Lately my sleep has been interrupted often, not sure what's up with that. I would love to be able to sleep 5-6 hours at a time, but my body has other ideas of merely cat-napping. Meow. Maybe I am really just a cat who thinks I am human. Isn't that how cats think?
Mermaid? Maybe not. I think I am really just a cat. Meow.
For lack of fur, I've learned to change clothes several times a day, in itself frustrating. In the mornings I am dressed for a blizzard, to ward off the winds and cold temps. By mid afternoon, I'm dressing for a cool summery day. It seems crazy to be wearing socks, boots, leggings, pants, sweaters, coats in the morning, then sandals and a sundress after lunch.
All this clothing-changing statically overcharges my hair some days . Recently, it was so charged up that it was slowly flying around my head like I was possessed by the devil. Even worse, I hate those little static shocks when I ground onto something. They make me yelp so loud, the dog was giving me startled looks. You know... the kind that silently says "You're one crazy cat!"
Right when I figured out how to stay warm on just portable electric heat in my little old motorhome, the temps decided to go up. After a few 29F nights, we've been suddenly treated to a toasty 39F this morning. Daytime temps are slowly climbing back up from the 50's to the 70's. Thank goodness, because I really don't like being cooped up inside like a hibernating cave dweller. I've had a really hard time dealing with the outside frigid temps. I need to grow some thick winter fur for sure. Meow.
I mentioned before that I wear men's house slippers because my feet are short and wide with a high instep. Women's slippers tend to be so narrow, that I can't wear them without deforming my toes or foot or both. Awhile back I bought some men's slippers heavily discounted, so that when winter rolled around, my feet would be warm. I am so grateful to have these nice warm slippers, even if they are a tad masculine.
The first cold night, I dug out my screaming red super soft long sleep shirt to wear. Sadly, it has several holes in it. Is something eating my clothes or is it just old? You would be surprised how much cold air can sneak inside the holes. Brrr! Where do these holy clothes come from? Now that I think about it, this sleep shirt is at least 10+ years old. I used to wear it when I lived in the Caribbean on those nights when temperatures plummeted below 70F, making me shiver and shake. I guess things eventually wear out, being better suited for the garbage than the closet.
The next night I dug out my other night shirt. It used to be a bold purple, but now it's so faded, it only hints at pale lavender. It's become so threadbare as to be almost useless. I dare day you can see right through it. Even worse, it has stains on the front. It looks like I prefer eating only half my breakfast and wearing the other half.
Early one morning, while my shades were still drawn to keep out the frigid cold, someone stopped by, knocking on my door. The mail box is just over a half mile away. Eight of us share the box. So whoever, empties the box, gets to re-deliver the mail to the other recipients. They do things differently, out here in the boonies.
So I was startled, to hear the knocking and be caught in my unsightly threadbare night shirt. I needed my prescription glasses to peek out the window to see who was there. I didn't see my regular eyeglasses, but since my sunglasses are prescription and they were on the counter, I popped them on to look outside. Seeing it was the mail, I hollered "Be right there!" Then I grabbed the first thing at hand, which was a long trench coat. Two winters ago, on a very cold day, I bought a used olive green unisex double breasted trench coat from Goodwill. It drapes just below my knees and is oh so warm on a c-c-c-old day out. I bought this before I bought the jacket (I wrote about the other day.) The coat is too long to fit in my closet, so it lives on a hanger, on a decorative mermaid hook on the wall. I put on the trench coat, hastily buttoning it up, while answering the door. It completely hid the night shirt, perhaps looking like I was wearing nothing at all under the coat.
The caller gave me a very strange look, then handed over my mail. I thanked them profusely while they continued to stare at me, jaw agape.
I guess, now that I think back on it, maybe I did look just a tad unusual, standing there answering my door, wearing men's bedroom slippers, dressed in a long olive trench coat, donning dark sunglasses, with my lengthy static-charged hair slowly flying oddly above and around my head like Madusa.
It reminded me that I think somewhere at some time, I saw a Pink Panther cartoon with the big tall pink cat dressed the same way, imitaiting the little man that usually chases him around in a trench coat (only he didn't have long hair flitting about his head.)
Maybe I am really a cat. A very strange eccentric cat.
|My beloved cat.|
I miss him every day.
I so wish he would be FOUND.
I foolishly lost him when I flew to America in late 2009.
See Lost Lil Bear Cat