Mrs. Delicious left a comment on my last post which was simply this:
Here's the link if you want more toothpaste for dinner: www.toothpastefordinner.com.
She has a point. My blog has been sadly neglected, so I'll ease into this.
My cat got stuck in a drawer.
Nobody knows little grey Ibby except Ted and, from afar, my upstairs neighbor Howard, who doesn't think twice about engaging her in conversation through the window screen on hot summer days as he's passing by on his way to the back door.
She's a skittish little entity, jumping a mile high when the toaster ejects toast or when the shower curtain is pulled aside. We got her from the Greater New Haven Cat Project about four years ago. We picked her because she was so miserable. All the other kitties were jumping around and roving in packs around the place, but little Ibby, or Dee as she was then called, was huddled in the corner of her cage, and would not be pulled out at any cost.
She was terrified of everything, especially the ceiling fan in the living room. She once was trapped behind a bookshelf for the greater part of a day because the fan was turned after she had entered the room and HOLY CRAP there was no escaping! Oh, the cowering.
It was in this early phase when she found her way into the basement and we discovered she was missing after maybe two days, because we never ever saw her anyway. We lured her back upstairs with a trail of little piles of dry food. What a life she's led.
Anyway, we won her over by trapping her in various places (mostly on top of the books in the bookshelf)and petting her until she trusted us, and it seems to have worked well. She's now a full-fledged member of the household, feeling perfectly comfortable to meow pointlessly at walls and sleep on my legs in the middle of the night and lick all the "gravy" off of her food, leaving it for ten minutes or so and then returning to finish the job. She's also a drooler.
One thing she rarely does is leave the floor. Ted has classified her as a Standard American Floor Cat. She hates to be picked up. She'll allow it briefly after a long, lonely weekday, but thirty seconds is all you really get before she tenses completely up and starts licking nothing nervously. She's slowly working her way up to sitting on laps, but seriously, I think she'll have lived her nine lives before earning her degree from the Lap Sitting Institute of Technology.
She rarely jumps on things either. When she does it's startling, because you just don't expect it. And when you discover her on the counter or desk (I think it's happened three times) she just looks at you like, "Yeah, I'm on ur counterz licking ur cheezes" and it makes you want to kick her fuzzy gray ass.
So why would she be in the middle drawer of my dresser? She's had plenty of opportunities to get to know my folded T-shirts, both in the drawer and in the laundry basket, but until now, she's shown little or no interest. In fact, she generally shows disdain at the thought of the laundry basket, becoming haughty even, licking a paw momentarily before sweeping dramatically out of the room.
And why wouldn't she have said something as I was closing the drawer with her inside? Surely she would have woken up if she was sleeping. Why did it take her over an hour before she started her piteous, tiny cries? And why when I finally caught on to the fact that it sounded like she was somewhere muffled and very far away did she completely clam up after I started calling her name?
The answers to all of these questions is because she has a brain the size of a hard boiled egg. We call her Little Dummy. She's not a strong problem solver.
Anyway, she's out now, and probably off licking her paw somewhere in the living room.
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