Maybe it's the time of the month
I have been having a fight with my mother's cat.
Fighting cats is stupid, of course, but nonetheless I have been fighting her over the last few days. Last time I fought a cat it was when Casey and I were living together. Nippers was particularly hungry one morning, and kept following me around yowling and getting underfoot, begging for food. I tripped over her and cut my foot open on a piece of rusty metal in the hallway. I yelled at Nippers, who of course meowed back. I finally did give her food, but I made it very clear that I was angry with her (psychically, because cats know your mood, especially when you're as connected as Queen NipNip and I were).
I left at 8:15 and Casey didn't have to be at work by 10:00, and we lived right next to his work, so he didn't get up until after I had already left for work, so from his perspective all he saw was a mournful cat with an empty food bowl (people wonder how I let Nipps get so fat).
He texted me asking why Nippers was crying. "I gave her food but she won't stop meowing!"
When I came home I brought new cat toys and played with her and she was much quieter after that. It took a couple days for my foot to heal.
But that was 2008 and my own cat. Yesterday! Yesterday was Darcey, Mom's infamous cat, and she straight up chomped my hand. She was acting affectionate, following me around the house, meowing pitifully, and finally I gave in and petted her. She was enjoying it, purring, leaning into my hand, when suddenly CHOMP! Right on my thumb. It broke skin.
I was very angry and also worried about infection. It's scabbed over but still sore. When I came home last night, Darcey was sleeping peacefully on Mom's usual chair at the kitchen table. In a fit of spite I shook the chair, which normally scares her off. She simply blinked at me.
Aunt Cindy was up. "Poor Darcey was sick all day," she said, and launched into this tale about how she had to clean up all this barf and diarrhea from upstairs. Maybe I had touched a sore spot on Darcey, we thought.
Well Darcey may be cuter and more sympathetic and pathetic, but she still bit me, and right now she's just acting sick and avoiding me. It's kind of a weak fight really.
I wasn't really happy with the Big Orange Box over the weekend. I had to close one night, and because Paint was so slow, I helped Plumbing close instead. This involved me climbing onto the shelves and pulling boxes that had fallen into the flue space. So I spent a couple minutes sitting on a shelf, which was long enough for Larry in Garden to find me there.
"Oh are we selling Kelseys now?" he said. "How much are they selling for?"
I forget what I said, if I tried to joke back or if I tried to explain what I was actually doing. I imagine I said a joke, because he kept up the joke later on. (maybe something about how we were running low on Kelseys?) He saw me walking around the floor and asked why I wasn't on the shelf. I replied that Kelseys weren't selling very well and had been taken down. He said, "Oh I doubt that! I'd buy one and take her home!"
I laughed at the joke and all but still, I felt very awkward about a series of jokes revolving around buying and selling me like a slave. Combined with the night manager making an example of me for cutting through a closed aisle when I was actually looking for something in that aisle, I just, I'm annoyed at the store.
I'm seriously considering not pursuing teaching, and instead pursuing a job in government and going to grad-school part-time to get a Masters, and later a Doctorate, in history. I would aim for adjunct professorship. I guess the next thing to do would be to visit a career counselor and figure out internships.
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