with… Frontpage. Further back– in middle school– I was enamored with all the information other people put on the World Wide Web… how each individual put together images and text to convey what they wanted to. And I thought, “I can do that. I can build sites for people who are unable to. I can put information out there that is more accessible.” And the more I learned, the more I saw how I can create something like that.
With the advent of Content Management Systems, Web designers feel obsolete. But it still takes a person with the know-how and a good eye for color and execution– or at least, someone willing to get their hands dirty being elbow-deep in tweaking code. Accessibility is more important than ever, and I’m not just talking about readability. We have to make sure images are described accurately and accessibility tools are accounted for.
I am content, even happy, with where I am now. I’m still here, after all. There is a roof over my head, gas in the tank, and food in the fridge, despite my cravings for Taco Bell. I’m even blessed to have a job I actually like and enjoy! I am indeed surviving.
I may need to balance an old passion with the… practicality of keeping myself clothed and fed.
It was, one of many, a Friday night in the 1990s. And because it was in Florida, it was hot, humid, and maybe even rainy– that was perfect weather to stay inside somewhere with a good book, comfort food, and pattering ambiance. We’re not thinking of the classic "novel, cup of tea, chair-next-to-window combo," though. We’re talking about a 90s kid that loved reading, pizza, and long car rides.
It’s one of my favorite memories. There was nothing like walking into a Pizza Hut after a long week of School to receive your reward for reading books: a personal pan pizza. Typically I chose Just Cheese, but would change it up with pepperoni once in a while. But what I loved even better was the hour-long ride home: not only was I privileged enough to have the option of eating in the car, but I was able to munch on my pizza and read some more! And while the weather certainly differed it was the rainy evenings that stand out the most in my memory. What else stood out were the books I read during these drives.
They were comics.
Do you, though?
That’s right. This is my coming out post[1] on how I not only read Garfield for fun, as a child, but to this day I find most of the strips pretty funny… I daresay to the point where they were the building blocks for my sense of humor (or lack of, depending on who you ask), not to mention his various quips earning permanent residence in my Clapback Directory. Garfield also emulated a confidence and sassiness I sorely lacked in my life– reveling in being fat, lazy, and damn fucking proud of it. So, as I installed an app to help me count calories, this particular exclamation popped into my head and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
While his wiseassery wore off on me– and probably his love for tasty food, If I’m honest– his utter hatred for diets did not. The anti-diet tirade of "Fat, Lazy, and Proud Of It" was taken at face value when I was 10 years old, chalking it up to A Thing Adults Bitch About and I Won’t Understand Until I’m Older, like coffee adoration and hating on Mondays[2]. But the older I grew the more I’ve added my own notes and disclaimers, on top of finding him more relatable beyond a silly punchline. I mean, I have this tendency to put my spin on things, which is both a blessing and a curse.
I’m sure Jim Davis didn’t think too deep into the whole bit beyond "something a gluttonous asshole– you know, a cat– would say," but I now see it as:
Fat: refusing to participate in destructive Diet Culture, which necessitates the need to be “Thin Enough” and/or “Fat (in only the good places)” and the mental and physical harm subscribing to it may cause.
Lazy: refusing to be productive when capitalism demands it for every moment of your waking life.
Proud: no-selling the inevitable guilt-trips and eradicating any shame that may pop up.
In Garfield’s defense and my admittedly shoddy recollection of events: no matter how much he complained, snuck a donut, threatened the scale, or thanked God when Jon read from a newspaper that dieting doesn’t work[3ab]… he still did it. He sucked it up, in his own grumpy way, and celebrated his little victories. I know the struggle of dieting and the joy of getting little cheats in (garnishing a salad with a whole ham? Can’t say I haven’t done similar), so this is a time where I find him Pretty Relatable.
And I’ll do the same. Well, I’ll certainly cheat a lot less. But I’ll make progress, and not beat myself hard when I mess up.
I’m aware of nostalgia and the absurdity of relying on memories from when I was 10, let alone glossing over the overreaching impact of the dieting running gag.[4] Deep critiques will very likely not be kind to Garfield. But hey, when you see me at the gym and I’m giggling through my reps, I’m not giddy from lack of calories– I just have Garfield strips playing in my head.
Which reminds me… I need to log this cinnamon roll.
[1] I can make that joke because I’m queer. 😉
[2] Boy, do I get it now. So do a lot of people. And I got a caffeine addiction for my hatred for Mondays.
[3a] Like a lot of Garfield panels, I can see this clearly in my mind’s eye: a Sunday strip starter panel. They’re at the table and Jon is reading from the newspaper; Garfield had fallen to his knees repeatedly saying "thank you." And, like a lot of Garfield panels, are damn hard to find. RIP "garfield.bounceme.net" with their text-searchable database that filled the gaps in my memory for years. You were a real one.
[3b] I also agree with that take. Dieting may not work, but lifestyle changes do. That should be the goal!
[4] According to that wiki, the few times Garfield did diet of his own volition was because he was shamed or humiliated. So, uh, not a great motivator there, actually. The cracks begin to form.
A fine pair of dinguses. (I can say that because I am also a dingus.)
I live with two cats. They aren’t mine, legally, but we occupy the same household and I help take care of them. We watch shows and lounge in sun spots together, slow blinking at each other. I pretend to look the other way if I drop a particularly tasty crumb of Human Food. Our collective stray hairs makes the discount Roomba seize up.
The “House Panther” (a fancy way of saying black cat) is a greedy old man. He loves to eat: he’ll inhale his meal and immediately edge toward someone else’s bowl or plate. He also enjoys pets and especially belly rubs! His companion– a calico/tabby mix– we ended up nicknaming “Mean Lil Ass,” due to her grumpy-looking face and her fondness for playing rough. She is about 7 years his junior so she still has that kitten energy, to HP’s annoyance.
HOW DID SHE DO THAT?
Together, they can be annoying jerks!
Like I said, the House Panther loves to eat. And he is impatient. So he meows. In your face. And he will paw at the noisiest, most annoying material he can find until you feed him. And that kitten energy has MLA writing checks that her fur can’t cash. Fur literally flies, and she will give back just as good– and louder. Have you ever jolted awake to Super Smash Bros sound effects from beneath your bed? It’s pretty harrowing and I do not recommend it.
But they’re cats. They do cat stuff. Sometimes it doesn’t make sense, other times it’s infuriating. Most times it’s still pretty funny.
MLA enjoys pushing things and hiding in small crevices. She loves to run and jump and have the expensive flatscreen TV wobble from her effort. HP loves to TELL YOU ABOUT IT, at 2 in the morning when you’re supposed to be sleeping and somehow, his meows are the right pitch to evade your earplugs and white noise– if only for the chance to butter you up with kitty snuggles before demanding his breakfast 3 hours early. Both would love to make off with an entire chicken if they could (and honestly, you can’t really blame them). There’s claw marks in the couch. Litter gets in my shoes. They get up to antics and Silly Shit. They make goofy faces. Both love being where they shouldn’t be. And I still don’t know what they’re looking at, over there.
We enjoy a classic sci-fi magazine now and then.
I remind myself that they are Not a People no matter how many times they can stand on their hind legs. That’s just how kitties do. Whenever they irritate me I try to take a deep breath and think: what do they need? What do they want? You know, instead of just chucking a pillow at them or using the CatSoaker9000. I can do something more constructive– and not punish the cat, I learned too late in life!– like checking their water bowl (and to see if it is meal time), or add another cat tree to the grocery list, and spending quality time with them.
Cats may be independent, but they get lonely, too. They are Banished from my room during bedtime due to their antics, so I try to make time for them by hanging out, or pulling out some Cat Enrichment with catnip. And pet them, of course.
Besides, I can always use more patience.
As much as I can complain (and I do!), I do love my rowdy cohabiters. You can tell due to the myriad of nicknames I have for them both.
