Catnip makes it all better

I needed to take my crabby old man cat Riley, to the vet today. I take him to a cat clinic so there are no run-ins with dogs or ferrets or any other manner of pets in the waiting room. Other cats are bad enough. Turns out he’s older than I thought. I thought he was 13 years old but according to the records at the vet, he’s 15 years old. “He is?” I asked.

*blink blink*

“That’s what it says here on his chart.”

*blink blink*

“Oh.” Long pause … “Um, okay.”

There are things in my life that I figure out the timing of by how it correlates to when I was divorced. BD (before divorce) and AD (after divorce). Except there is a difference between when my now ex-husband moved out – and when we were actually divorced.

Apparently though, I don’t delve too deeply into anything from around that time of my life. I’ve blocked things out. When I was going to a therapist in the midst of it all - I had a lot of confusion about the timing of things. My therapist said it was because I was “emotionally divorced” long before I was ever legally divorced.

I’m also one of those people who moves the time on my alarm clock forward because it fools me in the morning when I am just waking up. But I digress.

Here I was thinking my cat was 13 years old because I got him the year I got divorced. But really he’s 15 because I brought him home the year my ex actually moved out of the house. It’s funny the way people protect themselves emotionally like that but sometimes I find it unnerving. It never bothers me for long though because I just shove it in the back of my mind and move on.

Instead, I worry about the cat and his slight heart murmur, his weight loss and his constant hunger. The doctor took blood and urine and we will find out what’s going on in a few days.

Waiting to pay my bill I grabbed a little catnip toy they were selling, pulled the tag off and tossed it inside the carrier with Riley. Nobody even noticed, I could have just walked out with my $1.99 freebie. But, I gave the tag to the girl behind the counter and paid for it. It kept Riley happy and quiet on the ride home.

When we got home I set the carrier down and opened the door. I love how the other cats looked at Riley like he was a stranger because he had been out of the house for an hour. He stepped out of the carrier with his little heart-shaped catnip toy in his mouth and proceeded to lick it and roll on it for at least 45 minutes after we got home. Now he is sleeping next to the soggy mess.

He’s happy. He doesn’t care if he’s 13 or 15 or if I knew which it was. He doesn’t know why I brought him to that place that smells like hundreds of other cats, he only knows that I brought him back home and I gave him a new toy. Ah-h-h, to be a cat.