Chapter 12 Jamison #4
Me: Yeah. It can get pretty bad at times.
She has panic attacks sometimes, and she’s pretty much always catastrophizing and making plans for when the (metaphorical.
Usually, except when it’s literal, and those times are fun) apocalypse hits.
I can talk my way through to someone having a panic attack like a boss at this point.
Hen: I don’t get panic attacks, really. I just get…
dread. Like, I constantly feel like everything’s about to go horribly wrong.
And then half the time it does go wrong, and I’m like ‘yup, saw that coming’.
On the bright side, when you see it coming it means you can at least try to plan for it, so I’m pretty good at having contingencies inside contingencies.
Me: Did…did you see us going wrong last week?
Damn it, self, we were having a nice conversation and then you had to go and throw that bomb into it?
Me: Nevermind, pretend I didn’t ask that.
Hen: No, I’m gonna answer because it’s a good question.
I didn’t see that coming. Which provided an extra level of freaking me out.
I’m…comfortable with you, I guess? So when you just left, I was sitting there like ‘What even the fuck just happened right now?’ and then I had to post-catastrophize, which, let me tell you, is even worse than pre-catastrophizing because you’re not just working with a hypothetical but instead trying to fit together facts that don’t fit together to make some sort of coherent narrative. It’s…not fun.
Me: I’m so sorry, Hen. Really.
Hen: No, don’t apologize again. It’s over. We talked it through. Needless to say, the post-hoc rationalizations I came up with for why you left weren’t accurate. Anxiety brain for the loss.
Hen: No, wait, sorry, that was dramatic and likely to make you feel like you need to apologize more, not less. Ignore me.
Me: I won’t apologize any more, but Hen, you’re pretty hard to ignore. Just needed to be said.
Hen: Aw, shucks. Anyway, so your week sucked and my week sucked, and they didn’t have to in retrospect. Way to go, us.
Me: But now we’re talking it out like adults. Genuinely way to go, us!
Hen: So what are you up to this weekend?
Me: Absolutely nothing. Laundry. I was kinda half-thinking about researching cat ownership and whether I could be a good home for one, after we talked about it a while back. But I’m not even sure where to start.
Hen: Hah, another one bites the dust. I’ll have to tell Curie her feline wiles worked. But seriously, cats are pretty easy. You scoop the box, you give them food and water, and you let them pet you when and if they want.
Me: Wait, I let them pet me?
Hen: Yup. It works a lot better if you let the cat initiate the petting. They don’t tell you that. My theory is that’s why cats always want to love on the person who doesn’t like cats or is allergic: they’re the ones ignoring the cat until the cat approaches them, which is what the cat wants.
Hen: So anyway. You’re seriously considering getting a cat?
Me: Sort of? I don’t have any serious ‘I’m going to the shelter tomorrow’ plans or anything, but…I kind of want to? But surely this sort of thing requires weeks of planning.
Hen: Honestly, no. Get a litterbox, food, some toys.
All of which you can pick up in an hour at Petsmart.
Bring it home, set it up, and you’re good to go.
The most time-consuming part is likely to be the shelter running background checks and stuff.
Wait…you were going to use a shelter, right?
You’re not one of those people who wants to buy a purebred?
There were purebred cats? That was news to me. I kinda thought cats just came in long-haired or short-haired varieties and the color you got was luck of the draw. But on second thought I knew things like Siamese cats existed, so of course there must be purebred cats.
Me: Uh, no. I’m not that aesthetic that I need a designer cat. Just one that’s alive and lets me pet it sometimes.
Hen: I like your style. So…are you the type of person who needs to do a lot of psychological preparation for things, or do you just jump into things?
Me: Uh…I guess I’m a jumper? I mean, I like to have my feet under me, but once I settle on something I’m ready to do it.
Hen: Mwahaha.
Me: Why don’t I like the sound of that evil laugh?
Hen: So you didn’t have plans for tomorrow, right?
Me: Um…no? Why do I feel like I just agreed to something I didn’t agree to, though?
Hen: We’re going to the pet store to pick you out some cat supplies.
Me: Wait, we are?
Hen: We so are. And then if there’s time, we’re going to the shelter to get your paperwork started.
Me: But I…I don’t…what if…?
Hen: Hmm, wait, does your apartment allow cats? Make sure you check that.
Me: Yeah, no, that’s fine, pets are allowed up to thirty-five pounds, and if I find a cat that weighs more than that I’ve got a whole different set of problems. But what if the shelter doesn’t have any cats? Or what if they’re not open? Or what if they…I don’t know, don’t like me?
Hen: The people, or the cats?
Me: Both! Either!
Hen: Their job is to send cats to new homes.
They won’t turn you away unless you’re secretly Hitler, and frankly if you are I want to find that out now, too, so we’re doing this.
And the cats…there’s always new cats coming in and old cats going out.
If you don’t get along with any this time, you can try again next week, or in a month, or whenever.
But I doubt that’ll be a problem. Cats are, by and large, sweet babies.
Me: Gulp. This is a lot of pressure.
Hen: Hey, I’m not trying to railroad you if you really don’t want to do this. But I get the sense you just need a little push, and, well, here I am for that. Preaching the kitty gospel.
Me: Does the kitty gospel use ‘meow’ in place of ‘amen’?
Hen: Of course. And there are the Ten Demands At Three A.M. instead of the Ten Commandments. Life with cats.
I looked around my empty apartment. Would there be a cat here with me by the time I started work on Monday? Well, maybe not. I didn’t know how long shelters took to run their checks. But…soon, maybe? Wow.
Me: Ok. You’ve talked me into it. We’re going cat shopping.
Hen: Yesssssssss!! [dancing cat gif]
Hen: There’s an indie pet store called Wags ‘n’ Purrs downtown. Want to meet there after breakfast tomorrow? Maybe ten o’clock?
Part of me wanted to invite him to meet me for breakfast, but maybe that would be awkward. Maybe it would be better to meet up with an objective to work on together. So I said nothing about breakfast.
Me: Ten works for me. Do I need to bring anything for the shelter? A copy of my lease or anything?
Hen: Might not hurt. And make sure you have your ID. And if you have character references, bring their contact info.
Me: Character references? Is this a job interview??
Hen: Worse. It’s pet-focused busybodies who want only the best for their darlings.
Me: Damnnnn. Ok I guess I’ll think about who would give me a good review if called up by an animal shelter. Uh…would you maybe be one of them? I know we don’t know each other that well, but you’ve seen me interact with Curie and we’ve talked a lot about pets…
Hen: I’d be happy to, Jamison. I know you’d be a good cat dad.
Me: Ok, we’re doing this. I’m excited and nervous, but we’re doing this. Oh god, I need to think of names!
Hen: Hold off on names until you meet the cat, is my point of view. You want something that fits them, not just a generic cat name like, I dunno, Mittens.
Me: Ugh, no. I’ve got better taste than that. I think.
Hen: Watch you fall in love with a cat with mittens and decide that’s The Perfect Name. I reserve the right to mock the hell out of you.
Me: I don’t think I like you anymore.
Hen: Love you too, schmoopie.