The cat

I owe the cat a blog post. I suppose it's the least I can do, since I mentally willed him to die. (Oops....I never knew my will was so strong because it seems to disappear completely any time a pan of brownies comes out of the oven.)

Poor Morris. We were star-crossed. He was simply destined NOT to be loved by me.

For one thing, he was adopted into the family about a decade too late. My feline-loving days of airbrushed kitten T-shirts, cutesy cat posters, and ASPCA membership were long over by the time I got to college. Perhaps if he'd been the first cat, Tiffy, who died of feline leukemia, or the second cat, Tigger, who disappeared just when I needed him most (when we moved to Flagstaff smack dab in the middle of my junior high experience), or even the third cat, Zeke, who got done in by an SUV in front of Greenbrook Elementary School, things could have worked out between us. But by the time Daniel and my mom rescued Morris from the shelter, I was SO OVER cats. They didn't stick around, so why bother?

But even more significant, I had developed a cat allergy: itchy eyes, restricted airways, uncontrollable sneezes. When I went to an allergist for testing, my reaction to cats was practically off the charts. Any tiny remaining piece of affection for the feline set was squelched by sneezes and sinus headaches.

(It's kind of ironic, really. When I was a child, I was so in love with cats and concerned with their well-being that my first real research paper was a very serious endeavor entitled "Cat Diseases." And how does the Universe reward me? With a serious cat allergy! Although, I suppose I could look at it as the Universe SAVING me from a future as The Weird Cat Lady, since I was clearly going down that path. Thank you, Universe, from the bottom of my heart.)

So the thing about the itchy eyes and the restricted airways was that they turned cats into my enemies. More specifically, the CAT FUR became my primary nemesis. Now, I know that cat allergies are caused by the cat's saliva and dander--but I can't see that stuff. What I can see is CAT FUR. Where there is cat fur, there was a cat, and I knew my eyes would start itching really soon. So, during the years that Morris was new to our family, I slowly developed an over-the-top, extreme, irrational-but-serious PHOBIA of cat fur. Soon this fear morphed into HATRED. I hated cat fur--in fact, I hated ALL animal hair. (Who was I to persecute the cat alone? I am no respecter of hair.) For proof, you need only ask my family, and they can tell you a million stories about Alisa totally FREAKING OUT about one teensy tiny harmless little animal hair getting stuck to her pants. (Another reason we are freezing our buns off this winter is that I carefully left all of our fleece in storage in an attempt to preempt some of these freak-outs here at my parents' house, as fleece and animal hair are not a good combination. I did, however, bring one beloved black fleece jacket--THAT I GUARD WITH MY LIFE lest it be FOREVER RUINED by a stray dog or cat hair.)

My parents' house is full of animal hair, plain and simple. It's everywhere. (This is not a disputed fact, so no accusations of libel are necessary.) No matter how much you sweep, vacuum, swiffer, dust, or employ the Fur Fighter, there are legions of short, straight, blond hairs lurking about EVERYWHERE. (Yes, in many ways this house is a personal hell. Or, alternately, I could view it as a healthy dose of exposure therapy. Either way, I live in a state of perpetual panic.) Because the offending hair is fine, straight, and short, I naturally blamed it on Morris, who has fine, straight, and short tabby hair. Thus, poor Morris never had a chance with me.

Which is too bad. Because he was really a pretty nice cat. He was genuinely more social and companionable than most cats. He'd broken his leg as a kitten, so he never learned that he could jump up high onto counters and such (which can be a major pain with cats). He had a funny, quirky personality, an attractive face, and an obsession with food (to which we could all relate). He was also surprisingly patient and gentle with my children, from the time David was an overly-exuberant toddler. He's arguably the best cat we've ever had, and he certainly lasted longer than the rest.

So it's too bad I had formed a PHOBIA of his fur. Because I HATED him for the fur all over the house.

HATE.

But a couple of years ago things started looking up for Morris and me. The first thing to work in Morris's favor is pregnancy. (Mine, not the cat's--though he always looked pregnant because of that obsession with food.) So, carrying and birthing two children did some crummy stuff to my body, which I'd rather not talk about now (or ever), but one thing that worked in my favor (and Morris's) is the positive effect on my allergies. Except for that crazy horse allergy, all of my allergies have improved remarkably. Many--like the cat allergy--are almost completely gone!

The other thing that worked in Morris's favor was this revelation: That straight, fine, short hair all over the house...belongs to Roderick the Dog. Whoops! So for years I'd been blaming the cat when the real culprit was the DOG! Oh no! I did feel a little bad about my mistake. All the nasty looks and negative energy I sent his way...and he didn't even deserve it. In fact, he hardly sheds at all!

(This discovery also left me in a rather awkward position. Normally I would simply transfer all my contempt to the dog. But it's IMPOSSIBLE to hate Roderick. He is WONDERFUL dog! That says a lot coming from me. Roderick came from here, and now he works here. How can you not love a dog like that? He is calm, steady, sweet, obedient, and loving. His ONLY weakness is the MASSIVE amount of hair he sheds. MASSIVE AMOUNTS!!! It's his one flaw, for which I suppose we should be thankful--because without it, he would be so perfect that he would be taken up into the Heavens to dwell with God. The shedding keeps him mortal.)

When I moved in with my parents last fall, I fully intended to be kind to Morris. I no longer had to be doped up on allergy meds in his presence, and I no longer blamed him for the hair stuck to my yoga pants. He was a good cat. My heart was soft...

...but not soft enough.

There's only so much a person can handle.

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Since this post has become so long, I think I will publish what I have. You will have to wait to read about

THE POOP.

(Excited?)