It is true that jellyfish are more dangerous than they look, but I've lived in a land-locked state for my entire life. How is that I am afraid of jellyfish, when I only see them in aquariums?
Now that we've established that my brain is missing some essential logic components it is time for my next admission. I am not a cat person. No, really. I am really, really not a cat person. Those tails, and those eyes, and that purring. Shudder... I have a hard time with it. There's only one cat I've ever liked. I called him (or her, I was never sure) El Gato Gordo, because he was, well, fat. He belonged to my good friend, Sharlie Tanner. Though there was that one time that El Gato Gordo did get me in trouble. Sharlie, our good friend Chris Payne, and I were at Sharlie's house for some chemistry studying. Feeling the cat walk over my feet under the table I reached over to it and rubbed it with my foot. Or at least I thought I was playing footsie with the cat. It wasn't long before I discovered I was playing footsie with Chris' rather hairy leg. That experience was almost as traumatic as the jellyfish for both Chris and me.
For the past few weeks Brad and I have been house sitting for neighbors of Brad's parents. It has been so great. They have a beautiful home, two wonderful dogs that make me feel loved, a sweet fish, and a washing machine and a dryer! There is only one problem. The cat. Don't get me wrong. As far as cats go, it's a great cat. It's sweet and cuddly and sits and listens to me while I practice (clearly it has good taste in music). This cat really only has one fault, besides that it has the tail and eyes that all cats do. About half way through the night, every night, the cat would jump on the bed and cuddle up to me. It was terrifying. You would think that we'd just shut the door so the cat couldn't come in, right? Nope. We had to keep the door open because it would get too hot in the room. We tried to pile stuff in the door so air could get in, but not the cat but it turns out cats can jump really high.
Each night every few hours the cat would jump on me, I would pick it up, and take it out of the room. But then it wouldn't be much longer before it would jump up and cuddle with my face again. After about two weeks of little to no sleep, one night when the cat jumped on me I overreacted a tad. Meaning I screamed and burst into tears. My sleep deprived mind could not take it anymore. Brad took the cat out and stroked my hair until I could fall asleep again. Just like what you would do with a scared three year old. The next night Brad had the brilliant idea to open a window instead of the door. But it was too late, I had a cat complex. Every time Brad turned over, I thought it was the cat jumping on the bed and I leapt up and went into ninja mode. When I rolled over and Brad's hair tickled my face, I thought it was the cat and tried to shove it off the bed. We both had a long night.
Our three weeks with the cat are at an end, and I'm finally sleeping more than three hours a time. But the scars will last forever.
