The Dark-Eyed Mistress of Sweet, Sweet Pain (jenni_the_odd) wrote,
The Dark-Eyed Mistress of Sweet, Sweet Pain

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stream-of-consciousness babble: the cat, decorating, and my bruises

I stepped on the cat while cooking and he has decided not to forgive me for that. Sorry, kitty. 'S what you get for lying down on the mat in front of the sink. Be grateful I didn't spill water all over you, too.

I did figure out why the cat is so attached to me lately - he's been constantly underfoot. It's not because he wants me to feed him or clean his catbox (though he usually finds someone and meows at them when that's needed if we've forgotten).
He's lonely.
This makes me laugh because I remember when we got him - was it a year ago? It was some time ago... he was so afraid of everyone. He wouldn't come out at night until Emma had gone to sleep. Nicole and Gabriel were in Illiniois visiting my aunt and uncle at the time, so I'd sit on the floor and play and cuddle with him. He's a 'guys' cat (apparently it's not unusual for animals to pick a gender to hate. Michael told me once of a relative's cat who hated men, and apparently Greg's dog dislikes most teenage girls) and since my dad does not like animals, I was the most manly option around. (good to know. I think.) So I was his favorite until Gabriel and Nicole came home, bringing with them noise for which I doubt he ever really forgave us and of course, Gabriel, who replaced me to an extent as the favorite. The cat will let him get away with anything, but he's still easiest on me and doesn't bite or try to scratch me anywhere near so hard as he'll do to say, my uncle or even my mom. Since then the poor cat has become accustomed to being cuddled and kissed (by mother, who is the most cuddly person around our animals mostly because her children turned out to be non-touchy-feely people and so she just needs something to hug!), yelled at and ignored (by Nicole; she and the cat have never gotten along. I think it's a religious thing - the cat thinks he's a god and Nicole thinks she's Jesus), picked up, played with, and occasionally thrown (that'd be Gabriel. Hmph. Flying Kitty, indeed.), talked to and petted (me) and frightened (Emma. I'd be afraid of kids too, if I were small, fuzzy, and had an easy-to-grab handle like a tail). Occasionally our dad pretends to try to kick him, but the cat ignores him because he is well aware that my father aims far above where his orange fuzzy carcass rests on the floor.
When we got him, he didn't like people much. Now, he apparently misses the madness of a large family. Since I'm the only person here, he has begun to cling to me. I went outside and he sat at the window, watching me. He follows me from room to room. If I sit at the computer too long, he'll climb up beside it and walk across the keyboard because he knows that gets my attention.
Poor kitty. He misses the rest of the clan.
And now he's mad at me because I stepped on him. I feel bad. But it was his fault. I don't make a habit of lying down behind parked cars and taking a nap; he shouldn't try to sleep at the back of my feet while I'm cooking. Hmph.

I am too tall and gangly for our kitchen - all the cabinets are exactly the right height to whack me in the temples/eye if swung or left open, the sink is just low enough that I have to bend slightly - causing a backache from hell when I have to wash dishes by myself since that can take an hour or so, and the cabinets by the floor are low enough that I have to get on my hands and knees just to see what's in them. On the other hand, I'm the only family member who can reach the top shelves and whose arms are long enough to reach to the back of all the cabinets without having to remove whatever's in the front. My mother had a large part in designing the kitchen, and she designed it to look pretty. Lovely. Now, could she have designed it to be functional? I keep saying she'll disown me because when I get my own place the decorations will be... er... nonexistant. Our house is like Martha Stewart on crack went on a grapes/bunnies binge. Or some such. Those who have seen my house understand. I can never comprehend my mother's decorating. Ever. This could be because to me, a picture on the wall is all that is necessary, and is probably even a bit too much. I hate fake flowers. HATE. The tromp d'loiel? (or however it's spelled. I believe it means 'fool the eye' in french or sommat. Means painting stuff on the wall so it looks real) Tackiest damn thing I have ever seen, even though it's really funny if done well because people don't pay attention and think there's really a window or something there... always good to see them get real confused. But give me plain white walls, plain floor, simple, efficient, and relatively inexpensive furniture. I am a decorating minimalist. I told my mom for the apartment I'd need a table, chairs, (computer) and bed. And that the bed was optional. She thought I was joking...
My favorite piece of furniture is this old blue chair my mother has been trying to get rid of for almost six years. It's in my room. If possible, I am smuggling that sucker to San Antonio with me. HaHA! The Ugly Blue Chair triumphs!

Our differences in our decorating preferences probably stem from the fact that she loves entertaining. I inherited my love of cooking/feeding/caring for people from her, but whereas she will throw a huge party, I'll just bake them something and take it to them, then quickly slink back home. If it weren't for the fact that everyone's so damned paranoid these days (I swear, that was powdered sugar on those brownies. NOT ANTHRAX! Geez...) I'd just leave it on the doorstep, ring the doorbell, and run away. Kind of like ding-dong-ditch, but with cookies! Yes. Most of it is probably my inability to accept gratitude or compliments. It's not just that I don't like hearing them; it's that I will go out of my way to avoid them. the inability to stand compliments or gratitude stems from a huge self-image issue that I do not wish to discuss because that damn thing will take up more webspace than I think LiveJournal is willing to let me have... Anyway, where was I? Hmm, yes, the decorating. I dislike clutter. Those of you who have seen my room are confused now. Not clutter as in the things I use on a daily basis lying on the floor/table/bed where I can get to them easily, but clutter as in too many decorations, too much furniture, too much needless stuff. Mostly because I take up a lot of room (no matter my weight, I am long-limbed and tall. I take up space and this cannot be avoided no matter how tiny a ball I scrunch myself into in this chair) and I have no sense of balance. I'm always running into things (tables, doors, cabinets, counter edges, chairs, etc.) and my hair is always getting caught on things (wreaths, doorknobs, cabinet knobs, wall-hangings of any sort, chairs, etc.). My upper legs and hips are always bruised from my clumsiness. I don't need that. My legs are bruised enough already just because I'm knock-kneed (seriously; there's a constant pair of bruises on the inside of my knees. They are currently a lovely shade of bluish purple)
I just want to be able to walk around without fear, is all! *snicker*

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