Have you ever noticed how weird it is to type on some laptops? I'm using my dad's Acer laptop, and it feels like my fingers have two left feet. I work on a Dell, and I use a Mac as my personal computer, so I am familiar with both Mac and PC's, but this thing is demented. The shift key is not within my normal range, and I am finding this awkward. This sentence originally had about 72 spelling mistakes in it as well, thanks to this ridiculous keyboard. This also might explain why 92% of the things my parents write on Facebook are either all in upper case, all in lower case, or an unexpected combination of the aforementioned.
So maybe you will appreciate the EFFORT this takes in typing. You're welcome, nameless, faceless non-commenting strangers.
I've been staying at my parents house for a week now, catsitting and giving my husband the chance to bach it up for a couple weeks. Which so far, appears to mean a lot of naps, checking the "I Fucking Love Science" Facebook page, drinking beer with his friends, and consuming Popsicles whose wrappers and sticks never quite make it to the garbage (but the counter and floor is fine). I made the mistake of going home to pick up something and stumbled across our normally tidy abode looking like something out of Animal House. James admitted that one day without me there, the place was getting messy. No fucking duh, lover. But I'm happy he noticed. SWEET SWEET VALIDATION!
I would love to say something like "I'm going on strike! You pick up after yourself, mister!", but I have approximately zero legs to stand on because I make him deal with the strata stuff. In fact, due to our small strata (4 units), James had to unwillingly become strata president because we have actually been in our building the longest now. I have PTSD from strata meetings past, and basically refused to go to another one after the "two middle aged ladies drunk on cheap wine yell at each other about de-mossing the roof" incident of 2010. AWKWARD.
So you see, marriage is about give and take. And taking small catsitting breaks to recognize that while you DO both love a bed to yourself for a week or two or not having to use an actual garbage can for your waste, you're a valued member of a two person love team and it takes both of you to make the relationship continue to move forward. Go team!
And I learned that he might even be right about his dislike for cats. In addition to the fact that cats are cold hearted killahs (though this catsitting kill count is zero....but it's nearly spring and shit's gonna get real for hummingbirds and rabbits son), they are also MORE irritating than my irritating small dog. Yes, my small dog barks sometimes, makes me chase her when trying to leash her up for a walk, and I have had to become an expert on spot cleaning, but but but but SHE DOESN'T WALK ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER CONSTANTLY. It's making me crazy. And also, make up your damn minds about being inside or outside! NON STOP in and out and in and out and in and out. And worst of all.....they don't cuddle. However, they'll definitely come pat you on the face if you don't wake up early enough.
I actually really like cats. James is not keen on them AT ALL and these cats, though awesome in so many ways, also give him constant ammunition for reasons as to why he dislikes cats. Cats are assholes, but so is my dog. I love my animals full of personality, stubborn and ill trained.
We always had cats growing up. In the backyard of this house I grew up in are the graves of many house cats my family had over the years. Many of them had the misfortune of being run over (or partially run over, which still traumatizes me because the cat went to the vet alive and came home in a shoebox), one ran away, and one we had to have euthanized. There is also the grave of Harley, the cantankerous Jack Russell, our one and only family dog. He was hilarious and so so mean. He had a back problem from a young age which made him weird and vicious. All of us had been bitten by Harley at some point. He was a crusty old thing but we loved him. I was devastated by his death at 16, but he had been sick and it was time for him to go. And a few months later, the cats moved in and here we are. With noticeably less shedding.
Being here on my own has been kind of awesome. I feel like I'm dating my husband again. A few times a year, I move in here for a couple weeks to catsit and it gives us the opportunity to spend quality time together, not just "living together" time. He picks me up, or he comes for dinner, we spend some time together....and then we get our own beds, which is dope. AND, it's clearly recognized how much work I do around the house because everything falls apart when I'm not there (and trust me, I was JUST there 5 minutes ago, and the state of the house is....embarrassing. For him.)
In conclusion, catsitting = cheap couples therapy.