So I had a terrible dream this morning. I suppose it’s only natural since I’ve been feeling great gobs of anxiety lately. (It’s a sure sign I need a crafting evening with wine and chocolate with my girls.)
Somehow I had got it into my head to go to a cat show. I had three cats, Cinder, Kitten/Ziggy and a skinny little black and white cat. I had taught them one trick and had entered the amateur division. Cinder, being the suck that she was, was terrified and clung to my neck when I took her from the cage which made me even more anxious. I ran them through their tricks which included a tightrope act (sort of) and sitting up and paw patti-cake and little skinny black and white’s back flips. When the show started, all the cats where in cages on stage and the handlers would go up and do their show and then sit back down. I hadn’t realized I was supposed to bring my own music so I already felt like a failure, and then all these people had these elaborate routines with their kitties and my heart just sank and sank and I just wanted to go home. But then the MC said we had to all take our chairs and go to a different auditorium. So we did, all trooping down flights of stairs and down a path and through doors to another building. But then when I tried to go back for my kitties, we weren’t allowed to go back the way we had come. So I climbed out a window, which happened to back on a junkyard, which meant I had to go around these heaps of cars and broken crap and evade an enormous pit bull type dog who looked like he’d been through a war and it felt like I was just getting further and further away.
I forced myself to wake up (and that was a bit of a struggle I tell you) and went and cuddled my cat. Her purr is so therapeutic!
I have never understood the point of animal shows. My cats are spoiled rotten and I would never actually put them through the stress of a show like that – and it is stressful. Cats don’t really like travel – at least I have met very few who do. Cats should be soaking up sunbeams, sneaking catnip out of the pot and lusting after birds or squirrels on the patio. Or in the case of Miss Kitten right now, sleeping in the middle of the floor with all four feet in the air and her belly exposed to the world because she has absolutely nothing to fear here.
reading: The Wolves of the Calla – Steven King
watching: Dr. Who (the David Tennant years)
eating: green grapes
drinking: raspberry iced tea