Dame Judi Dench
Monday, October 23, 2006
Say hi to my new roommate:
I’m not exactly a cat-lover, and given Judi Dench doesn’t pay rent or help with the cleaning or the bills, I still haven’t quite figured out how Gen talked me into agreeing to her. (Incidentally, Gen also managed to get me to agree to keeping the litterbox in the living room. She should really become a negotiator or something because if you knew me with cats, you’d know what a feat this is.)
I have always hated cats. I think they’re dirty, sneaky, and not very nice. I hate their claws and the fact that they scratch poles to sharpen them. I am completely disgusted by the fact that you don’t ever bathe them—they lick themselves clean. I’m going to let that sink in. They LICK THEMSELVES CLEAN. To add to that, every allergy test I’ve had has indicated I’m off-the-charts allergic to them. (I was barred from sleepovers at cat-friendly homes for most of elementary-school.) I’m a dog lover through and through. I know the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but I love love love dogs. And I hate hate hate cats.
But—and here, surely, is where Gen got me—cats catch mice. And if you’ll recall, we had a mice problem last year, a problem which continues to traumatize me to this day. I literally live in fear of more mice, and if a shadow so much as crosses the room, I am standing on the couch, whimpering, making noise to scare the hypothetical little fucker out of the corner so that I know if we’ve got one or not. (Yes, it’s as borderline psychotic as it sounds.) We haven’t had any for months, thankfully, but they can always come back. They reproduce really fast and they’re small and can fit through a space the size of a dime. (Ew. Ew. Ew.)
So little Judi is sort of the lesser of two evils, as far as I’m concerned. Do I like cats? No. Do I like mice? I’m making myself physically ill just thinking about them. I think it’s safe to say that I hate mice a whole hell of a lot more than I hate cats. And that, apparently, was enough to get me to agree.
Judi’s cute, for a cat. During the first few days we had her, I thought maybe this would turn me around and I’d become a cat lover. But it’s been a week, and I think it might be safe to say that while I do like Judi and she is cute, I don’t think I’ll start buying cat calendars and posters, or begin affixing pins sporting cats sleeping on books to my sweaters. Every two days or so, Judi seems to not be able to get enough of me, and purrs and snuggles and loves me, and it’s sweet. Also, Gen got a laser pointer and watching her try to get the red dot is hysterically funny. I feel a little bad, because the poor thing will never be able to catch the dot, but it’s GREAT mouse-catching training, and since that’s the only contribution Judi can make to the household she had better be ready if it happens.
I’m sure you’re wondering how she got her name. Well, when she was born (to Gen’s mom’s cat), she looked like this:
And for some reason, she reminded Gen of Judi Dench, so that became her name, and it stuck. Gen wanted to change her name, but her sister and I successfully talked her out of it, which is good, because if she had a name like Fluffy or Socks, I don’t think I’d like her nearly as much. And this way, when she’s all grown up, I can call her “Dame”.
I’m not exactly a cat-lover, and given Judi Dench doesn’t pay rent or help with the cleaning or the bills, I still haven’t quite figured out how Gen talked me into agreeing to her. (Incidentally, Gen also managed to get me to agree to keeping the litterbox in the living room. She should really become a negotiator or something because if you knew me with cats, you’d know what a feat this is.)
I have always hated cats. I think they’re dirty, sneaky, and not very nice. I hate their claws and the fact that they scratch poles to sharpen them. I am completely disgusted by the fact that you don’t ever bathe them—they lick themselves clean. I’m going to let that sink in. They LICK THEMSELVES CLEAN. To add to that, every allergy test I’ve had has indicated I’m off-the-charts allergic to them. (I was barred from sleepovers at cat-friendly homes for most of elementary-school.) I’m a dog lover through and through. I know the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but I love love love dogs. And I hate hate hate cats.
But—and here, surely, is where Gen got me—cats catch mice. And if you’ll recall, we had a mice problem last year, a problem which continues to traumatize me to this day. I literally live in fear of more mice, and if a shadow so much as crosses the room, I am standing on the couch, whimpering, making noise to scare the hypothetical little fucker out of the corner so that I know if we’ve got one or not. (Yes, it’s as borderline psychotic as it sounds.) We haven’t had any for months, thankfully, but they can always come back. They reproduce really fast and they’re small and can fit through a space the size of a dime. (Ew. Ew. Ew.)
So little Judi is sort of the lesser of two evils, as far as I’m concerned. Do I like cats? No. Do I like mice? I’m making myself physically ill just thinking about them. I think it’s safe to say that I hate mice a whole hell of a lot more than I hate cats. And that, apparently, was enough to get me to agree.
Judi’s cute, for a cat. During the first few days we had her, I thought maybe this would turn me around and I’d become a cat lover. But it’s been a week, and I think it might be safe to say that while I do like Judi and she is cute, I don’t think I’ll start buying cat calendars and posters, or begin affixing pins sporting cats sleeping on books to my sweaters. Every two days or so, Judi seems to not be able to get enough of me, and purrs and snuggles and loves me, and it’s sweet. Also, Gen got a laser pointer and watching her try to get the red dot is hysterically funny. I feel a little bad, because the poor thing will never be able to catch the dot, but it’s GREAT mouse-catching training, and since that’s the only contribution Judi can make to the household she had better be ready if it happens.
I’m sure you’re wondering how she got her name. Well, when she was born (to Gen’s mom’s cat), she looked like this:
And for some reason, she reminded Gen of Judi Dench, so that became her name, and it stuck. Gen wanted to change her name, but her sister and I successfully talked her out of it, which is good, because if she had a name like Fluffy or Socks, I don’t think I’d like her nearly as much. And this way, when she’s all grown up, I can call her “Dame”.
This entry was posted
on Monday, October 23, 2006 at 4:41 PM.
|
