For the past 8 months, my beloved cat Mika has been living the sweet life with A.: rolling in the finest catnip, clawing the finest pant legs, harassing the finest squirrels and getting to go in and out to her heart's content. Her life was basically the feline equivalent of getting babysat by your bachelor uncle who lets you eat Doritos for breakfast and watch "Ren and Stimpy" until midnight...and she loved every minute of it. Mika is one well-loved (read: spoiled) feline.
Now that I'm settled into my place in Urbana, have the internet back and no longer have to haunt coffee shops bruising my ass bones on uncomfortable chairs and listening to undergrads tearfully narrate their complicated love lives, however, it was time to get the final piece of the puzzle that is my life; (okay, maybe not the final piece, since I'm pretty sure that half the pieces of my life puzzle are collecting dust bunnies under the refrigerator...but still). Yes, two days ago I got my cat back. (What terminology do you use for that? Getting custody of? Taking possession of?).
It was actually a bittersweet moment. A. has done a fantastic job with Mika, especially considering that he only signed up for 3 weeks of catsitting, since I was supposed to be all better by July (ha ha). Those two are really close and it made me a bit sad to have to separate them. I cheered myself, however, with the knowledge that A. will get to see her at my place all the time, and that she'll probably end up sneaking over to his place for old time's sake, since we live less than a block away from one another.
So, yes, Mika is back. And I am a happy, happy camper. This Saturday, I found myself on the couch wrapped up in a blanket reading Robert Bolano's "The Savage Detectives," drinking coffee and eating fresh bread with nutella, with Mika snoozing away on my lap. It would have been difficult to come up with a better way to spend a Saturday morning.
Mika, however, has still brought her fair share of kitty drama. Since I don't want her to pack up her kitty bags and take off for A.'s place, I'm trying to keep her indoors for a week or so until she gets adjusted. My hope was that she would be so absorbed in the million cobwebby corners and high shelves and other good hiding places in my house that she wouldn't even notice that she hadn't been outside. (Besides, given the amount of wildlife that seems to find its way into my place, the distinction between 'inside' and 'outside' is not a solid line). No dice. Mika has been scratching at every door she can find (even the storage closet... she's not picky) to get a taste of sweet freedom.
To make matters worse, Mika is a savvy, savvy beast and she is not afraid to take advantage of my disability to get what she wants. Someone translate "politically incorrect" into cat speak because homekitty is shameless. She knows that I can't bend low enough to pick her up and that I'm especially bad at bending down on my left side. She therefore waits for me to come home when it's dark, then dashes out the minute I open the door, being careful to slink past my left side. It's a good thing that we have a closed-in porch or else Mika would be practically feral by now. That cat: taking advantage of the disabled! I thought I raised her better than that!
Still, it's good to have her home, and it's good to be settled into a little routine. Man, someone must have slipped some St. John's Wort into my coffee because I am remarkably more chipper than in recent months. Even though it's Valentine's Day. And my day involved eating a bag of gummy candy hearts and cleaning up cat puke.