To Purr or Not to Purr...

My cat no longer wishes to be alive. As you might be able to tell from this expression:



And I've tried for oh so many hours to figure out why on earth she thinks her life is so wholly unimportant to herself. But, alas, I can't understand it. She has a lovely home with plenty of soft things to curl up on, i.e. my laundry that I haven't put away since I did it back in 1754. There are ample opportunities throughout the day to find a patch of sunlight to curl up and go to sleep in. I haven't vacuumed in a sweet forever so I'm sure there are leftovers of some sort of delicious human food product dusting the carpet in various places. Aaaand, I hug her lots of times. In fact, every day when I get home from work, I swoop her up, hold her like a baby, and tell her how much I love her, Tickle Marie Pruitt, you cute, furry thing. So, I'm baffled.

But please do not mistake the issue here. She's been doing several things lately which have me in the clear understanding that we are thisclose to having to wrap her wittle paws in bandages. You know, because she's tried to slit her wrists with her pointy cat teeth.

Here's what happened: Ever since we moved into the apartment, Tickle has been enamored with the balcony area. Every time I go out there, she races right up next to me so she can enjoy the outdoor weather and the sunshine and the birds! look! those birds that make me do weird things with my mouth and eyes! Watch me catch one and eat it and then vomit it up to you as a present! So, I was understandably nervous at first because, hello, I live on the third floor and that's a mighty far fall for a little kitty. But she's always been very good at not testing her limits in that area, so I quickly let that worry subside. Mistake.

My roomate, Carrie, and I were hanging out visiting late one night and I noticed Tickle wasn't around. So, I looked for her and didn't find her but just assumed she'd climbed up on my bookshelf as she sometimes does. Naturally, I continued with the conversation. But then I nervously started to worry that something might be wrong, so I went out on the balcony to pray. Okay, I didn't go out there to pray, but I also didn't want to admit to myself that her little body could have been on that balcony at one moment and then hurling through the air on it's way down to earth the next. But, I had to know for sure.

So, I went out there and called her name and looked over the edge and didn't see her. But I called her name again and this time I heard a very low, very terrified meow. I almost leapt over the balcony at that moment, but I was able to rationalize that I would have died if I were to do that, so I called to Carrie to KEEP AN EYE ON TICKLE! SHE'S FALLEN! OH MY SWEET LORD SHE'S HURT AND DYING! CARRIE!. All of this was frantically shouted as I flew through my living room, out the door, and down the stairs to my stranded feline below. I ran out onto the grass calling her name and she pranced right over to me and I swooped her up and she looked at me all 'what was that all about' and I kissed her and spanked her furry bottom for taking ten years off my life. But she's fine, gang. She's completely and totally fine. And I'm also considering enrolling her in stunt school. Here's her latest trick:



As if the flying leap off the balcony wasn't enough, Tickle attempted suicide once again a couple of nights ago. I was in my study mode...pajamas, candles, pillows, school books...all strewn about me like collegiate confetti. So, I wasn't really focused or aware of my surroundings. As I was hovering over my Shakespeare book reading Twelfth Night (out loud in an English accent) I began to smell something burning. I looked up and over at my nightstand where I saw Tickle staring at me with a 'dude, I just woke up' expression. What she didn't realize was that her fur was hanging over my candle and therefore on fire. She had no clue. I pushed her off of my nightstand with the same ferocity I exhibited in running down my stairs after she fell off the balcony and she looked at me as if I had just stabbed her in the eye with the toe nail of a mouse I've been thinking of trading her in for. Again, I picked her up to examine her body and, again, she was just fine.

Needless to say, I've had to keep a pretty close eye on her lately. Keep her in your thoughts and prayers. I sure do wish she wanted to live. It's so much fun sometimes.

In a completely unrelated note - on that particular day of studying, I decided to finish off my night by reading my US Weekly (mindless entertainment for the mindfully aware). I was reading an article that started off with the word "chisled" and I swear to high heaven I sat there for a good 30 seconds trying to figure out the pronunciation of that word. "CHIS-lud" "Shiz-LED" When I finally realized that it was a basic word that probably a four year old iguana could pronounce, I decided to turned off my light and go to sleep, where I was fairly sure I couldn't do any more harm.