My Fair Mojo

I was originally going to call this cat vs. squirrel but a short time later I realized it was more an issue of an Eliza Doolittle transformation of my big guy (a.k.a. Mojo).

The morning started as it always does.  I opened the back and front doors to get a cross breeze before I had to hunker down into the hermit like existence of a Virginia summer.  Mojo did as he always does, once he stops screaming for and then inhaling his breakfast, he planted himself at the front door.  It is much more interesting than the back as the back door opens on to my second story deck.  There isn’t a lot of activity out there so needless to say he prefers the comings and goings at the front door.  At one point I noticed Mojo was in attack mode - for a cat that means ears alert, body tense and back end wiggling.  I looked for the cause of the behavior and  found a squirrel sitting on his hind legs taunting Mojo.  At this point I decided squirrels were bullies.  He felt he had the upper hand.  You could almost see the squirrel telling Mojo that he was a pampered, spoiled house cat, which of course he now is.  The bully didn’t realize he was up against a street-wise feline.  As I have said Mojo came from the streets.  While he is well behaved and when I said no and shooed the squirrel, Mojo backed down.  I’m sure the squirrel was thinking, from his perch in the tree, that Mojo was a wimp.  I feel confident, however, that had I let the big guy out the door he would have been eating squirrel for brunch.

A short time after this occurrence I heard chattering and saw tail twitching.  I then spied a robin on the sidewalk.  It was then I realized I had an Eliza Doolittle on my hands.  To very loosely paraphrase Eliza from the classic Lerner & Loewe musical ‘My Fair Lady’ - “I’m a good boy, I am.  I done wash my face and hands before I come....”  That’s Mojo, he’s a sweet cat and mostly well mannered.  Like Eliza, he does still have some rough edges.  I have no idea how long he was on the streets, I only know that he was.  Like any creature who has lived on the streets for any length of time he has had to develop survival skills.  Now he has come to me for gentrification.  He wants to be 'more genteel-like' and I aim to see that it happens. For six months into the experiemnt he is doing well, I will keep you posted.   Hopefully my screen door will survive the summer......

Introverts R Us (Me, I ?)

For some reason, perhaps my impending half-century mark, I have been reading a lot of non-fiction the past few months.  I know how it began, I came across two books on alternative careers for information professionals.  This led to a winter and spring of, as librarians call it, citation chasing.  If an author made a reference to another work I found interesting I would seek it out.  I did as much as I could via the public library but for a while I was getting a lot of boxes from an on-line book retailer.  Honestly, who could resist a book on finding your passion in life for $2.99?  I have yet to read it.  Sadly, books that I own take a backseat to library books.  I hate paying overdue fines.  Except for my brief foray into the life of Jen Lancaster my non fiction journey has led me to extensive reading on introverts. 

This has been quite an awakening for me.  I have come to understand that I’m not the lazy curmudgeon/hermit I thought I was but simply a card-carry introvert.  This is not to be confused with being shy, though I am also that, many of the studies show there is a distinct difference in the two.  People who know me are probably thinking – how can she ballroom dance and be an introvert? Answer, very easily.  It takes a lot for me to walk out on a dance floor to compete – and I’m not referring to the hours it takes to tart myself up either.  Despite what people have said to me, I’m not a very good actor (though I have read that many actors are also introverts.  Read; stage fright).  I wish I could dance the way I imagine I do in my mind.  Sadly my imagination is better than reality.  To get over the nerves I tend to, much to my coach’s chagrin, go into my own personal space while dancing.

            I know I’m an introvert for many reasons including:

                        1.  I dislike crowds of people

                        2.  I’m ok going 24 hours without talking to anyone save Mojo.

                        3.  I recharge my batteries best by being alone

                            (extroverts need people around them for that)

That’s why despite my desire to save money I’m better off not sharing a hotel room at a competition.  I noticed I get grumpy and edgy at competitions and this is why.  After spending several hours in the chaos that is a dance competition I need some down time (common with introverts).  If I don’t get it when I need it things can get dicey.  I really don’t like parties with a lot of people and I never choose to go to bars.  If I’m in either situation I need some quiet time to prepare.  I can’t spend an entire day at warp speed.  I get much more accomplished if I break up tasks with time for knitting or reading.  I come home exhausted from my current job.  I thought it was from the stress of doing a job for which I am not suited.  Well, it is, but in a different way.  Most afternoons from 12:00 – 3:30 I am being bombarded by people with no down time.  I always said I would be happier in a job where I could hide and do research all day.  I thought it was because I didn’t like people.  While I’m not a ‘people person’ I don’t dislike people – I just need space away from them when there is too much stimulation around me.  I was miserable in my last job.  While there were countless reasons for that that had nothing to do with my personality, such as a toxic work environment for everyone, I again have come to understand it wasn’t all me.  For the last year I was in the job I was forced to share a very small cubicle with two other people.  This is a nightmare for an introvert.  Introverts don’t function well in a crowd.  According to the book Quiet by Susan Cain there have been studies done that show introverts productivity decreases when placed in that sort of environment.  About 20 years ago I went to a career counselor and I took a Myers- Briggs test, while I don’t remember all my letters I know I was classified as an introvert.  Pity it’s taken me this long to understand fully what that means.

            So, to all my friends who might read this; if you invite me somewhere and I say no please don’t take it personally.  I are an introvert and you may simply be asking me at a time when I need to recharge my batteries.

            Hm, there might be a t-shirt somewhere in all of this….

A Cat's Life

Driving home last night I realized that while I named the blog partially for my cat I haven’t mentioned him much.  I’m trying to avoid the spinster librarian who lives with a cat stereotype or the crazy cat lady moniker.

I’ve already talked about Mojo’s upbringing to this point and my history with cats.  Each time I lost one of my cats I swore it was the last.  Yeah, I know ‘never say never’.  After losing Nacho in October 2010, adopting Jingles, and then losing him in November 2011; I swore I was done.  I enjoyed the lack of responsibility, no vet bills, etc.  I realized despite the financial and personal freedom – not to mention the fact that it is a lot easier to rent a place when you have no animals – I was lonely.  So back I jumped into the pool.  What can I say; I’m a sucker for dark haired, blue-eyed males.(All six of my meezers have been either seal or chocolate points.)  I wanted to refrain from my usual follow up to that statement but I can’t .  They are the perfect men; they don’t leave the toilet seat up or hog the remote to watch football.  Jingles did have a thing for Dance Moms though but we would watch that together.

Siamese are highly intelligent, vocal and independent; a breed that is not for everyone.  I have heard that some rescues won’t take them because of these traits – basically they are divas but that’s what I love about them.

When I lost Jingles I let the director of the Siamese Rescue center from which I adopted him know.  I asked her if I could volunteer now and then to get my meezer fix because I wasn’t going to go through that again – twice in less than a year was too much.  Crafty woman that she is, she invited me to an upcoming event at the center – that way I could learn about the volunteer opportunities, yeah, right.  I guess I must have sucker written on my forehead.  Knowing I could also visit the current adoptees I checked out the profiles on their webpage (gratuitous plug http://www.siameserescue.org/).  Admittedly, Mojo was my second choice but when I walked into the center and saw him, the ear makes him easy to recognize – he had me at his first purr.  Mojo is a diva, drama queen, ex street thug and teddy bear.  I was told he was found on the streets of my state capital behind a vet’s office.  If you can see his picture you can see that his right ear is damaged.  Best guess is that he was in a fight got a hematoma in his ear which calcified so he has a dented ear which requires a little special care.  He is my favorite type of meezer known as an apple head.  They are bigger they don’t have the thin face or rat-tail.  Mojo is built like a football player- he is very stocky and looks big though he’s just about 9 lbs – he’s all fur. (As I am coming to discover now that the weather is warm and he’s shedding.  If you come to my house in black pants or skirt don’t sit anywhere unless I give you a towel.  His hairballs, I must say, are very well made – symmetrical and well formed, which fortunately makes them easy to clean up).  I brought Mojo home the day I met him – what can I say, I’m easy.  Jingles transport from the center was very traumatic so I was a bit wary.  Other than the fact that he screamed like he was being tortured for the hour long trip home, it was uneventful.  In the dining room, I opened the door to the carrier, he walked out and looked around as if to say – “This is where I’m going to live, it’ll do.”  Three hours later we were on the couch together watching an NCIS marathon on TV.  Other than a small accident in February that required me throwing out an area rug, its been smooth sailing. (He just came over and plopped himself on top of my notebook.  As I’m writing around a cat who is alternately eating the pen and licking my forehead I hope I can read this later – turns out I couldn’t had to do some creative editing.  My guess is he doesn’t want his life publicized.)  He has settled in well the ‘survive at any cost’ mentality is disappearing.  He is less inclined to steal my dinner – happened once – now that he’s sure of a constant supply of dry food.  He is a bit of a food critic though.  If he doesn’t find the canned food to his liking, he attempts to bury it – think cat in litter box after he has finished his business.  However, having spent time not knowing when his next meal would be, he eventually eats it.

He, like all Siamese, is a diva and thinks the world should revolve around him.  Of course, it does.  The drama queen in him does not like to be too hot or too cold.  As I have said before, I’d rather spend my money on dance lessons so I keep the heat at 65.  He doesn’t like this.  The second the heat goes on he stretches himself across the closest register.  Conversely I have yet to turn on the AC despite several days in a row at or near 90 – it’s already cooled off so what was the point.  Now he stretches out on the floor between the front and back doors to catch any cross breeze.  He hasn’t been sleeping with me because the bedroom is too hot.  He doesn’t come upstairs until it’s time for me to get up.  Anyone who says animals aren't intelligent has never lived with one.  Mojo has the instincts of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  My breathing changes because I’m waking up and that cat knows it.  No matter where he is in the house he’s up in my bedroom and on the bed in a flash walking all over me.  The only reason he was on the bed with me last night was that it was raining and the upstairs had cooled down.

So that’s life with my guy as of now.  He thinks I should cater to his every whim and I do, most of the time because the companionship, unconditional love and joy he brings into my life are worth it.

Channeling my Inner Muffy

I was going to call this Channeling my Inner Buffy but ever since the program about vampires became popular it doesn’t have the same connotation it had 32 (eww, has it really been that long?) years ago when I entered college.  I have always liked the preppy look, though I have moved away from it professionally.  Personally is another issue I have to say.  I was going to an 80’s themed social dance a few weeks ago; I was driving to work the day before trying to figure out how I could put together a preppy 80’s look because I didn’t think I had the clothes anymore.  It took me a few miles to realize I had all the pieces, I just needed to put them together in the right order again.  I had  thought the look was all but dead until a friend of mine turned me on to Jen Lancaster’s books.  At first I didn’t like her because she was just like many of the women I disliked in college but I persevered.  I figured anyone who loves her rescue animals as much as she does can’t be the witch she came across as in her first book.  I’ve come to realize she has a lot of very good qualities, not the least of which is her penchant for shirts decorated with an alligator.  I haven’t owned one of those shirts in years.  I wore out the ones I had in college and I thought they had disappeared.  However, after reading the aforementioned author I realized they were still very much alive albeit very expensive.  Come on $100 for something I could get in a big box store for $25 dollars are you kidding?  Granted it would be missing the requisite reptile (had to look that one up I wasn’t sure if they were reptiles or amphibians – it’s been a long time since middle school science) but I could live with that.  On Sunday, I hit my local outlet mall – actually went to return something and ended up spending more money.  I scored big time – found out this mall now has an outlet for those wonderful polo shirts.  Decided I would go in to see how much they were selling them for.  As luck would have it they were having a Memorial Day sale and they were only $35.  That is a much more realistic price.  Only found one in my size but it is a rich shade of purple which looks really good on me.  Further down I went to another of my favorite preppy enclaves which had for a while moved away from its roots and scored yet again. A coral and white striped seersucker wrap skirt embroidered with pineapples for $15 – in this store that is almost unheard of, who cares if it is a season old it was $15.  Of course the sleeveless polo dress embroidered with their logo (a golden fleece not a horse – don’t do the horse logo shop; their clothes don’t fit.) was a bit more but still…

I was sitting on my deck reading Monday morning, Mojo was attempting to unlock the screen door or failing that, rip a hole in itto join me outside.  When he succeeded at neither and began to yowl as only a Siamese can I decided my sanity was more important so I headed to the local pet mega store to get him a leash and collar so he could safely be with me and not try to taka header off the balcony.  What do I find but a pink and green argyle collar?  Ok, so he was male at some point in his life and I realize I’m probably pushing the limit with pink and green And a pink bell but it was too me not to buy.  We’re working on the collar and leash thing in total but he doesn’t seem to be too offended by the color of the collar.  As for me – I need to start wearing my pearls and penny loafers on a more regular basis…

Lunch should be abolished

Without question my absolute least favorite daily task is deciding what to eat for lunch.  I accept that lunch is a necessity but why does it have to be so difficult?  If one works outside the home one is at the mercy of the work environment.  I think my dislike for lunch stems from my years as a temp and substitute teacher.  The first day at a new location was always peanut butter and jelly.  PB & J can survive without refrigeration.  I would never know what the facilities would be; was there a refrigerator and microwave or failing those a cafeteria of some nature?  Granted when I was in schools I knew there would always be the latter but sometimes it was eat at your own risk.  I did get lucky a few times.  The teacher’s dining room at the high school I should have attended had my parents not chosen to uproot me my freshman year made a matzo ball soup that was amazing.  One school where I worked had a cafeteria staff worthy of a restaurant.  They would start preparing the Thanksgiving meal two days in advance – everything was made from scratch.  It was torture for me because the kitchen was very near the library so I got to smell turkey, pies and breads baking for two days.  It was worth the wait.  The staff decorated our tables with real tablecloths and candles and the meal was served family style.  The last high school in which I worked was attached to the area vocational school which boasted a culinary arts program.  Once a week the classroom was opened up to the teachers so the students could learn how to run a restaurant.  I looked forward to those days – the meal was abundant, reasonably priced and always good.  Of course regardless of where one works there might always be the occasional pot luck meal where homemade goodies abound.  Where I am currently employed is in the middle of nowhere.  The closest restaurants are in another state and it takes twenty minutes to get there, difficult when you are given thirty minutes for lunch.  We are lucky in the spring to have a small barbeque stand available but they are only open on Friday.  This requires me to come up with meals four out of five days.  If I am ambitious and cook over the weekend then I might have leftovers.  However, most Mondays roll around where my weekend meals have been a slap-dash affair and I haven’t been to the grocery store.  This weekend was one of those; so Sunday at 5:00 pm I found myself hard boiling eggs for lunch.  Egg salad is not my favorite thing but it beats going hungry.  As this week looks to pan out the only night I will be home to cook will be tonight, down side is I don’t even have bread for a PB & J.  It’s getting too humid and the bread gets moldy before I have time to eat it.  I hate putting bread in the refrigerator.  Having to decide what to eat for lunch is such a pain – even on the weekends – I feel the meal should be abolished.  The majority of people in this country work through it anyway so who would miss it?

No pain, no gain. Who are they kidding?

As I mentioned before I am a competitive ballroom dancer or I ballroom dance competitively.  I never know which to say because frankly I don’t like either because I don’t consider myself a competitive person.  Competitive ballroom dancing is also called dancesport.  Therein, for me, lies the problem.   I am for all intents and purposes, a slug. I have a problem with my left knee which I learned about only after a car accident when I was in m my 20’s.  I saw my family doctor about the pain and his reply was “Well we would have found it earlier if you had even been remotely athletic in your teens.”.  Yes I remember this even twenty years on, this was also the same man who told me I was fat and he could have done with some exercise as well.  I digress.  I dutifully go to my weekly dance lessons which I video.  I will then spend a couple of hours watching the video and taking notes.  That’s the way I learn.  I intend to practice daily, I really do but except for when I’m in the shower or cooking dinner that’s all it remains an intention and you know what they say about intentions and roads.  I understand the need to practice on an intellectual level but it is so counter-intuitive to my learning style and personality.  I’d much rather sit on the couch knit and watch Dancing with the Stars.  I only watch the female pros dancing to see how they do things, doesn’t that count for something?

Anyway I like my new dance teacher.  We have only been working together for a year and have only competed once.  It isn’t out of lack of desire on my part there are basically two reasons; first, I need to do things like pay rent and eat.  (I keep my house at 65 in the winter and 77 in the summer.  I’d rather spend my money on dance lessons, if I’m cold I can always wear another layer of clothes); second from a dance standpoint my feet suck.  My teacher and I agreed I wouldn’t compete again until my feet improve.

My lessons were actually the point of this post.  As I said I like my teacher.  We get on well.  We work hard and the lessons fly by quickly.  I have learned a lot in the past year.  He doesn’t expect perfection because he says no one, himself included, is perfect.  He is, however, full of it.  I have decided that I will no longer refer to him as my teacher but as my coach.  Teachers generally bring to mind someone who is nurturing, encouraging learners to stretch and grow – think here of your favorite elementary school teacher.  Coaches are, in my mind, strong willed, determined and can be sometimes brutal in their methods.  Like teachers they want those under their tutelage to excel, however most feel losing is not an option.  How many sporting events have you seen where coaches are screaming from the sidelines.  In my chosen sport my coach is much closer – often connected to me from chest to knees which eliminates the need for screaming.  After my lesson tonight I have decided my coach is a sadist and I say that in the most loving way.

I have tried to remind him that I am nearly fifty, with a heart condition, bad knees, about 30 pounds over weight and recently prone to panic attacks.  I try not to whine in my lessons just simply ‘suck it up’ as they say.  Though I have been known to laugh hysterically and say ‘you want me to do what?” when he shows me a new part of a routine.  When I think about my dancing I don’t see why I can’t do all the things a 20 year old who it a size 2 can do.  I want to dance like that I really do, my body has a somewhat different opinion.  I know there are a lot of people my age and older who are in fabulous physical shape and who tackle health issues far greater than mine.  I am an introvert who tends to run out of steam easily.  By the end of the day I want to do nothing more than go home and hide.  I am pretty much zapped of all energy and if I have been dealing with a panic attack I’m drained.  I try to eat well but I am also a stress eater and trust me when I’m stressed – carrots are the last thing I want.  The other night my dinner consisted of roasted chicken, rice, gravy and baking powder biscuits nary a vegetable in sight.  In my defense I had been eating carrots, celery, apples and bananas and nuts during the day.  I also hate to do any other type of exercise besides dancing.  The reality is the deck is not stacked in my favor.  Now that I have made excuses, back to the matter at hand.  I drive an hour each way to get to where I have my dance lessons.  Tonight after the 45 minutes of grief  I received it took every ounce of energy I had left to get out of the car.  My legs were not in the mood to cooperate when I asked them to stand.  Once I got everything into the house and laid out the things I needed for tomorrow morning I was barely able to get up the stairs to take a shower.  While he is a sadist he at least warns me of what is to come with thoughtful questions like ‘how does your knee feel?’.  I have learned by now when he gets like that I’m in for it, my response to him was – ‘it’s fine now but I’m thinking it won’t be so great in about 20 minutes’.  He found that rather funny.  Sometimes I feel like I’m in obedience school because I hear ‘sit’ every few seconds.  Other times I feel like a misbehaving employee because I hear ‘what’s your job here?’.  Tonight I’m not sure what to liken it to because I kept hearing ‘glue your arm”.  As I wobbled down the hill to my car after my lesson I kept thinking to myself, I pay for this  – am I crazy?  I have to be a masochist to keep going back for this week after week.  I was thinking about stopping at the local ice cream stand on the way home to reward myself for surviving but I guess the lesson did one thing – I changed my mind because I was too bloody tired to stop.

To my coach if you ever read this – you know I love you.  Just remember I don’t spring for the Red Bulls because I want to have money to dance.

Crazy Animals

Well I finally figured out how to make this work on my iPad. Score one for the librarian. Of course free wi-fi at an outlet mall while eating a falafel pita helps too. Today seems to be crazy animal day. I have a suet feeder on the tree in my front yard which was empty the last few months of cold weather. Hey, I had the suet it was just too cold to go out to fill it so what do I do? I wait until it's warm out and the birds don't need it, makes sense to me.  I have had a few blue jays and a cardinal stop by to partake; I only filled it two days ago. I arrived home earlier than usual to find two rodent thieves, a.k.a. squirrels, were in the tree and a majority of the suet was gone.  When I got out of the car and approached the tree one of them ran away.  The second more urban commando of the two sat in the base where the two main branches met at the trunk watching me, daring me to come closer.  He was just sort of lounging there; if he could speak a language I understood would have been saying “Yeah babe, you wanna a piece of me?  Come on get closer.”  Give the fact that I had just returned from a job interview and was wearing the only thing I had that remotely resembled a suit and that this was a rodent who could potentially carry rabies I opted to keep my distance.  I was less than three feet away from him, however, and he still wouldn’t move.  Well I guess he got tired of my verbal assaults and did eventually run up the tree but still remained there.  I went into my bedroom to change my clothes and we were again eye to eye and it was his turn to issue epithets to me from a safe distance.  I gave up on this issue figuring it wasn’t worth making myself look like the crazy neighbor over 99 cent suet blocks.

While I had been bringing my things in from the car a fly got in the house.  Since I was dealing with psycho squirrel I let it be hoping the cat wouldn’t find it.  My hope was in vain however, because at one point I looked up towards the front door to see Mojo not only catch but eat the fly.  Of course at that moment I was not able to get up quickly to prevent it and again yelling at him did no good.  I am assuming that he appeared in good health for the remainder of the evening, digesting the fly did him no harm.  At least I know he’s a good hunter unlike my previous Siamese who would look at me as if the say “You want me to catch that?” they didn’t chase critters they hired minions to do it for them.