January 13th, 2008

breeden

(no subject)

Went out to see "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly," with my buddy Eric, which was very good, very harsh, and very depressing. Came home. Angus, incarcerated in the bathroom, whined until I came in. I gave him food, which he ignored in favor of purring and headrubs. I sat down in there with a book, hoping to reassure him. He wedged himself upside down against the edge of the cupboard, purring furiously. I read a bit more, then finally went to leave, hoping that in my absence, he'd eat something.

Instead he shot between my feet, and ran into Ben, who was hanging out outside the bathroom. To their mutual credit, there was a cautious nose sniff. Nobody hissed. (I'm so proud of Ben!) Ben sat down. Angus circled around him, low to the ground, and sniffed at his tail. Ben made an almost inaudible mew, a sort of yes-that's-my-tail sound. Angus pulled his head back, slightly startled. They looked at each other.

Then Ben went into the bathroom and ate Angus's food, and Angus went into the kitchen and ate Ben's food.

I suspect that's neutered male cats for ya...
breeden

(no subject)

So last night, I'm reading, and Ben comes in, snuggles down in his accustomed place at my ankles, and gets comfy.

A minute later, Angus comes in. Ben switches to the outside of the left calf in order to keep an eye on the newcomer.

Angus jumps on the bed and heads for me.

Now, Ben has been incredibly tolerant, but this is just too much. I am HIS monkey, damnit! He hisses.

Angus considers this, and lays down at a respectful distance, not quite touching the monkey.

Ben, feeling somewhat grumpy about this development, gets up and stomps off to go eat the rest of Angus's food. Angus promptly moves into the warm spot Ben has just vacated, stretched out along my left calf. "Oh lord..." the monkey mutters to herself.

Ben returns, sees Angus in HIS SPOT, and in order to prove just who owns me, jumps on the bed, lays down full length across my torso, (Ben, as I've said before, at full stretch can cover me from crotch to collarbone) which has definite impact on my breathing. Since he's very interested in what Angus is doing, every time I open an eye, I see Ben glaring through my head, his ears back to catch any sound from his rival for monkey ownership. When he notices that I'm still awake, I get a lick across the nose or eyebrow that is probably meant to be reassuring, but mostly just leaves me exfoliated and reeking of cat food.

Eventually my pitiful wheezing gets to be too much, and Ben gets up, strolls down the bed, and lays down, pressed against my right calf. Eighteen inches now separate them, an inter-ankle neutral zone. And there they both go to sleep. And eventually--pinned into place by a pair of feline leg-irons--so do I.

When I woke up, Ben was in his usual spot, and Angus was exploring under the sink, but if this is going to be the usual pattern, I may need to get a bigger bed...
breeden

(no subject)

Good day today. I went out for coffee with the NCWCCC, and it was a blast. Mckenzee, Otter, Matt and Eric--and you read all their webcomics, right?--kept me in stitches for several solid hours. We discussed Rule #34, zombie fetishes, and how to dispose of bodies. And Mckenzee explained what the balloon fetish was to me. I...feel more educated now. I think.

It was a good thing, all around, I left much more cheerful than I arrived. I've been a little down this week, obviously--bounced back well, and of course having Angus is a great distraction--but the sky is still leaden and grey and saps the soul with indirect and indistinct lighting, and even my native resilience (which, goddamnit, is bloody epic if I do say so myself--my emotional health may not have much in the way of strength or agility, but its constitution is solid 18s) takes a little time now and again.

To extrapolate from far too small a sample size, I suspect that being really, seriously, majorly depressed leaves one a little bit of an emotional hypochondriac, and as soon as you're at all down, you get paranoid that you're depressed again. In actuality, of course, everybody has down days, particularly when one is coming off a dramatic run of misery, and it's just a sign of normal fluctuation. You just get paranoid.*

Anyway, I'm doin' pretty well now. Still trying to learn to decipher Angus's signals--he's got a piercing yowl, and I don't know yet what he wants--but they're both using the main litterbox, and they aren't fighting over food, despite opportunity. So that's good!



*I suspect that if you have a lifelong relationship with depression, you may get better at reading the warning signs and can tell a blah day from a slide into despair. May Ganesh preserve me from developing this sort of expertise.