The Cat Whisperer

Well, you wouldn't believe this, but I have a secret talent: I speak Meow.  I understand everything my cat Annie says, which is a lot.  So I thought I would take this opportunity to fill you in on her big adventure down south.  Here's how the conversation went: 

Me (M): Hi Annie

Annie (A):  Meow (translation: hello)

M: Do you miss San Francisco?

A: Well I really liked our apartment there.  I loved to look out the window, especially on Sunday mornings when there was a Farmer's market and tons of kids and dogs and such to watch.   And I miss scratching the yellow reading chair.  I know you paid a lot of money for it and it used to make you mad, but it felt really good to dig my claws in real deep and pull out as hard as I could.  I loved to watch the yellow threads fray and sometimes a little stuffing would come out too.  That made me feel good, like I was really strong and brave.

M: How was the 8 hour car ride to Los Angeles?

A: At first I really didn't like it.  I had only ever been in a car a couple

times before and for not very long at all.  But once I found the perfect spot to settle in, I was fine.  I would have been happier if I could have sat by your feet in between the gas and the brake pedals, but you were not very understanding about that and made me move.  I thought that was a little rude considering the stress I was under, but you kept talking about safety.  Whatever.

M: Can you tell me about the arrival home and meeting mom's cat Bear for the first time?

A: Yeah, I was scared at first.  Bear is big and black and she likes to stare at me with those yellow eyes.  It's kinda creepy.  But once I realized that she really just wants to be my friend and she's pretending not to like me since she's old and crotchety, it was easier.  When I got the nerve to go upstairs for the first time, I was mesmerized.  There are so many chairs to sit on and balconies to go out on, it was unlike anything I'd ever seen.  Bear doesn't like it when I go in mom's room, but I do it anyway.  I don't really care what she says because sticks and stones may break my bones, but meows will never hurt me.  And also, I'm rubber and she's glue, so what she meows bounces off me and sticks to her.  So there!

M: Ok, ok, now settle down.  There's no reason to get upset.  

A: Meow, meow (translation: I'm hungry.  Feed me.)

M: What's your favorite part about being in Southern California?

A: I get to go outside.  I wasn't allowed to go outside in San Francisco, but here I can go outside as much as I want.  I like to watch the bugs, chew on the plants, smell the rocks and trees and lots of other stuff too.  There is this really mean neighbor cat who tries to come into our backyard, so I also have to tell her who's boss.  Sometimes she meows really low to try to intimidate me, but I'm not scared of her.  I just hold my ground and meow back until she goes away.  At first, you, mom and Jerry thought there were babies crying in the backyard, but it was just me being tough.  Did I mention that I'm really brave?

M: Well it sounds like you're adjusting to your new life quite nicely.  Is there anything else you want to tell the readers?

A: Yes... just that I'm getting ready to write an autobiography called "A Cat's Life: The Trials and Tribulations of Living with Humans" and I encourage them to look for it on Amazon.com in the future.  I'm also trying to break into modeling.  I'd love to do a spread in Cat Fancy, so if anyone knows any editors there, please put in a good meow for me. Purrs of encouragement, catnip or cans of Friskies (I only eat the seafood flavors) can be sent to me here in Redondo Beach.  Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meoooow. (translation: I'm still hungry.  Is it time to eat yet?  Oh, and goodbye).

Liminality

We hit the road at 10:38 a.m. yesterday morning. Me, my mom, my cat Annie and the last vestiges of my belongings packed tightly into the '94 Camry. By my mother's request, we took the more scenic route 101. We saw trees, the ocean, 8 In-n-Out Burgers, 7 Starbucks and a whole lot of Santa Barbara traffic. We pulled into the driveway of 1631 Carlson Lane at 7:24 p.m. Let's just say it was a long drive. But we made it, accident free in more ways than one (think mechanical breakdowns, traffic accidents and bowel movements of a certain feline creature).

So a new chapter has begun, the chapter of life back home for a month or so while I put the finishing touches on my travel plans and visit some old friends. It's not so much of a chapter as it is an interlude. If I think back to my college days studying anthropology, I may even call it a period of liminality. Liminality is an idea that people go through transitions in their life and the period in between those phases is neither one nor the other. In our society, liminality occurs somewhere between high school and college. It's the time when you're neither a child nor an adult. You've turned 18, but still live at home for the summer. You're about to move out of your parent's house, but still need them to pay your bills. You are betwixt and between life stages.

I have met another liminal moment. I have given up my cute apartment in the city for a room in my mother's house. My fabulously frivolous life in San Francisco has been temporarily replaced by a thrifty existence back home. It's sort of a reverse Rite of Passage. I'm returning, for a bit, to a way of life that is strikingly similar to my teenage summers. Only this time, there is no curfew, no summer reading list, no minimum wage job at the local frozen yogurt shop. I'm transitioning from the responsibility of adulthood to the carefree life of a teenager.

And as I've grown older and hopefully a tinge wiser, I'm realizing that transitions bring the unexpected. When I put myself in situations where I don't have the outcome fully mapped, new and exciting experiences unfold. I open myself up to possibilities not yet considered and the spectacular happens. Somewhere between employment and funemployment, I'm rediscovering my life and my dreams. It's a little cheesy, I realize, but this period of liminality is a time to learn and grow. To not be tied down by obligations and responsibilities. To take life as it comes and not plan every waking moment, so as to be open to the incredible when it crosses your path.

It's a time to choose the scenic route. Even if it means the cat may piss on the upholstery.