This is a short tale (a cat tail?) of how my roommate and best friend, Barb, used her travel plans to Morocco in a dastardly way to turn me into a cat person. Yeah, yeah, amazing cultural experience, first time to Africa. Trip of a lifetime. (At least I hope. She’s there as I write this.) I still say it was a plot, so I share this story as a warning. She left me in charge of Nova, her cat… our cat… whatever. It’s evolving.
So, let me start this tale by saying I love cats and dogs. I had a dog as a kid, but I wasn’t really up to the responsibility then. I’m still probably not. I do love them, but more to the point, I’m allergic to both, so even though Barb is a cat person, and has brought wonderful cats into our lives, I’ve avoided becoming a cat person. I don’t want to become a crazy cat guy. Become a James Bond villain. And seriously, everyone knows the internet runs on cat videos (well, that and porn). I don’t want to contribute content to that (well, either really). I’m not going to be a cat person. Not me. I’m not cat person.
Years ago, my neighbor’s cat took a liking to me by delivering me dead birds. Naturally I reached out to my cat people, as I needed advice on helping this little one understand I liked the birds alive. I didn’t have a clue how to deal with that. I’m not a cat person.
But I live with a cat now. I take allergy shots; for several years since one our snowpocalypses drove Barb’s outdoor kitties indoors. There were three. Now, several years on, little Nova has joined our one-cat home, and it was my first time through the whole adoption thing. I was there when Nova joined our home. And she likes me, which is a real upgrade for me. Let’s just say our last cat was a one-woman cat (but I miss you Fang!)
So, now Barb is off on her journey, and little Nova is using me like a yoga mat. I’m digging it. She’s digging it. I’m getting her to drool. I mean – who knew? Cats drool. She’s happy. The drool is her tell. I’m scratching her head, thinking up nick names. Drooler. Drool Monster. Droolster. Novster.
Nova in blissLittle Nova is a drooler. We don’t want to embarrass her with “drool” in the name. So Novster it is. She purrs her agreement. It’ll be our little secret, the drool part. I’m scratching her behind the ear, she’s purring. And drooling. And then … Like a self-satisfied St. Bernard, she shakes her slobbery self, sending kitty goobers everywhere. A great a glob of kitty spit lands right near my eye. Holy crap. I’m allergic. That stuffs like poison to me. Spit in the eye – the worst.
That’ll be bad, I need to avoid that. What are we going to do about this Novster? Hmm? We’ll have to figure out a way. And when we do. I’ll be like one of those fugu sushi chefs. The one’s who can slice the poisonous pufferfish close to the nasty bits without killing folks. They are masters. I will be a master. A master who deliver the joy and avoid the poison bits. A master…
That’s when the light bulb moment happened. Barb’s evil plot to convert me to a cat person. Crap. It may be working.
I ponder this as I wait for Novster to finish cleaning herself and get off my lap. Wait, did I just do that? Double crap. It worked. I am cat person now… No videos I promise. Sorry, there may be photos.
So, Barb’s devious plan to visit Morocco has worked. Eventually, I came up to my cat-free room, swapped out of my fur-covered shirt, washed my poison hands, and I set down to share this warning. Travel can be used for evil. Beware.
Oh, and Barb rode a camel today and is having a blast.