The Sheila Variations

I look at this and I feel despair

Not of myself. But of Hope, who is in her crate in the back seat.

This is my car in the bowels of the Block Island ferry, getting ready for our journey back to the mainland. They do not allow people (unless you are Christopher Walken) to sit in their cars during the hour-long boat ride. You have to go up into the ferry proper. So I had to leave her there. She crouched in her cage, like a little Cornish hen, with big alarmed miserable eyes, and endured her fate with no complaint.

The ferry ride out to Block Island was rough, the boat climbing the waves and plunging down into the holes in between. It was gloriously fun but it had to be a shrieking horror for Hope, who had no idea what her life had come to. The ferry ride back to the mainland was a breeze, no big waves, nothing, but still: it's LOUD down there with the cars, much louder than up above.

So I look at this benign picture and I feel despair.

Dear Hope

I have an important message for you, my dear.

RELAX.

I am not going to take your cardboard scratching box away from you.

So you can CHILLAX on the crazy eyes for just one second, and breeeeeeathe.

O my love, where have you gone.

Here is Hope sitting in her favorite window.

Sometimes the light hits her just so that she looks unbelievably dramatic, especially when the curtain falls in a certain way. I glance over, see Hope sitting there, and laugh to myself, thinking she MUST be tormented emotionally.

Here she reminds me of Mrs. Muir in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, only in this case, she is not waiting for Rex Harrison to return to her. Instead, she mourns the loss of her greatest love thus far: the empty TV box that I had to take down to the trash last week.

Hope stares out the window longingly, not moving.

Where did you go, O love, where did you go ... I will wait for you ... eternally ....

It is comforting to know that in a world of flux and change ...

some things, at least, remain the same.

windows

In my old apartment, Hope had one window to look out of. Granted, it took up the whole wall, and looked right out into the back yard where there were things like cardinals and stray cats and gophers for her to drool over. The window in the kitchen had the AC unit in it, so she couldn't sit in THAT sill, although she did try. (Why, Hope? Why? You can't even see out of that window. Please tell me why.)

But in this apartment, Hope has eight windows to look out of, each with nice wide sills for her to stretch out on like a satiated lion. The bathroom window looks out on an air shaft, but that is her preferred perch when I'm in there. I love how she follows me around still. It's almost nerve-wracking. Like I want to tell her to get a life.

Then there's the little alcove in my hallway with a nice big window that also looks out on an air shaft. Not a good view, but sounds of the other animals who live in the building reverberate down that air shaft from time to time, meowing cats, barking dogs, and Hope sits on that sill, fur quivering upright in attention. And need.

The windows facing north are prime spots for Hope in the morning since, basically, they are in my bedroom, and I am there in the morning. So naturally Hope needs to be within viewing distance of me at all times.

The windows facing east give an interesting perspective because they look out on a tree-lined street, but also there's a roof of a shorter building right below those windows - and pigeons strut by, so Hope has a lot to drool over. Also, those windows get blasted with sun, and it is hard to describe the flatness of Hope when she lies in the sun on those sills, the flatness and the lethargy. I will go over to her and scoop her up off the sill, and she is so relaxed and hot that she keeps her body slack and flat, so she's like a dishrag hanging over my hands. It is beyond adorable.

She now lies in the window facing north, right by my desk (naturally, because I am sitting at my desk, so where ELSE would she be?) staring out at the cars going by, and sometimes her eyes are open, sometimes they are closed. She is alert, yet also sleepy. She alternates between two polar opposites without any problem.

I struggle with the same thing.

Hope has acclimated to our new digs better than I have.

Hopefully I'll catch up eventually. I've always been a slow learner.

Hope asks:

"What country, friends, is this?"

It is only when I spend 24 straight hours with Hope that I realize ...

... just how much that damn cat sleeps.

Hey, what's up.

It's really unfortunate that I am so stressed out.

I wish I could just RELAX.

Hope's cuteness

is sometimes more than I can actually bear. I see her at certain moments and I really MUST begin to torment her, and pick her up, and squeeze her, and kiss her face, and she lies there, slack and annoyed, enduring my attention ... but I seriously can't help myself.

When I see her in a pose like this ...

... what ELSE am I supposed to do?

I can't just SEE something like that and do NOTHING!!

The creation ...

Looking at Hope reaching for her beloved banana toy, it made me think of something else.

Tracking Hope's emotional experience

One of my favorite moments that we share is when she is in the right mood, sleeping on my pillow, and I go to rub her belly, and she thinks about it for a second and then basically launches her entire body into a massive stretch, involving every muscle in her body. Her "fingers" splay out, her "toes" stretch - it is an awesome privilege that she trusts me so much to allow it.

Then of course sometimes, mid-stretch, she gets a little nervous like, "Oh no. Am I allowing her to see too much? I am too vulnerable right now, emotionally ... Is it okay? Or ..."

It's like her mind splits. Her body is still stretching but her face suddenly becomes conscious and alarmed.

I have been in exactly the same situation before in my life. I relate, Hope, honey, it's okay.

I happened to catch such a moment with my camera the other day.

1. Glorious uninhibited stretch
2. Sudden realization, while stretching, of her own precarious emotional vulnerability

You know ...

she's just lying there under her favorite blanket, thinking some deep thoughts.

Lord knows what I will do when the weather finally gets hot and I have to put the red fleece blanket away. Hope will be devastated.

Another one of Hope's quirks:

She enjoys perching on my printer right beside my desk, but she only sits there when I am sitting at the desk at my laptop. Because, you know, it's all about closeness. She, and her "Listen, lady, I don't need you, just give me more Fancy Feast and leave me alone" don't fool me! She sits on the printer, her front arms curled up beneath her so she looks like an amputee, and she stares at me with unblinking eyes that, frankly, freak me out.

But the quirk is: I am not allowed to pet her while she sits on the printer. She finds touch UNBEARABLE when she is there. When she's lying on the bed or on the floor, I can basically pet her to my hearts content, she sprawls out on her back revealing her belly to me, I can make her stretch her arms and she just GOES with it, every muscle stretching, her "toes" all splayed out, I can do anything to her when she's on the bed, she loves it, her purrs thunder through the room.

But while on the printer? NO TOUCHING, I BEG OF YOU.

I reach out and she recoils, standing straight up, staring at my hand, like, "WHAT. ON EARTH. do you think you're doing?"

I'm just petting you, Hope, chill out.

But don't you see that I am on the printer right now? And don't you know, doesn't everybody know, that I must not be touched while up here? Isn't it obvious why?

Well, actually Hope, no, I'm a bit confused as to why.

I reach out to pet her again, because I enjoy tormenting her, and she backs up, horrified, and leaps off the printer to go and sulk in the corner.

She's so weird.

Sometimes I find Hope to be ...

... well, frankly, a little bit scary.

How far we have come

I can't believe that Hope has only been in my life for less than a year. It doesn't seem possible. She is just such a huge part of my daily routine now, and a constant joy (even when, as last night, she keeps me up by deciding that 3 a.m. is the perfect time to attack a Netflix envelope that is tormenting her).

Here is the first picture I took of Hope. I had just taken her home from the adoption agency, she had howled the whole way home in her cage, and I had just let her out into my apartment. I showed her the litter box, I put out food, and Hope tiptoed around, quivering with awareness and adrenaline. Like: Is it okay now? Is everything okay? Is there a cage here? Are you going to put me back into that cage? Or ... is everything all right now?

Hope had been put into a box and left on the damn sidewalk outside the Petco in Union Square. The thought of that makes me see red, although I suppose it's better than throwing her into the East River with a weight tied to her collar, or just leaving her on the side of the West Side Highway. The jackass who "dropped her off" knew that the adoption people would HAVE to take her in ... and that happens a lot, I guess. It's nice, I guess - but it's also selfish - because it just assumes that there is a cage available for her, medical supplies, everything. It puts them in a bind.

Picturing loving little Hope crouched in a box on the sidewalk through a long night before some person came to unlock the Petco makes me want to cry. She must have been so scared. Thank God she wasn't mistaken for trash and thrown into the back of a garbage truck!!

So I took her home, and she tiptoed about, eating one flake of food, before moving on, to sniff at the litter box, to then jump up on the windowsill and check out her new surroundings.

In the first ten minutes of her investigation, she lay down on the floor (in a spot she still likes to hang out in) ... and I took her picture.

Picture #1 of Hope.

Hope's cute quotient ...

is off the charts here.

We've got:

1. Flat stretchy body

2. Paws curled over face

3. Whiskers poking out from below

4. White back paw falling off the bed in the abandon of sleep

I basically can't stand it.

Hope's with her banana

All's right with the world.

Her eyes follow me around

Some background. Back in December, somehow a conversation started up in a comments thread about Hope, and the idea came up that someone should turn one of my photos of Hope into the famous Obama poster with the word "HOPE" under it. The most humorous thing is that Mark, who hadn't been involved in that particular thread, suddenly showed up saying, "Sorry I'm late ..." knowing that it was HE we had been waiting for.

In a matter of moments, the deed was done. Much hilarity ensued and Mark received no less than three proposals of marriage, based on his sheer awesomeness.

It was one of my favorite moments ever in the history of my blog. Look at that image!!

So then a couple weeks later I go home for Christmas. It was the day after Christmas, and Siobhan came up to me with a package - another gift? - and said, with the weirdest look on her face, "This is for you."

"Wha ..? Huh?"

I was more confused by her expression than anything else. It was obvious she was just the messenger. I opened the thing and saw that there was a card from a "Dave E." Now I know a "Dave E." - he and I have been blog-buddies for, oh, five years now? Something insane like that. Awesome guy. But ... but ... this package was sent to my PARENTS' house. He wouldn't know that address. Or anything like that. So ... how would he have known where to send it? Also, what the hell? I was VERY confused and thought: "no ... it must be some other Dave E ..." I was discombobulated, also discombobulated because Siobhan was basically hovering over me, watching my reaction.

It was a cardboard roll, like you use for posters - and there was something inside it, a roll of ... fabric? I pulled it out ... and dudes. It was a giant BANNER of the Hope image that Mark had created. I started laughing and CRYING at the same time ... what? How had this happened?

Siobhan was the accomplice. From what I gather, Dave E. got the idea to make a banner for me. He somehow contacted Mark (they don't know each other outside of my blog, as far as I know - but through emails or whatever, he contacted Mark for the jpeg) ... then he took the bold move to track down my sister's email address, and tell her his plan ... that he wanted to send me a surprise gift, and could she possibly send the address??

Poor Siobhan got an email from this random guy and for a second she was like, "Who the hell is this? What does he want?" But I imagine he (because he is so nice) was able to explain himself in a way that DIDN'T sound creepy and bizarre (you know, not like, "I got a gift for your big sister. Gimme your parents address. Thanks. Love, The Unabomber") ... but friendly and funny. So Siobhan complied - and the thing arrived on Christmas Eve, I think.

The amount of work that that took ... Dave contacting Mark, Mark responding - then Dave contacting Siobhan - and creating the banner - everything ... truly is one of the nicest gifts I have ever received, and couldn't have come at a better moment.

I was beyond touched ... especially because I have not met Dave and I have not met Mark (although that seems like a technicality at this point) ... but they went out of their way to send me this thing they had created, and seriously, it meant the world to me. You guys are the best.

So.

The era of Hope has begun. After all, she's on my wall.

Hope

The long and flat of it is ...

Hope's quirks

She will never jump up on the bed directly from the floor below. She has to jump up onto my windowsill, tippy-toe along the sill, step delicately out onto my scanner, and then leap onto the bed. A more roundabout way you could not imagine. I don't know why this is the case. It is delightfully eccentric.

She sometimes likes to lie on the kitchen floor beneath one of my cool retro chairs. It is always the same chair. I imagine there must be a warm spot there but it's so cute. If I can't find her I know where to look.

She only likes Fancy Feast that is in MORSELS. She doesn't like the hard CYLINDERS of seafood delight, or whatever. I'll put down a CYLINDER in front of her, and I don't care if it's filet mignon, she stares at it, and then looks up at me like, "But ... where are the chunks? You know I don't like these ... these cylinders." It's a heart-cracking expression.

Sometimes I think she gets confused when she's eating and thinks she's in the litter box because she reaches out to do scratching motions after her meal, to "cover up" her food.

She loves my red fleece blanket. If I am washing it, leaving my down comforter exposed, she stares at the bed in confusion. Like: "where is that blanket I love so much?"

She lets me pet her belly when the moon is half-full and only when Scorpio is on the cusp of Uranus. But when she does let me pet her belly, she has a moment of hesitation and then basically hurls her body backwards and open, displaying her entire underside including Uranus to me. It is so vulnerable. I feel honored.

She is completely fascinated by the window sill in the kitchen which I don't want her to leap up onto because I have a plant there and a little china teapot and other things I don't want her to knock over. Hence: all she wants to do is be on the kitchen window sill. If she could just be up on that window sill, according to her, all would be right with the world. SHE MUST BE THERE.

She now blatantly sleeps wraps around my head.

When she sleeps on my bed, she prefers to be curled up directly ON one of my pillows. She doesn't so much enjoy being on the center of the bed, red fleece blanket notwithstanding.

She uses the red fleece blanket mainly for the whole kneading-of-paws thing that she does when she is feeling particularly relaxed and decadent.

She has really gotten into a groove with her cardboard box scratching post. She'll be racing around the apartment, having a spontaneous nervous breakdown, and suddenly she knows what she needs - and races over to the post to attack it like a maniac.

If I pet her while she's sleeping, something she makes a little dove-like chirrup in her throat as she wakes up.

She's only sat on my lap once. I held my breath the whole time, wondering when she would decide to get sick of it. She chose it, too. I was on the bed and she sat next to me, staring at me. It was completely clear what she wanted. I couldn't believe it. I petted my lap once or twice, like "come on, you can do it" and suddenly there she was, curled up and letting me pet her belly. I keep hoping that we will share such a moment again.

The love affair with the banana continues and shows no signs of abating.

Hope smells like teen spirit

She definitely looks "over-bored" and "self-assured".

Whatever. Nevermind.

Flat and stretchy

My favorite kind of Hope moment. It is so full of pleasure and self-regard.

I love it when Hope ...

.... sits on her own arms.

She's not supposed to be on my desk but sometimes it seems she just has to be, because she needs to be close to me, and keep an eye on me. And also sit perched on her own arms. Because she likes to be warm and all tucked in.

Highly biased appreciation of Hope's beauty

Based on the look on her face in this photo alone, I want to submit it to America's Next Top Model. I think Tyra would be very impressed.

Hope's pillow

Now maybe this is just me, but I prefer my pillows to be soft.

Hope has other preferences.

The flatness of Hope

I never get sick of looking at her when she makes herself all flat and stretchy.

The important question to ask is: "Oh, wait! Where's the banana?"

When I first got Hope, I bought her many toys. Bizzy balls and little feathery fish on elastic strings ... catnip mice and other kitty-cat pleasures. She's okay with those. She'll bat a bizzy ball around in her spare time. She'll attack a feathery fish if she's bored.

But you just don't know what a cat will "choose" as its main toy. It will always be something unexpected.

The toy Hope "chose" is a small stuffed bunch of two bananas. I believe there was catnip in it once upon a time. It has no bells and whistles. It doens't move on its own. It just sits there like a lump.

But Hope LOVES it. In almost every picture I take of her, the two stuffed bananas are also somewhere in the frame. She can't really let it out of her sight. She'll take a nap on the floor, clutching the two bananas in her paws, or lying directly ON the two bananas, because that way she won't have to worry about her toy's location.

When I went to go pick up Hope after her month-long stay at Kerry's, we were gathering together Hope's belongings ... and I said, suddenly frightened, "Oh wait. Where's the banana?"

Kerry immediately understood. She had obviously experienced Hope's adoration of the two bananas. "The banana! Where is it?"

Then began a search, and Kerry found the banana under her couch.

Phew. I would have had to go out and buy another one just like it, to keep her placated.

Hope is surrounded by things that should be interesting. Scratching posts, bizzy balls, hair ties, feathery fish, and my bamboo plant which she seems to find delicious.

But the bananas have won her heart. She's a one-toy kitty.

For all of you Hope lovers out there

I was gone for most of the morning. Returned home at about 1:30. Hope either greets me at the door or I walk into my room and she is crashed on my bed. She is never anywhere else. It is like she is in only one of two states at all times:

1. WAITING FOR THAT LADY TO COME BACK

or

2. OBLIVION.

But today was different. She didn't greet me at the door and she wasn't on the bed. I even pulled back the covers to see if she was buried under them. Nope. Well, this cannot stand.

I said, "Hope?"

Glanced around and then saw that she had set up shop in my duffel bag lying in a spot of sunlight on the floor.

I think it's perhaps the cutest thing I have ever seen. She was looking up at me (let me anthropomorphize) as though thinking, "Is it okay that I'm here? I know it's a change, I know I'm switching it up a bit ... is it okay?"

Photo Tuesday

Hope is bored, glamorous, and relaxed.

Photo Sunday

This is a more recent photo. As in 20 minutes ago.

Hope is settling in nicely after her nearly a month away at my cousin Kerry's.

Pathos

Yesterday it was balmy and warm. I arrived home from my weekend away at around 5:30 yesterday, and promptly opened up my windows to let in some air. Hope was thrilled. She loves the open windows.

I fell into a deep sleep at around 9:30, wiped OUT. Windows still open, air still balmy.

Hope, after a brief waiting period to show me that she is still boss, jumped up on bed, curled up next to me (BUT NOT TOUCHING ME, GOD FORBID) and went to sleep.

I woke up this morning at my regular 5:30 a.m. It was pitch black in my room. The balmy air had now turned frigid cold. I was cold, sure, but through the darkness, coming up to me from Hope's furry body, was a sound I didn't recognize. A kind of jittery clackety-clack, like rolling teeny dice together in your hand. Did she have ... something in her throat?? I leapt out of bed and turned on the light, in my freezing room.

She looked up at me and it was the sound of her little teeth chattering with the cold! Her little jaw was flapping up and down nervously, like one of those wind-up skull-heads, her teeth clacking against each other ... and it was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. It cracked my heart. I raced around closing the windows and then scooped her up in my arms, bombarding her with my furnace-level of body heat that I've got going on at all times.

She was NOT happy about that.

Teeth chattering in the night? She'll deal.

But overly insistent closeness? Hope's not having any of it.

I kept saying, "Hope! Your teeth were chattering, honey!"

I realize that, lady. Could ya shut the window, please? Thanks.

All hail my friend Mark

... for taking a of Hope and turning it into the Obama poster. I didn't even ask Mark to do it but we were all like, "does anyone know Photoshop??" (Here's the whole thread).

Mark just made this:

I LOVE THAT SO MUCH.

Mark - you are such a rock star!!

Endearing things Hope does

-- She stretches as she walks. She never stops moving, but her whole body gets long and stretchy, and one leg stretches out in the back, "toes" splayed out, then the other leg.

-- She lies in bed, facing away from me, in a classic passive-aggressive cat pose. When I get up to move or whatever, she looks over her shoulder at me. It's so adorable.

-- When I start to pet her and she is all relaxed, it is like I can almost see her thinking. "Hmm. I like this. I am feeling comfortable right now. That touch feels really good. I'm not sure how much further I should allow her to go. I am concerned about my dignity. I need to keep a LITTLE bit of myself to myself." But then she throws caution to the wind, and rolls over on her back, legs spread open, arms up in the air, giving me full access to her belly. It's hilarious. It never comes right away - she has to talk herself into it.

-- When she greets me at the door. Sometimes she seems to pretend that she's 'over' me, and will start to give herself a random bath at those door-greeting moments, as though to let me know, "I'm not REALLY that happy to see you." But her purrs tell another story.

-- How she sits at the window, ears alert, staring out at the world. I glance into my main room and see her little hunched-up back at my windowsill and laugh out loud.

-- We are now at the point in our relationship where she drapes herself around my head as I sleep. I wake up smothered in fur.

I post this today explicitly for the gentleman who was nice enough to email me and tell me it was "stupid" how much I "anthropomorphized" Hope. It "annoys" him.

You know what's really stupid, sir? Taking the time to email some woman you don't know and be a whiny bitch about how she writes about her cat! Or - not even the email part - but to actually waste the emotional energy to be "annoyed" at someone else's posts about her pet. That's what's truly stupid!

Amazing!

So of course I need to write posts where I anthropomorphize her even MORE. I'm contrary that way!

HOPE IS HUMAN.

Things that freak Hope out

-- when I yawn. It is absolutely terrifying to Hope. She stares at me like, "What are you DOING??"

-- air freshener, perfume, anything that SPRAYS

-- when I sit at my desk. She DOES NOT LIKE THAT and curls around my ankles, purring nervously, as though begging me to come to bed and stop freaking her out by sitting SOMEWHERE ELSE

-- when I shower. She sits on the bathmat, staring up at me through the shower curtain with accusing eyes

-- when I go to get a new garbage bag - she runs and hides. She knows that I will have to open the bag, and I usually have to whip it in the air to unstick the sides from each other, and Hope hates that so much. Even when I just open the door to where the garbage bags are, she runs away.

-- pens. Anytime, anyplace, Hope is haunted by pens and will do what she can to vanquish her foe. Even if said pen is in my hand. She cannot let any pen have any moment of peace

-- when I make the bed. All that billowing cloth in the air ... No. Hope does not approve.

-- the vacuum is a Balrog from the depths of the earth and that is all there is to it.

Tonight

Curling up in bed under my fleece blanket and watching Barfly, sent to me by my dear Michael. Hope is wreaking havoc in the kitchen, she appears to feel that the kitchen rug is a mortal enemy that must be stalked and crept up on MERCILESSLY. I am tired and a little bit wiped out. I did two loads of laundry yesterday and my sheets are clean and I have on fleece pajamas. I can't do much else. I was hoping to do some editing but I just can't right now. I can get back to work tomorrow. For now, I need to be still and passive. I need to unplug my brain.

Meanwhile, I will leave you with this.

It is important, sometimes, to step outside the whirligig of life, breathe deeply, and then lie under a pillow on the floor, and have a long thorough bath.

Apparently.

When I yawn ...

... and make that little "oh" sound as I yawn, Hope completely flips out. She doesn't seem to connect that yawn sound to ME making it - it seems as though an alien being (invisible) has entered our little room and is tormenting her, taunting her. Her ears shoot up, her eyes bug out, she gets very very flat, and stares around her, trying to find the source of the sound.

It's hilarious.

I need to yawn more often.

Don't mind me, Lady. Just doin' my own thing. Where's the Fancy Feast?

Normally when I come home after a long day, Hope is standing right at the door, purring so loudly that I worry for her emotional state of mind. I pick her up and she literally snuggles, purring like crazy, and while I realize that it is really about the possibility of a Fancy Feast meal, I like to think she is happy to see me.

BUT - sometimes - once in a blue moon, I walk in the door and the small purring machine is NOT waiting for me. My hallway (if you can call it that) is empty and barren. She is nowhere to be seen. I have to admit I have a moment of loneliness when this occurs, I miss being greeted like that, so I call out, "Hope?" No response. I check the sink. She's not there. "Hope?" I call out again, like a jealous lover. I move into the apartment, still no furry purring creature ...

... and I walk into my main room and this is what I see.

She is so in the midst of doing her own thing, sleeping so deeply that even when I pet her she barely stirs ... and it just cracks me up because it makes me realize that I do not have a pet, really. I have a roommate. I love that. I love when she just goes ahead and does her own thing - although sometimes it is amusing when she follows me from room to room, even deciding to urinate when I decide to urinate ... like: Hon, you don't need to sync up your bladder with mine, seriously, just chillax ... but I love it best when I see her splayed out in some napping pose like that and can't even be bothered to greet me at the door.

Of course once she realizes I'm home, she becomes a pest and a half, due to the impending Fancy Feast ritual.

Disgruntlement ...

... thy name is Hope.

I guess I should feel honored ...

... that Hope feels so comfortable with me.

Of all the things going on here, I find her wide open bug-eyes the most alarming.

I did rearrange my entire apartment this weekend - by myself - which involved me lugging mattresses and bed frames and box springs and entire stacks of books and an entire bookcase across rooms. If it was traumatic for me, I can't imagine what it was like for her. She crouched in the corner, staring at the new layout with suspicion and terror, as though the very room were alive.

Hope as Marilyn Monroe

Speaking of Marilyn Monroe:

We all know the famous photographs that Bert Stern took of Monroe near the end of her life, where she rolled around naked in white sheets.

Bert Stern recently re-created that photo shoot for NY Magazine with Lindsay Lohan.

Well.

Bert Stern is not done with the recreations.

Cue Hope.

I'm not sure if Hope is aware ...

that I still can actually see her when she is in this predicament ... She seems to feel she is invisible and her "hiding" is successful. So when I poke my finger in there at her, she is truly ALARMED that someone KNOWS WHERE SHE IS! But ... but ... isn't the inside of this paper bag my whole world? Isn't it the beginning/middle/end of existence? How can it be that the outside world continues to rotate ... when I am so CLEARLY invisible??

Film noir feline

When Hope hides under my bed (because, you know, the world is full of scary phantom noises and ephemeral movements that only a feline can see - which is why she freaks out for no apparent reason) ... and I can see her head peeping out from beneath ... sometimes she reminds me of Joan Crawford quivering in the closet in Sudden Fear, with bands of lights striking across her face ... the rest of her in shadow.

And then there are moments ...

... when I truly question the wisdom of sharing such a small space with ... well ... frankly, a zombie from the black lagoon.

(Please notice the DAMAGED copy of Walk to Remember on the floor beside ... well ... the damn zombie I share my apartment with.)

Hope asks:

Dear God, when will it rain?

She also asks: Dear God, why have you placed me in a position where I can look out into the backyard and watch other cats - FREE CATS - have sex openly in broad daylight? Why do you torment me? I yowl to the high heavens when I see all the sex happening right before my eyes, but still. You keep me behind this screen. Why is all this sex around me and yet I do not get to partake?

I ask the same two questions that Hope asks.

God is resolutely silent on both counts.

Off to do laundry.

I'm with you, Hope

I'm ready for autumn weather, too.

The daily Hope

When a paper bag is lying on the kitchen floor, there really is nothing else one can do but crawl into it. And start gnawing on it ferociously. With intermittent breaks for feverish bathing and introverted contemplation.

Sleepaway camp

My cousin Kerry watched Hope while I was in Rhode Island for the last 5 days. I think Kerry sent me more photos of Hope during that time than I have actually taken of Hope myself.

I am also happy to see that Kerry set to work indoctrinating Hope into the traditions and customs of the O'Malley clan right away.

Hope is now a true convert.

I believe she is bowing towards Fenway Park.

Time well spent at the O'Malley Sleepaway Camp.

In lieu of a bird or a mouse ...

Hope has discovered the deadliest and most persistent of enemies in my own apartment. The wilyness of her foe cannot be overestimated. It is a cunning opponent, keeping her on her toes, and Hope has not yet been the total victor in their many MANY battles.

Besides the windowsill and the sink ...

this random spot on my floor is Hope's favorite place in the world. She can be found there at any given moment, sometimes sleeping, sometimes chasing her own tail, sometimes bathing, sometimes glaring at me with resentment, othertimes staring at me with outright curiosity and wonder, and sometimes just Sphinx-ing away the long hours of her afternoon.

As a wise man once said:

I am beginning to understand the deep truth behind those words.

Abraham Lincoln, Harry Truman, and Edmund Burke look on ... in approval or dismay we cannot be sure. Perhaps The Federalist Papers will have something to say on the matter.

I have discovered that, at times,

I live with the Platonic ideal of passive-aggressive behavior.

When she settles into her Cornish hen pose, I know the passive-aggressiveness has taken hold, and I need to watch my step.

Rainy days ...

... make me feel sleepy, too.

Uhm ...

Hope?

How ya' doin'?

Mr. DeMille ...

I'm ready for my closeup.

Dear Hope,

I have a request.

Would it be possible for you to show me just how long and flat and elongated you can become?

Thank you, Hope. I was just curious. You've answered all my questions, and I am very grateful.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow."

I have found myself witness to a feline Romeo & Juliet situation in the last couple of days - between a black stray cat (who hangs out in my backyard) and Hope, perched on my windowsill.

It's hysterical.

Probably the best thing about hanging out with a cat on a daily basis is:

-- that she is NEVER not being wholly herself. Every moment is 100% true. Her annoyance is obvious, when it comes. Her impatience. Her adrenaline. Her laziness. Whoever she is in any given moment, she IS that with every fiber of her soul. There is no pretense. She just IS. She stretches, she rips my Netflix envelopes to shreds, she purrs like a locomotive when I walk in the door, she flips out when I bust out the cans from the cupboard (she now knows what that means), she lies on the windowsill staring out at the world, she has fits of insanity where her own tail occurs to her as a demonic force with a mind of its own, she growls in a low alarming way when she sees a stray cat stroll through our backyard, she glances up at me, as if to say, "is it okay? Is everything okay?"

Yes, Hope dear, everything is okay.

Hope was abandoned in a box on the doorstep of the Petco in Union Square. Someone didn't want to deal with the responsibility of ownership and so they plopped her down on the sidewalk, knowing that Kitty Kind, the adoption agency that runs out of Petco, would deal with her. But the thought of it makes me see red. She sat in that box the entire night, until a Petco employee showed up the next morning to unlock the door. She must have been terrified.

She appears to be adjusting nicely to a regular life, and she trusts me enough to lie on her back in the middle of my floor, exposing her white belly to me and to all the world, and in that moment - she is wholly being herself as well.

It's awesome.

Welcome home, little furrball.

Snapshots

-- Still making my way thru War and Peace, a couple chapters a day. Still only on page 540 ... but it's riveting. It's not a boring read and even the long sections about the freemasons end up adding to the general picture of a society in some sort of spiritual crisis. I am loving it. Patience, Sheila, patience.

-- What's up with Hope, you ask? Well, you know what they say. If it ain't broke ...

-- I was in the elevator with Philip Seymour Hoffman yesterday. He looked terrific, in a suit and tie, and was bitching to his friend about Internet Explorer. I am not even kidding. Hoffman is my new best friend.

-- Great business dinner the other night, with plans and priorities set. Words of wisdom that I have been thinking a lot about: "Don't prioritize your schedule. Schedule your priorities." I have really been chewing on that ... it means more to me the more I think about it. I am trying to make that shift in my thinking. What are my priorities - which are separate from my To Do List? My long-term priorities? I need to schedule them.

-- Watched Some Came Running the other night for the 500th time and was struck yet again (SPOILERS FOLLOWING) by the grace, humor and decadence (and inherent decency as well) of Dean Martin's performance, of how much I related to the schoolteacher - she is me - and also how Shirley Maclaine's performance may be a bit too BUSY for my taste - but in the end, it doesn't matter. Her death packs an enormous punch, and her death scene too is one that should be studied by actors as "how to do it". I think a lot of that comes from her life as a dancer, and her control of her body, but the way she flings herself into space, catapulting onto the prone Frank Sinatra ... heart-breaking. Beautifully done. Vincente Minnelli said he wanted the movie to look like "the inside of a jukebox" and, as always with his films, the production design is exquisite.

-- My computer literally made me cry today. I burst into tears at the bugginess, the frozen screens, the slowness (DAMN YOU MOBILE ME), the mishaps, the sludgy response time ... I was amazed at how quickly I was undone. I went outside and stood on the sidewalk weeping. Retarded. Of course I wasn't crying about the computer - it was about everything else ... and actually, in retrospect, it was a nice release. Much needed.

-- I miss my family.

-- I can't get enough of the Mamma Mia soundtrack, especially Meryl Streep's nearly psychotic version of "Money Money Money". Sheer liquid JOY. She is an Id run amok.

-- Thinking about the last line from About a Boy a lot these days. "You need backup." That's where a lot of my tears came from today. Feeling like a lost little lamb. Like I need backup.

-- I want to crawl in the sink with Hope, is basically what I'm saying.

-- Watching Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev tonight. Perhaps a sweeping controversial saga about a 15th century Russian monk will be just the ticket.

-- Is it fall yet? I hate summer.

-- Thrilling news - the production of The Seagull with Kristin Scott Thomas that I moaned about not being able to see last year is coming to New York this fall for a limited run. Count me in!!

And I realize, yet again,

that sometimes cats are scary.

Hope spends her afternoons

... contemplating the death of Irish Republicanism.

Doesn't every cat?

It's a big topic, and it is of great concern to her.

Carrie - I have no idea why your husband's book was on the FLOOR in that photo - it is now on the shelf where it belongs!

Rest assured Hope was very interested in its contents. She then went to curl up on the windowsill, pondering all of the issues raised in his book.

My only "hope" is that she isn't dreaming about launching her own dirty protest in my apartment, to imitate those in Long Kesh. Fingers crossed.

What's new with me?

Oh, you know. This and that. I love to tear up pieces of paper with my mouth. That's something I've been exploring. I love to sit in the window and twitch my tail back and forth. I love to follow her around, and sometimes I enjoy licking her toes while she cooks dinner. I love my food, and I am learning to love my scratching post, although there are times when I still have to tear up her carpet. Sorry, beeyotch. A scratching post don't cut it. I really enjoy losing my mind for no apparent reason and running through her apartment at top speed, fur bristling, and eyes insane. That's really fun. I enjoy skulking around under her bed and pouncing out to gnaw on her bare feet, scaring the shit out of her. I enjoy lying on my back, exposing my belly to the world. That's really fun. I enjoy chasing my own tail because you just never know what that douchebag is going to do next and I MUST keep it in line.

Let's see, what else.

Oh yeah. Have I mentioned the sink? And how much I love it?

Yeah, whatevs.

I'm just chillin'. I don't know what's so out-of-the-ordinary about that. I don't know why you have to point that THING at me so incessantly when all I am doing is taking my 11th nap of the day!

It's so hard to know what to do ...

... when the toy that has been tormenting you psychologically from all over the apartment, the toy you have been chewing on, batting about, chasing, ambushing ... is suddenly sitting there, ominously, BEHIND YOU.

How DARE that little ball just SIT THERE STARING AT ME like that? What nerve! What arrogance!

I will make it pay for its behavior.

I don't know how yet, but I will. Its days are numbered. But for now. I remain still. Coiled. Alert. Keeping that dastardly toy in my sight at all times because you just don't know WHAT will happen next in such a situation.

Camouflage

Although Hope may appear benign in this photo, she is about to bust out a can of Whup-ass on my receipt from Barnes & Noble. She lies on my rug, blending into its colors, making her body all flat and terrifying ... staring down that receipt. Staring it DOWN. The receipt doesn't stand a chance. It is about to be ripped to SHREDS. It should be AFRAID FOR ITS LIFE. Because there's a new Sheriff in town, and she is a bad-ass, and she also has the ability to subtly blend into her surroundings, so that you never ever see her coming.

The love affair of the century

... Hope and my sink.

Should I be jealous?

Hope Update (for David, because it is almost his birthday)

Hope seems to feel that if she lies curled up in the bathroom sink she will be as close to the angels and the Heavenly Father as she possibly can be. She cannot stay away. I have a very small bathroom sink, and if she just plops her body down into it, it kind of envelops her and insists that she curls up. It doesn't have a flat bottom, it's all one gentle curve - which works for her, if she's in a sleey mood.

She sits on the bathmat, staring up at the sink, trying to decide whether or not to go for it. Once she's up there, she's happy and immediately succumbs to the curve-y forces of gravity. But it takes some time to make the move. Not because she is afraid or trepidatious. I think it is because it is difficult when you love something like that. It is hard to accept love of that intensity. She decides to go for it. Up she leaps, into the sink ... and she turns ... and turns ... and turns ... her feet sliding on the tile sides, until finally she collapses, head resting on her paws, hidden from view.

I forget sometimes that this love affair with the sink is going on - so I lose track of her in my small apartment - and she seems to have disappeared. I call out, "Hope? Where are you?"

What a stupid question. Of COURSE she is in the sink. She gives me a tired arrogant look from over the side of the sink, like, "Haven't you caught on yet? I loves me this sink. Mkay?"

Last night I was in the kitchen and I could hear her purrs from within the sink all the way down the hall.

I am not sure why a cold white tile sink would generate such a rapturous response, and I am sure it has something to do with the coolness of it, in these hot dog days of summer, but I like to think there is something more. I like to think that the shape itself pleases Hope. That it is a welcoming circular space, perfect for curling up in, nothing to adjust to, nothing you have to work with ... a perfect space for a sleeping cat. I like to think that there is some connection there that makes Hope lie asleep, purring so ferociously that it makes me laugh out loud to hear her. "Uhm ... wow Hope. That's a loud purr. Are you, by any chance, happy right now? Because honestly. That purr is out of control."

And so I am happy for Hope. And the sink. I'm glad they finally found each other.

Comparisons are odious.

Yet also inevitable.

I have had many cats in my life. I've been around cats since I was a skinny little thing in a Red Sox T-shirt.

My first boyfriend and I had two cats: Cosette and Maxie. He inherited them with our "divorce". I then moved on to Sammy - widely known as "the best cat in the world". Everyone agrees. Everyone.

Here's Sammy.

I got Sammy in 1992 and he died in 2003. We were BUDS, man. I still miss him. We moved all over the place together. He was truly unique - almost like a mentally disturbed DOG rather than a cat. (I got him at the pound in Chicago, and I am convinced he had been abused before me. He had a worried look in his eyes at all times, bless his heart.) But you know, I got to know him and his personality intimately. I could predict his moves.

So even though I have had many cats - I can't help but notice the differences between Hope and Sammy. This isn't a bad thing. I love that they have different personalities and ways of being. Also preferences. It's been 5 years since Sammy died, and still now - with Hope - she'll do something and I'll think: "Wow. Sammy would never do that!"

I'm still adjusting to another cat (which just goes to show you how awesome Sammy really was).

So. Here are some differences I have noticed:

-- Sammy adored draping himself around my neck as though he was a fur stole ... and would stay up there as I did chores. I would vacuum my living room, with Sammy draped around my neck.

-- Hope would not be caught dead imitating a fur stole. She tolerates being held.

-- Sammy had a nervous breakdown any time I busted out the can opener because that meant, to him, TUNA. He would come running from another time zone if he smelled tuna. Or if he even heard the drawer open where he knew I kept the can opener. Even now - years later - I still feel like something's missing when I open a can of tuna ... and nobody comes running.

-- Hope is indifferent to the can opener as well as only MILDLY interested in the smell of tuna.

-- Hope is really into beating the SHIT out of her little bizzy balls, going nuts, getting all flat (I looove it when cats get all flat, ready to pounce), and once she has it grasped in her top paws, goes to town on the pesky thing with her back paws, trying to tear its guts out. She is fierce, and rather frightening. Her eyes are so insane and focused that I feel embarrassed for her vulnerability in that moment. But I am proud of her warrior spirit.

-- Sammy never got into playing. I think it meant too much separation from me. I would toss a bizzy ball off into the distance and he would stare up at me worried, like, "Do you want me to go that far away from you?? Just to retrieve a bizzy ball? Are you out of your mind?? I want to stay RIGHT HERE draped around your neck, thankyouverymuch."

-- Sammy would sleep on my head. He could never ever get close enough. I would wake up in the dark of night and Sammy would be staring straight at me, eyes glimmering through the black. He only slept when he knew I was WATCHING. Because that made him feel safe. I have no idea. All I know is, whenever I opened my eyes from sleep, Sammy was right there, staring at me. I wished he could have learned to chillax but by the time I got him it was too late. Best I could do would be to give him as much love as possible so that maybe - maybe - he would learn to trust again.

-- Hope is not so much about sleeping in the bed with me. But she does curl up on the windowsill right next to my head, and I am guessing she sleeps there all day. I am happy for her (especially when I remember her horrible small cage at the shelter). There have been times when she has crawled into my lap and relaxed, falling asleep and being all luxurious and decadent when I pet her. That is nice.

-- Sammy was not a lick-er. He might have licked my hand once or twice - but that was only out of a sense of obligation and vague worry. He felt he had to, so that I wouldn't disappear into the ether forever ... not because he wanted to.

-- Hope is OCD about keeping me clean. When I first went cat-"shopping" at the adoption shelter - I caught sight of her in her cage, which was below eye-level. She sat on a shelf in her cage, curled up, her eyes drowsy and sleepy. There was something nice about her. I asked if I could "meet" her. The woman at the shelter opened the cage. Hope opened her eyes, wondering what was happening. I gently reached my hand in, to let her sniff me. She immediately began licking my fingers, and my heart cracked. This behavior has only continued.

-- Sammy would howl with despair when I would leave the apartment. I would walk down the stairs to leave, and hear him yowling as I left. It was awful.

-- Hope is usually busy being all flat and pounce-y when I leave. She has not plummeted into grief yet when I leave. She rolls around on the floor, being all fierce with her bizzy ball or one of my pens and barely notices me walking out.

Similarities?

Both: affectionate, sweet, and filled with purrs.
Both: follow me from room to room, never (apparently) wanting to be out of my sight. I used to trip over Sammy all the time, because he would place himself right under my feet. Hope is the same way. I think: Where's Hope?... and then trip over her.
Both: seem to feel safe and relaxed in my presence, and totally okay with falling into deep REM slumbers.
Both: yearn to kill a bird. They stare out into the green world beyond the window, dreaming of bloodthirsty conquest.

Sammy will always have the softest of spots in my heart, because of who he was, and how much time we had together. But I have loved many cats. Hope rolls around on my rug as though she belongs there, as though the shelter is a long-distant memory. She seems to be getting used to me. She's really cute.

Things I have learned about Hope in our 2 full days together

-- She thinks lying in the middle of the floor, all stretched out, is the best thing in the world.

-- She also enjoys curling up in the dirt of my huge potted plant. I have scolded her but she stares at me, unmoved.

-- Pens are awesome and must be fought to the death.

-- The crisper in the refrigerator is a magical world that one can only glimpse at brief brief intervals, but oh ... if she could only get INTO the crisper, all of the secrets of the universe would suddenly be revealed to her.

-- She enjoys licking my toes when I brush my teeth.

-- She follows me from room to room. "Hey, we're hanging out in here now! Cool! Oh. She's going in THAT room. Then I must go in there too!!"

-- Watching her stretch is to be a witness to a moment of perfect contentment.

-- Sitting on the windowsill staring out at the strutting robins and occasional stray cats in my backyard is part agony part joy. Occasionlly she puts her paws up on the window pane, staring out at the backyard, as though it is that scene when Billy's girlfriend comes to visit him in the Turkish prison in Midnight Express.

-- I stand washing the dishes and she snakes herself in and out and around my ankles, purring so loudly that I am almost embarrassed for her.

-- She's happy when I come home. Then she gets over it and goes back to sleep, smack dab in the middle of my floor.

After many years of living alone ...

I now have a roommate.

Her name is Hope.

She's a little bit needy, so far. Frankly, she's all over me. It's a bit much. I also caught her following me from room to room at one point.

But I think it'll work out just fine.

Meet Hope!

She came with the name. I got her at a shelter. If it had been a name like "Barbie" or something like that, I would have changed it. Maybe to Stockwell, or Calavicci or something more appropriate to my lifestyle. But I felt it would be very bad karma to change the name "Hope" to something else. So Hope it is.

She is now lying on my windowsill staring out at the green hot world outside and her purr fills the room.

She is only a year old.

I love her so much!