Being in a Relationship by myself

Ok. I feel like anytime I talk about this I sound whiney.

My boyfriend took a new job, moved to a new town, and has now closed on his very own home. The last time he took any interest in me was probably before he moved. See? Super freak whiney.

When we discussed his move it was all roses and how much we'll freaking miss each other. The vague promises that he'll try to get me to move with him, like he couldn't bare to be apart. He seems to be doing JUST FINE. In fact he tells me all about every detail of his life. I need not speak, or interject any ideas. He's got it ALL covered. Even when he doesn't.

I'm extremely frustrated. I remember this from the EX, and saying that or making comparisons isn't fair. But still, this feeling of sinking back into the farthest recess of my body so I don't claw the hell out of the Principal or slipping into a warm bath of numbness whenever he disregards what comes out of my mouth is getting old. I never thought my self-esteem was low, just made me humble. However, the more I've discussed things with friends, and of course my mother thedoomsday prophet, I think I have been putting myself down too much for the Principal's sake.

Example: At dinner with Julie and Kelly I talked about how the Principal never asks about my week or what I've been up to when we talk on the phone. We only discuss the stress of his transition.

"I know my life isn't super exciting or anything-"

"What?! YOU are exciting AND interesting!" Julie slammed her teensy little hands on the table.

I shrugged, but it made me realize I was making myself less so he could be more. If my life was less interesting then what he was going through there would be a reason we didn't discuss it. I was making excuses.

Example: At a furniture store we got to talking to a sales lady. The Principal was preening about working at the mine (the town gets a hard-on when they hear the mine is re-opening) and the sales lady was asking twenty questions. The Principal made me sound as if I was refusing to move to this bustling city for silly reasons. Like the fact that I own a house.

In response I said "I have a job in Phoenix." The sales lady nodded in understanding and asked what I did. "I answer phones."

The light went out of her face as if to say "You couldn't leave that behind to move with the man you love?" The Principal was smirking and making comments so it seemed he was after me constantly to come with him. I breathed in deeply and tried to become a shadow.

When I told my lovely mother about the above example she tried to slap me. "Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?" I was confused.


"You said just 'answer phones"! You were putting yourself down!"


"Uh, that's not putting myself down. My job description is answering phones, mom."

"But you don't have to say it like that." It was a ridiculous conversation which continued at this vein for a minimum of ten minutes until my lovely mother threw her hands up and pretended she conceded my point in a tone that let me know she really didn't.

I have been trying to figure out how to talk about this with the Principal and there seems to be no safe route. We are destined to fight about this. How do you explain you're not getting enough affection? Shouldn't it come naturally?

I worried about this as I drove to New Mexico to help him move into his house. I drove for 5 hours, with 2 dogs, and didn't even get a "How was the drive" or "I'm so happy to see you". If I did, they were in jest. I was expected to be there. The end.


We chatted, it was strained, then we went to bed. First night in his very first house. He rolled over and fell asleep. I lay awake shivering in the cold, (I'm not trying to be melodramatic, the furnace wasn't reaching the room we slept in), wondering why the Principal didn't want to even lay near me.


In the morning it was get up and get ready. No kissing, no holding each other. No nothing. Dissatisfied I took a shower and sat outside with the dogs. Wishing it was beer:thirthy.

Back and forth we moved his stuff from storage to house. I commented on paint colors and the look I received was scathing. A gray wall? Was I insane? I crawled back into my own little world and pretended it was okay. It is a far more lonely world when you share space with aperson who acts like you shouldn't really be there.

We went to bed.

We woke up. He acted like he wanted to have sex, asked if I had any protection, I rolled over and told him to go to hell. He just moved in, wasn't prepared for that. Had other things on his mind. Uhhh... You knew your girlfriend was driving 5 fucking hours to help you move and it never crossed your mind to have sex with her? Thanks.

I rolled over, got up and took a shower. Less than an hour later I was on my way back to AZ (5 hours again) so I could spend 3 hours cleaning offices and drive another 40 minutes home to do laundry and go back to work the following day. There was no text to see if I made it home safely. I went about my week with the impression I may have made up the very idea of the Principal.

Perhaps being single is the best way to go.

Waiting it out

Last week I texted the Principal that I missed him. We are, after all, 5 hours away from one another and I did miss him. His response: he'd be back in Phoenix in 48 hours. Like that should make it ok. Would it have killed him to say he missed me too?

Probably.

I decided I needed to go back to taking Dr. Gray's dating advice. Let the man pursue and the woman be receptive. If the Principal wants to talk he can contact me. I'll give him the room to pursue again.

I think my plan has backfired, but I'm sticking with it anyway. He came home from work Friday night and we did the usual routine. Sit around, have a beer and exchange stories. He told me all about work, I filled him in on the dogs. There was a strange undertone in the conversation.

Later, when we talked about Thanksgiving vacation coming up he offhandedly mentioned "if" he could get Friday after off. We'd been planning on Disneyland with my mom, sister and brother-in-law since the summer. My sister was working on finding a goddamn house big enough for the dogs and all of us. And he still hadn't asked for the time off?

As calmly as I could, I asked when he was going to find out. He waved his hand dismissively. He'd take care of it... I started to push, he looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Very simply I looked him straight in the eye. He needed to let me know yes, or no by Monday so I could stop my sister from booking a vacation house. There were 4 people besides him making plans. If he can't go, that's understandable but I'm not about to get screwed by it. Again.

The subject was dropped and changed. But the undertone remained. I had this sneaking suspicion the Principal was just biding time until he closed on his house and he could get rid of me. He wouldn't need anyone to watch his dog or house his belongings. He could quite literally move on.

He went to bed before I did. I ground my teeth. He's tired by 9pm every night... You'd think, maybe, just maybe, after a long week away from your girlfriend you could muster enough enthusiasm to, oh I don't know, take her to bed with you? When I joined him a half hour later he didn't even notice.


The following day the undertone was more of a fine mist that settled over everything we did. It crept up my nose and dug in under my fingernails. I started writing to clear my head. The Principal busied himself outside. When I went out to start on the yard, he went inside. At one point, before he headed out to the store, I tried to engage him in a hot, steamy kiss. He smiled and kept his distance so he could get going. He had things to do. I felt so utterly stupid.

After 4 grueling hours in the heat and sun, battling with shrubs, weeds and grass I was ready for a shower and a nap. We were going to The Melting Pot for dinner and I wanted to enjoy every minute of it. Unfortunately, the Principal decided at that moment to lay down in the bedroom for a nap. I was blocked from my shower. I suppose I could have used the guest bath, but all my stuff was in the other room.

Out in the living room I set a blanket on the couch so I wouldn't sweat into the cushins. He came over, a few minutes later, and asked why I was sleeping in the living room. Would he have really wanted my sweaty, stinky body in bed with him?

The nap was a bust. When he got up from his nap I cleaned up and made myself pretty for our dinner out. Melty decadent yumminess in a romatic candle liight setting. I was going to eat it all up.

In an offhand sort of way the Principal told me I looked beautiful. You know, because its required or something. He mentioned it while explaining his observation of how long it took me to get ready. Next, came the joking about how costly the Melting Pot is. He'd mentioned it before. I looked at him straightfaced and offered to go to a different restaurant. He laughed it off.

Again. He started talking about the prices again a mile later. Mentioning the last time he went to the Melting Pot with friends (he excluded the part where it was a date he'd been forced to go on which I remembered from previous conversations) they hadn't even made it to dessert. I wanted to scream! That's the whole fucking point of going there in the first place. Calmly, I again offered to go someplace else. He waved it off again.

Passing by Red Lobster he pointed it out. "We could have popcorn shrimp!" I clamped my hands more tightly together and dismissed the urge to vomit. I told him we could go there if he'd like. He scrunched up his nose and declared we were on our way to the Melting Pot. At this point I didn't care where we ended up as long as they served beer. I was starting to choke on this strange undertone. Perhaps the Principal had been posessed by the EX....

Dinner was a waste. You really should go to the Melting Pot with someone who is into you. All the tables are secluded, romantically lit and the music is strictly background. While the food was amazing and the service great, my date was uninterested. We were the only couple I saw who sat apart. When I leaned over to kiss him I got the brush off after. Conversation was painful, at one point so much so I was forced to look away. On one topic I was ready to leave the restaurant all together.

Then of course there was the preoccupation with his phone. Checking sports stats.. I used to have these moments with the EX.

By the third course the Principal was already planning the night to be over. Following dessert he was ready for PJs. A glance at the bill earned another comment about the price. I sat there feeling as if I was shrinking into myself. No romance, not even a normal evening. If this had been a first or second date I would have accidentally lost his phone number on purpose. The food had been wonderful, I'm sure, but as we were walking out the door two feet apart from one another, I realized I couldn't remember what any of it tasted like.

The drive home was full of yawns. True to his word, 30 seconds after walking in the door he had on his PJs and was sprawled across the couch. I changed into my own and would have normally tamed my wild hair into a ponytail but it still looked too good for that. It was the kind of rockin' hair that happens every blue moon and should be savored.... Should be worn out to a bar so strange men can stare at me and then massacred by sweaty, hot sex. Obviously THAT wasn't happening tonight.

30 minutes after the PJs were on, the Principal was off to bed. I stared after him as I was abandoned on the couch to watch Stripes. There was no goodnight kiss. Just a sheepish look. I drank a couple beers, alone. The weather was beautiful outside, finally cooling down and I couldn't help but feel as if my relationship was doing the same thing. Fall always brings changes, nostalgia and restlessness...

When I climbed into bed, there was barely a sliver of mattress available. The Principal was sprawled across the bed snoring. All of the covers were pushed to the side and the pillows pushed against the headboard. I cringed at the familiarity of such a scene. He rolled over and draped an arm over me, I think more for his own comfort than mine. Despite all the rich food and few beers consumed earlier, I had a difficult time trying to fall asleep.

Daylight came early. The Principal rose around 7am, because he goes to sleep before normal people's grandmothers would. When he's up, I'm awake. The atmosphere in the house changes. I forced myself to roll over and finish getting the whole 8 hours I wanted. It didn't wourk out very well.

Back outside to the yard. Lose myself in manual labor. The Principal helped out by tilling the ground for a good hour before football yanked him by the balls back into the house. I chopped, trimmed, raked, cussed. It was a fabulous release from the tension inside the house.

I think, at some point later that morning, the Principal realized something was amiss. He started laughing and cracking his jokes again. Reaching over to touch me more when he passed by. At one point, after I'd cleaned up from the yard work and was beginning to wonder whether he'd ever leave for New Mexico so I could go to work, he made a half-assed attempt to come on to me.

Men! Please pay attention: This doesn't work!

"You're all clean now." He smirked at me on the couch.

"Yup." I smiled back, or at least I think I did. I might have lost the ability and wasn't aware.

"I haven't had a shower yet, wouldn't want to get you dirty."

"Okay..." yeah, what girl would want that. why don't you go take a fucking shower and then proposition me? why bring up what you're not going to do to me? where is the passion?

Needless to say, I went on to clean my offices in Casa Grande and left the Principal to finish watching his sports before hitting the road himself. He gave me a big hug, passionate kiss, but I can't remember what that felt like either. I was fading.

The ball was back in the Principal's court. If he wants me, he can pursue me. Long distance sucks and I know I haven't been the most appetizing thing to come home to considering the mess I've been. But, and yes there is always, if you have such a short period of time with the one you love wouldn't you want to make the best of it?

Concert with the Tall Guy

Tall Guy and I had been on approximately 2 dates, had flirted ridiculously over the phone and texted every waking minute of the day. For our third date, he'd scored tickets to the U2 concert. YAY! I was so excited to go to a concert, it had been ages.

And who doesn't LOVE U2??

The day of the concert I rushed home, changed quickly and was walking the dog outside the condo when the giant arrived. Apparently my dog is a fierce protector because he bounded over and rubbed his body all over Tall Guy's legs. I thought it was fate. My dog was even crazy about this guy.

We sat in traffic for 2 hours getting to the concert. If we hadn't had so much to talk about it would have been extremely uncomfortable. There was much talk of music, listening to different bands on his iPod to see if I was familiar with them or liked the tracks. So, far... great time.

The concert stage was massive, and we arrived just in time to grab a beer and rush to our seats before U2 took the stage. We were in the nose bleeds, but it didn't matter. The music and lights could only be described as crazy amazing and I kind of liked being able to sit back in Tall Guy's arms and just enjoy the sensory overload.

Having to yell at each other over the music sucked, especially since he insisted I yell into his less deaf ear. So I was constantly leaning over his huge body to the opposite side. Needles to say, I butted heads with him a few times. I would have been mortified, but then he leaned over and yelled in my ear "This feels like falling in love!"

It really did. Everything was exciting and vibrant. The music pulsed, I felt good in his arms. There was a glow around us. Transported back in time I felt like I was a high school freshman again, having a first crush. And he kept telling me how beautiful, sexy, desirable I was. Who wouldn't love that?

We left early, running through the arena with hands entwined. When I couldn't keep up Tall Guy would swing me up into his arms. It felt surreal... But finally I was happy about dating again.

The First Fight

A few weeks ago I mentioned to The Principal that we had never been in an argument. He was home for the weekend and we had a great time. I didn't want to fight with him, but found it strange how we could date for nine months and hadn't snapped yet.

His response was simple. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll have plenty of fights." And he dazzled me with his devilish grin.

I should have kept my mouth closed.

The following weekend we worked together around the yard, lounged in the pool and just enjoyed being... After taking a nap to chase away his headache, we went downtown to an Irish pub. Goal: meet Julie's new boyfriend. I was excited to see her with him. The Principal was AMAZING.

He sat across from new boyfriend guy and chatted him right up so Julie and I could talk. He'd laugh, touch, kiss me so breezily I was afraid he'd turned into a pod person. Normally he's so reserved, this display of open affection was nothing short of miraculous. Julie even commented on it.

The new happy couple had a few drinks then had to take off, so we sat on the patio finishing our beers, listening to the live music, and talking. It was one of those blissfully fun times. Out of nowhere, the conversation turned to a topic that had the Principal going over unfamiliar territory. His past relationships. I salivated, nearly to the point of drooling in public, at the opportunity to find out more about this area of his life. What girl doesn't want to know a little about the other women in their man's history?

The atmosphere was light. He talked openly like never before, I asked questions to keep him talking. A pizza was grabbed, more beer was picked up and finally we were at home on the patio. It was the most fun time we'd spent together in months. I was high on the Principal.

I don't know what happened, but all at once everything in the evening that was light and fun drifted into the night like smoke. If there was a catalyst, I missed it. The Principal clamped down on his past when I asked some question. The same question he would have jokingly answered five minutes earlier. I pressed, not understanding. He became angry, I got defensive.

'Why do you want to know about this?"

"We were just talking about it, it's a discussion. What crawled up your butt?"

He was stern and defiant. I started to cry. I tried to explain I only wanted to know more about him because I'm interested in who he is. Because I love him. I felt like an idiot for letting this upset me, but he was mad.

"I just asked-"

"No! You didn't just ask! You pushed..."

"We were having such a good time. I don't understand what went wrong..."

Eventually, we exchanged more mean words and I stopped talking to him all together. My heart ached from the loss of all that joy we'd been having, at the feeling of being so at one with the Principal. Now I was outside drinking beer and reading a book, wiping tears off my cheeks while he went to bed. Deja vu much?

When I was tired enough, I debated whether or not to sleep on the couch. This is my freaking house! In the bedroom the Principal was passed out on the floor with the dogs. I debated, again, whether I should leave him there or not. Nah, I'm not that mean. I wanted to kick him awake, but at the same time didn't even want to touch him. Instead, I went with the "Hey, you" tactic.

In bed, I stayed as far away from him as possible. I lay on my side, facing the window as close to the edge of the mattress as I could get. As I closed my eyes I swore this would not repeat my relationship with the EX through the Principal. In the morning, I'd gauge what was going on here and move forward. But all through the night my body was hyper aware the Principal was so close.

I woke to scoot farther away if his skin even brushed mine. Early, I gave up trying. The dogs wanted food and the pool looked soothing. Shortly after I was starting to relax on my hot pink inter tube, he emerged from the house. I pretended not to notice as he sat on the patio smoking a cigarette and watching me. I could feel the anger coming from him.

Thankful for the tube, water and distance, I floated blindly to the far side. There would be no relaxing until we talked this out, but my true fear was that this would be the first step toward the end. I mean, The Principal drives all this way to have fun, to be with me and he won't continue wanting to if I can't keep my mouth shut and we fight.

After stubbing out his cigarette, he made his way over to the pool, sat down and put in his feet, right in front of me. His unshaven face looked worn, as if debating how to start. Eventually he did. Saying he hadn't felt good about things when he went to bed last night and that hadn't improved when he woke up. I nodded, agreed. I felt foolish there in the pool, like a little kid having a conversation with her father about being bad. It dawned on me I felt that way because I used to hide from my dad's temper by getting in the pool. Huh, mini psych lesson for the day.

"I ruined a great time by being stubborn..." he muttered. I wanted to agree but instead admitted I don't always know when to give up. He asked what we were going to do. Contemplating, I watched him from behind my glasses.

"We get over it."

"How do we do that?" he replied after some time.

"We forgive each other and move on. Or we don't." I said simply. After all the stress and heart break I'd endured in the past year I was preparing myself for the fact he may not want to go on. I steeled myself. I could handle it.

He appeared to digest the statement. Roll it around a bit. Then he slid into the pool, grabbed me up in my ridiculous inter tube and kissed me. We hugged and kissed and smiled. I knew then, it would be ok for now.

LDR

I am in a long distance relationship. Every Friday night I rush home to clean the house, and pace anxiously until The Principal arrives. We catch up on the week, have a beer and go to bed. Sometimes I cook so he has a hot meal when he arrives. If not I make sure to have his favorite sandwich fixings. I need a frilly apron with ruffles down the edges, I really do. Last week he walked in the house with a bouquet and a 12 pack. I felt like I'd been transported back to the 50's, and I liked it. The flowers were purple, because he said he knows how much I like purple.

On Saturday, we work on the house or yard or pool, do a little grocery shopping. Maybe stop by Home Depot or even Bed Bath and Beyond. I don't know, its a busy little weekend. I'll try out a new recipe for dinner. Sometimes we go out. I take advantage of him every chance I get. I do his laundry (I don't know why I do it, he doesn't ask and tries to do it himself. I just want to do something for him.)

Sunday he watches football, to my chagrin. On the TV and computer at the same time. I'm pretty sure he gets mobile updates as well. Its disturbing, but we made a deal. I look the other way on the football crap and I get to pick whatever we watch (movies, TV shows) 7 out of 10 times. I sit outside and read a book. We make lunch, talk about what we have going on the next week. He packs and leaves. I go down to CG and clean my offices. When I return home that night, the house is silent, the back yard is silent and I am alone. I stretch out in bed, take up the entire space to ensure I don't get any doggy company in the middle of the night. His pillow still smells like him.

The rest of the week seems to go by uneventfully. I spend the first half missing him, but by the end of the week I almost dread having him come home because I've grown used to my alone time. And he invades it all weekend. But when he's here I like that. Back and forth, my mind goes from missing/needing to independence/self-sufficiency.

I know this routine will change once he closes on his house. Then, he'll be expecting a rotation of states each weekend. I'll be expected to travel every other week to see him. This will get old. We'll take a weekend off. Then it will be every other weekend off. Then we'll break up. Yes, I'm being a pessimist. I just can't see how The Principal will decide to dedicate himself to all the travel and hard work just to have lil ole me do his laundry and pretending to be Holly Homemaker, when quite obviously I'm Holly's defunct cousin who develops hives when forced to dust, fold clothes, or put anything away.

Plus its the end of the week. He'll be home in a few short hours and I'll forget all the negative thoughts again.

First half of the week= Missing my wonderful man. Seeing a future I could share with him and blah, blah blah.

Second half of the week= Rethinking living the rest of my life alone because that is so much simpler than waiting for that freaking shoe to drop.

The End of The Cat

I have to start this chapter at the Beginning of The Cat.

Not that I necessarily hate cats, I'm just not a cat person. The first cat in our family was due to me, because I was young and thought a kitty would be cute and cuddly and fun. Instead, she hissed and clawed and growled. She took pleasure from all my little friends running away from her in fright. She was evil. It was not the start of a very good track record...

So, when I was out with my boss looking at dogs to adopt for our senior community I saw a heartbreaking little cat. He was all black and his green eyes completely crossed. The volunteers told me he was hit in the head with a weed whacker when he was a kitty, that's why he looked the way he did. And to top it off they called him Whacker. I had to giggle.

Back at work I called my sister, the wrong person to confide in about adopting/buying an animal. You think she'll give you sound advice but in the end she is just telling you to get the damned thing. "Go back and if he's still there its meant to be. You can adopt him for the community." So I went back, and there he was, all pathetic looking.

He stayed in my office one day, on my desk. Then I took him to meet my parents and their black cat. Dad fell in love, possessively, with Whacker. My big ole dad just tenderly stroked the cat's head and told me either I kept him at my home, or he did. The end. Over his shoulder my lovely mother was pointing at me and mouthing "We don't need another animal, you take that fucking thing home with you!!!"

And I did. Whacker, whom my dad demanded must be renamed, went home with me. The EX and I had recently moved in together. I walked in with the cat in a carrier. The EX eyed it.

"What's in there."

"A cat."

"Is it going to stay here?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe. Do you mind?"

"Do I have a choice?"

I thought about it a second. "Not really." And that should have told us both a hell of a lot about our relationship.

So, The Cat stayed. At first he was all pathetic and mild mannered. After a vet check I discovered he had a respiratory and eye infection and needed meds. Once the meds cleared him all up The Cat turned into Chucky. He bolted through the house at night after all the lights went out. For such a little thing, he managed to slam into the mirrored closet doors, break dishes and knock himself out against the bed. In the mornings the Cat would nibble my chin or nose or just sleep on my head regardless of how many attempts I made to shove him away.

He would sit behind me yowling while I got ready for work. When he could stand it no longer he lunged up and attached his claws into my sweatpant clad ass. It was ridiculous.

But the EX was on my sister's side. They thought it was cruel to de-claw. After several days walking around with a cat hanging from my ass I told them both to shut the hell up and called the vet. The EX continued to fight me on it, as if he had a choice in the matter now.

About a week before The Cat's appointment, as I sat on the end of the EX's massive sectional, that he made love to more frequently than me, The Cat decided to lay on his side and use ALL four paws to scamper the length of the couch. Digging in deep.

In my sweetest voice I called out "Honey, you have to come see the kitty doing the cutest thing!"

The look on his face was priceless, but followed by anger at me for allowing The Cat to do it in the first place. I rolled my eyes and reminded him why I was getting this demon spawn's hand-o-knives surgically removed.

That first year with The Cat was marked by many strange and expensive events. He would sit in the kitchen, just out of reach and eye me, trying to guess how long it would take me to get around the bar to catch him. Then he would send one of my plates crashing to the ground. Or knock the trash can down while I was at work so the dog would tear everything up in a holy freaking mess. I had to buy an enclosed trash bin cabinet to keep them both out.

He also liked to sit on the edge of the tub while I showered. Plotting some other scheme I'm sure... The night he figured out how to turn the TV on I could have skinned him alive. Every five minutes he'd turn the big screen on, I'd have to get out of bed to turn it off. Finally I just muted the effing thing and gave the Cat the finger.

The worst was right after the EX left. I was excited to be getting home early, planned on playing with the animals, going for a walk and relaxing with a book. I was smiling in earnest for the first time in almost a year. When I opened the door to the condo a murder scene greeted me, with The Cat dancing around in all the blood.

It was smeared all over the tile, the walls, to my right in the steel water dish, crimson sparkled out at me. The carpet in the bedroom was pink, my brand new white quilt looked as if someone had been stabbed to death on it. Blood dotted the mirrored closets. In a panic I checked over the dog who had a little gash on his tongue and on his paws. The Cat was unscathed. The weapon of choice... A glass pesto jar that had sat untouched on the counter for 2 months. All the glass had been smashed, eaten up with the pesto, by the dog. And the fucking Cat was loving every minute of it.

In shock I stroked the dog's head as he shivered, told him I would just go to the bathroom and then we'd pay a lil visit to the emergency vet. You'd think the bathroom would have been safe... No, blood on the toilet, in the toilet, even in the freaking tub. I quickly cleaned the toilet up, peed with a pounding heart and took the dog to the vet.

3 hours and a hundred bucks later I returned to the bloody condo with a dog who would eventually "pass" all that glass. The next four hours was spent cleaning. Every time I turned around The Cat was in the bucket of red mop water splashing it all over the place. I swear to God, if I could have caught him, I would've killed him. No holding back. My relaxing evening turned into an all nighter of hellish labor.

In addition to the big events, there were the little ones. Like how every morning he would stalk me from the bottom of the bed trying to wake me up. I would crack an eye, see him coming, and right before he pounced I would kick/throw/elbow/scream him off the bed. That "little cat" had tripled his size and was now more of a panther than domestic animal. He lived solely to torture me. (and to complete his first attempt at killing the dog)

Few weeks after the pesto jar, I took The Cat in for his annual vet visit. Everything was fine. Until the blood work came back and I discovered he had feline leukemia. That, apparently, is very bad. Immediately I rushed home from work, scooped up the cat and took him back to be retested. I felt awful for all the kicking/throwing/screaming I'd done to this poor animal. And awful guilty for allowing him to expose all my sister's cats and my mom's own demon feline. He probably knew and was deceptively trying to kill them all slowly. Evil bastard.

Six weeks and three hundred dollars later, The Cat was positive. Every time he did some shitty thing he'd plop down on the ground, look up at me like "What? I've got leukemia." and there was nothing I could do about it. But eventually I moved on and went back to our battle in earnest. By Christmas I had him in the cutest little reindeer outfit, complete with antlers, and he hated every minute of my enjoyment! (my dad bought it so I cannot be blamed. it's rude not to put a gift to use)

There were some great times too. After The Cat would scream at me when I got home from a vacation, because he'd had no one to torture, he would cuddle up to my face in bed and purr. He'd reach out with those long monkey arms and pet me, or hug against me. Or how he would stretch out on his back when I got home from work. He managed to get his entire body flat and straight so you could just rub him up and down.

Everyone who knows me, knows I loved that Cat. Regardless of how many times I tossed him through the air or tried to give him away to unsuspecting parties, he was mine, and I was convinced he was going to make my life a living hell for the next 20 years or so. I had the Guinness Book of World Records on speed dial for the day he achieved the record of being the oldest, most annoying cat and won the record for causing the most damage.

Then, a couple weeks ago I came home and The Cat was laying on his side on the kitchen floor. He was wet, the giant water dish overturned. Both dogs were pacing around him, concerned, but not upset. The Cat just looked up at me like "Can you just get this fixed."

I was in shock mode again. What the hell happened? The Cat's hind leg looked useless and his eyes were bright with pain.


Calmly, I put both the dogs outside, grabbed the carrier and pulled the top of. Poor thing dragged himself over to get in. It was heartbreaking, but gave me hope. From the looks of the scene, I suspected The Cat had jumped, miscalculated and fell off the counter. Broken leg? Or hip. Please God, not the back. As terrible as it sounds, I was worried I wouldn't have enough money to fix him.

As I got in the car, I called my lovely mother to tell her I'd need to use her credit card for this. I was such a piece of shit, couldn't even take care of my own cat. Silently, I promised him I would pawn everything I own to make this right. Starting with jewelry from the EX.

At the vet I got a true look at the damage. It was dog teeth that had broken The Cat. The vet said this happens all the time and from the looks of the wounds, it wasn't serious. She'd call me in a bit with more after they sedated my now panting and crying cat. He kept reaching out to me, wanting me to all but lay on top of him to make the pain go away. That was when I started crying and couldn't stop.

He gave the vet tech an evil glare when she took off his collar. Despite his pain, he flipped over in the carrier and chewed on the skull and cross bones as if to say "Mine".

Three hours later I had cleaned the whole house. The irony of mopping up The Cats blood was not lost on me. I texted the Principal. He blamed Angus. I wasn't sure it was his dog, but I didn't want to believe either dog could have hurt The Cat who beat the both of them up so often. My heart wasn't breaking. I had hope. Pain meds, xrays, no broken bones, probably just muscle injuries. I could bring him home...

The vet was very clear there was something more, she couldn't figure out his pain. It would have cost over a grand to put him in the hospital for the night and I could nurse him at home. He needed to be home. The Principal, just in town, got there before me. When I saw the look on his face my hope faltered a bit. I shoved it back in place.

I settled him alone in the bedroom on a heating pad. The back end of his body was like ice. I knew this was bad but I had hope. The Cat cried more and more. The Principal told me to let him rest. Every ten minute I went back to check. The Cat was pathetic. Wanted water and slurped it down greedily. He got worse. We had to take him to the ER soon but I wanted to try the pain meds. I gave it to him, stroked his head as he thrashed at his useless leg. Ten minutes to see how the meds worked then we were going.

When I went back he was silent. Unmoving.

I yelled for the Principal.

"I think he's dead." My voice was shaky. It was not my voice.

He leaned over The Cat. He rested his head on his chest. The Principal even blew air into his mouth. I hadn't realized yet but I was sobbing, pacing, waiting for the Principal to lift The Cat into the carrier and rush out to the hospital.

Instead, he turned back to me shaking his head and opening his arms to embrace me. He had to be wrong! The Cat couldn't be killed. I was going to fix this, make him better! But when I knelt down in front of Jeter, I couldn't even touch him. Once I spoke, it became a chant "I'm so sorry.." I rocked back and forth.

The Principal tried to get me to sit up so he could hold me, give comfort. "Are you sure?" My hope lit up again. I mean, The Cat didn't look dead, couldn't be dead.

He checked every time I asked "Are you sure." I raced to get a flash light so The Principal could check his eyes. Then my heart was ripped into eighty-four thousand pieces again and I would sob uncontrollably. I wanted to die. I didn't deserve to live. Normal, decent people take care of their cats. I allowed mine to mauled by my own fucking dogs.

The Principal gently laid Jeter in his kitty bed, the very first one I had gotten him at the senior community. He loved that bed. I followed the Principal into the spare room where he put on his shoes. I couldn't leave The Cat alone. I shouldn't have ever left him alone, that's why he's dead. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, but we're going to the vet anyway. Okay?"

"Do you think I killed him, giving him more pain meds?" I fell to my knees. My stomach knotted underneath my rib cage and suctioned itself to my heart. I had killed my own cat. Once I realized I was sobbing into the Principal's knee I moved to face the bed, but there was the quiet cat. I bit my lip hard.

There are so many things in this life I have lifted up and carried on my shoulders. Was it really so much to ask that my asshole cat be unscathed? I couldn't breath. This can't be happening.

We got in the car, drove halfway to the vet, realized neither of us brought a wallet and had to go back. Which was a good thing, I needed tissues. Snot was running like a river. My eyes refused to stop leaking, my heart was shredding through my back and my mind.. My mind was treading the darkest waters it had in years. I had to bite my lip to keep from asking "Are you sure...

I just stared down at Jeter in his kitty bed. Curled up with his head turned and one paw resting on the edge, just the way he loved to sleep. I stroked his body trying to convey all the love I would have shown him over the next 20 years if he would only stay... I tried to hold his paw up to my face, but he was no longer as pliant as he once was. I thought it was impossible, but my heart shattered even more.

The vet took him, and he was cremated. When she asked me how old the Cat I cried even harder. Not even four years old...

It would have cost double to get the ashes. I already have one dead man's ashes in my house... it just would be too strange. I walked briskly out of the office, to the car, where I immediately dissolved into gut wrenching pain again. I left him alone, forever. It wasn't right. I was wrong. Were they sure... What if they're wrong..

We drove home in silence. I swore this pain was never going to leave my body. My soul hurt. I had to tell my family what I had done. They'd tell me it wasn't my fault. I would have to pretend I understood that. I cried so much that my eyes ached. When I lay down, water rained from my cheeks. It would be better in the morning, right?

I woke up sobbing. One look in the mirror and I saw eggs had been laid beneath my eyes. They were swollen nearly shut and my nose was raw. The Principal didn't drive all the way from New Mexico to see this. I was ruining everything already, but I couldn't seem to care. That long legged cat from hell broke my heart. I should have protected him. I shoved on some sunglasses and continued to cry.

Ice packs didn't help because the tears wouldn't cease. Laughter only made me feel worse, I had no right to laugh when that Cat was killed in my very home. The worst part was the dogs. Angus continued to look for The Cat and Cutter was only mildly put off by his absence. I wanted both of them gone. The Principal would soon have a permanent home and could take them.

All weekend I was a walking zombie. The Principal was an amazing support system. Smiling, making jokes, dancing in his little elvish way. He was sweet and understanding. He made me food. Looked after the dogs so I wouldn't be forced to. Took all of the Cat's effects, food, meds, kitty litter, to a shelter. I can't imagine what he thought of me crying and carrying on the way I did. But I didn't care. The Cat was dead. Nothing else matters.

Everyone says I'll get over it. It has been a few weeks and I no longer cry constantly. I can look at the top of the refrigerator without sobbing. I can look at the dogs, play with them. But I am not over it. Jeter was my cat. My constant. And now he no longer exists.

This may seem like a long post, but it was too brief a life. I mean he didn't even get to break all of my plates yet... I never got to take him swimming or to dress him up as a ballerina...

Playing House

The Principal moved some stuff in to my place during his transition to far, far away. I helped a little. I didn't have a panic attack when I saw my garage fill up. I didn't freak out when he claimed a spare bedroom to put some things in. No fear was shown. Not even a drop.

We spent the next two weekends like an old married couple. Grocery shopping, making sure he had enough jeans for work, watching movies, Home Depot, yard work, cooking at home, folding laundry. I told Julie about it. She snorted and asked if I'd ever seen "Old School." My reply was that we'd had a nice little Saturday, missed out on going to Bed, Bath & Beyond and she could shut the hell up.

As much as I enjoyed having him in my house and spending time together... The old me was itching for my space. I would miss him soon after he left but leading up to his departure I had to force my hands to stop rubbing together like Mr. Burns. My solitude is ingrained and I miss it as if it were a person when its gone. Kind of like I'm cheating on the Principal wanting my alone time and vice versa.

The best part, that first weekend when he was getting ready to leave he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me. He told me he loved me and we would make things work. It felt good to have the reassurance even though that day my glass was half full. It was nice to know this was hard on him too.

Communication hit an all time high for us. There were more calls and texts and even an instance of Skype, which is so freaking weird I barely have words to describe it. My heart squeezed to be able to see him on the computer. My ego fell when I saw how I looked in the little window. Do I always make those awful faces? My eyes looked like they were trying to escape my face! Ugh. Fucking technology.