You’re getting a rare glimpse of the most elusive of my six three cats, Reader, and I know that your day has now been m.a.d.e.
She is a certified weirdo. Well, not technically “certified” but I could create a certificate that says so if you’re going to push it with me.
Sammi is weird because she hates too much attention from us, her providers, but if you’re a stranger who pops in, she is all. over. you. She reaches up and will incessantly pat your arm with her paws, will rub against you – she will pull out all the cat works.
But us? Runs. Can’t pick her up, oh, no. She will back-claw the shit out of us to get away.
I actually snuck up on her this morning while she was napping on the couch and managed to give her a little scratch on the head. She’s good on affection for the rest of the month now. Unless you stop in, Reader. Then you’d swear we starve her for affection and feel the need to want to rescue her from her awful captors.
We had an insurance lady stop over one day this past week, and Sammi jumped up on the chair behind her and started to paw her way up her back, wanting to play in her hair. It’s just true weirdo behavior.
But enough about her. You don’t come here for cat stories oh yes you do.
The insurance lady was here because for some reason – maybe it was the plague of 2020 – the seed was planted in my brain that I needed to have a policy in the event of my untimely death, so that my three damn cats wouldn’t be homeless and end up in a shelter somewhere. I needed to have some money to pay off a mortgage to keep a roof over their heads.
While the Lady was here, we decided that why was My Mister the only one making out in that scenario, and I pressured him into also getting a policy with my name on it. It’s only fair.
Then we both got into the particulars with The Lady, discussing exactly what pays out in the event of an untimely death, i.e., one of us falls on a knife twelve times, or how long we have to wait to collect if one of us just up and runs away and is never seen again. You know, the important questions.
The good news is, our policies aren’t large enough to be incentive to go to the trouble to murder each other. We watch enough Forensic Files to know how much work it is to cover your tracks and neither one of us could lift the other to stuff us in a freezer. My years of working on cake has played into my plan to be too heavy to lift alone, thereby preventing My Mister from deciding to murder me.
I still have to make out my will and do responsible shit of that nature, but we took a first step into being Responsible Adults towards each other. And you wonder why I haven’t been here for you, Reader. It had nothing to do with my professional-level procrastination. It was strictly the result of time-consuming adulting.