I'm house sitting for my boss right now. Pretty interesting, not that I'm snooping. Here's the thing, I'm here taking care of these cats everyday, sleeping in her bed, cooking in her kitchen, so I'm bound to open a drawer she never would have thought I'd have any reason to open. Not that I've found anything that interesting, but I'm just saying. I have this fear I will grab something off a shelf and her King Dong vibrator will shake loose and thwap me in the temple. If said King Dong situation were to occur, how would I know where to put it back (as who knows where it was positioned on the top shelf--remember it came down, unexpectedly, with a thwap). My worry-she will know her vibrator fell on my head and think it happened because I was snooping, which I'm not. Alright, I'm really not this paranoid, just trying to illustrate one of the many reasons house-sitting for your boss could be sort of strange.

I'm having a face-off with her cats right now--two of them: Max, dashing in a scruffy way, slitty eyes that make him look distrustful, a penchant for petting, seriously, we're talking maniacal purring, and what I believe might be an undiagnosed case of halitosis--no judgement, it's not like I blame him, but it's kind of intense when he meows in my face (it's a hot damn kitty, did you go snorkeling in the toilet bowl and swallow something kind of a smell). Then there's Lilly, cute, but refined, an older gal. She's getting up there now, so she's got some health issues, which might be masking a crucial aspect of her personality from me. Very shy. Lilly has asthma, arthritis, a sinus infection, and a thyroid problem. Not to be totally self-centered, but this means a few things for the house-sitter:

1. Cat asthma makes cat inhalers necessary. After I crush up the pills in her breakfast, and she eats, I carry her into the living room, holding her like a baby, and give her inhalers. Honestly, this is my favorite part. She's all warm and I hold her, and then I give her puffs from her inhaler, rub her belly to comfort her and I just feel very maternal. She also has this unbelievably charming meow, so soft. Sometimes I go looking for her just because I want to hear her meow (yup, I'm sure this is why she "loves" me so much).

2. Not sure if this is health-related, and just to be clear, I am totally willing to consider the possibility that Lilly is upset with me, but Lilly refuses to shit in the litter box. Not sure if refuse is the right word--still trying to pin down the situation. She shits right next to the litter box, adjacent, literally there are times when I come home and the little doody is grazing the litter box. GAAAAAAAAAA! No big deal, although I did try putting a plastic bag on the floor and she seems to push it out of the way, preferring to shit directly on the floor--can we blame her? I know, I know, I am a cat lady now. I get a real kick out of giving a cat her inhaler and I am one of those awkward people all-too-familiar with cat BM these days. So I'm pretty sure Lilly is acting out, right? You don't just shit outside the box--unless, unless... it's the arthritis! This is my new theory. She has no reason to want to make a statement via doody to me. I will not second guess my cat relationship.

3. Because Lilly has a few healthcare needs, my boss has put in a few phone calls to check on her. Totally understandable. How does she know that I give her the inhalers and crush up the pills. My boss left me this really long message about how I have to do the inhalers in the morning and at night, can't just double up in the afternoon, that's an overdose. And her friend had a cat with Lilly's thyroid condition, and the cat just died, so right, impending death, her life is in my hands. These cats like to sleep, and they look quite peaceful while they're doing it. I keep on going in there, putting cheek to bellies and little pink noses to make sure they're breathing. Last night, I got a little too stoned, and on my way home I convinced myself that I was going to find Lilly sprawled out dead next to a fresh doody on the floor, and suddenly realize I gave her a double dose of the thyroid med. Just so you don't worry, Lilly is fine, although she did leave her mark next to the litter box last night--fucking arthritis.

Am I a cat lady? Yeah, yeah, I'm ocd, old news. But cat lady? I never fancied myself a Capri-smoking, wine cooler-drinking, Wheel of Fortune-adoring kitty cat madame person. Perhaps this will be my new identity (all so strange as recently I've been fantasizing about taking on a super hero alter-ego, wheels are still turning in terms of super power, don't think the ability to consume massive quantities of matzoh will serve me well, I mean matzoh is no match for an AK47, a computer virus, or even a Hummer that has failed its smog check). Ahhh, yes, cat lady. Nimble needle-pointing fingers. A donner of house coats. A miniatures collector. Who's coming with me?!