Day 89: Halley – A cat with an attitude

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 89: Halley – A cat with an attitude

Many of you might remember Halley, the kitten we adopted some six weeks ago. Yesterday we took her to the vet for her 3^rd and final vaccination.

Getting her in the cat carrier was no problem. In the past we had to push and shove our cats in there, but not Halley, she all but walked into the carrier herself.

Downstairs in the lobby of our condo building, she sat by the grill of the cage carefully watching everything that was going on. People were coming in, going out, and coming in and out of the elevators. When three kids made an appearance and the boy commented “Hey look, a cat!” the look on Halley’s face was priceless. Her expression resembled the statement … ‘Technically, I’m a kitten, Einstein.’

In the cab on the way to the vet, she did what so many cats do in a car … she started to sing. Halley is by no means competition for Celine Dion, but she definitely has a cute voice. At home, we rarely hear a peep out of her (except at meal time) but now in the car, she let herself be heard.

At the vet’s office, I positioned her carrier in such a way that she could see and be seen and predictably she got quite a bit of attention. It didn’t take long for one of the medical assistants to approach her and croon “Oh what a cute kitty.” Halley turned on the charm with a blink of her beautiful brown eyes and if she’d be able to speak, I’m sure she would have said ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Unfortunately, she also received some unwanted attention, that of a big golden retriever. This particular dog, called Sophie, wanted to make friends with Halley, but she was having none of it. When Sophie came up to her carrier, Halley raised herself to her full eight inches, flattened her ears, narrowed her eyes and let out an almighty hiss. (I am a kitty, hear me roar!)

Sophie immediately took a step back, cocked her head to one side with a look in her eyes that said ‘What’d you do that for?’

After Sophie had been dragged away by her owner (apparently Sophie loves cats) another dog of an unspecified breed was gonna try his luck. He didn’t even make it as far as Halley’s cage. Still standing proud, she puffed out her chest and gave the dog the dead stare, accompanied by a look that unmistakably conveyed ‘What’d you looking at?’

I think it’s safe to say that Halley has an attitude. She had never seen a dog before, but if you think she was afraid, think again. Even though both dogs who showed an interest in her could have swallowed her whole, she stood her ground and send the clear message … don’t mess with me.

Once with the doctor, she turned on the charm again and was as good as gold. As soon as she was out of her cage, she paraded around, head budded the doctor, and even purred (and believe me she’s got quite an engine).

When the time came to get her shots, I feared that she might claw or hiss at the vet, but she didn’t even blink. The whole thing was over within seconds without any discomfort on Halley’s part.

Back home, for being such a brave girl, she got her favorite food (mackerel & grilled skipjack) followed by some treats for dessert. Now the little mite is resting comfortably.

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Are we our own worst enemy?

I’m in a slump. Those of you who know me know that I took up coloring in December of last year. Alex, a long time friend drew my attention to this hobby as a way of relaxation and a cure for insomnia.

Relaxation and a cure for insomnia? … that’s all she had to say, I had to try this as I’m frequently stressed and toss and turn for hours in bed.

I got myself a book and some pens and got started. And I found that Alex was right, almost immediately I felt a lot calmer, slept better and found tremendous joy in coloring.

Ten months down the line all that has changed.

Theodore Roosevelt said “Comparison if the thief of joy” and I found this to be quite true. Since starting the coloring hobby I joined three coloring groups on Facebook and when I compare my work to some of the colorings I see I get depressed. Others’ work is so much better than mine.

Some say that coloring is not a competition, and I know that, but I’ve always expected the best of myself. I also know that some colorists are professionally trained and my work can’t be as good as theirs, but I want at least to see an improvement in my colorings.

Alex will shake her head over this and say that I should just color for my own enjoyment, but that’s just it, I don’t find joy in coloring anymore, only frustration.

Someone in the group mentioned that if we could be half as considerate of ourselves as we are of others, we would be happier. And this is true, why do we have to be so hard on ourselves?

This reminded me of what a Canadian ten-pin bowling coach ones said to me … “When we miss a spare we berate ourselves with “How could you miss that!” … “How could you be so stupid!” … and more of such critical words. When a teammate missed a spare we say … “Oh don’t worry about it, you’ll get next time.”

Are we our own worst enemy? 

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Is it really that simple

Voltaire once said, “I have chosen to be happy because it’s good for my health.” I wonder for how long he managed to keep up that resolution. Were things different in his lifetime? If Voltaire had lived today rather than in the 1700s would he perhaps also occasionally have lost his cool?

I think it’s strange, to begin with, choosing to be happy. Is there anyone who chooses to be unhappy? I imagine that most people get out of bed in the morning resolving to look, feel and do their best.

But no sooner does the day get started and life starts throwing stones at this resolve. There’s no hot water in the shower, a button is missing from a favorite shirt, the milk has gone sour … your good mood is being undermined and you haven’t even left the house.

On the road, there are more experiences to brush you up the wrong way: the highway is a parking lot, cars don’t indicate to turn left or right, or indicate for an ‘eventual turn’, or a car slides into your parking spot.

As the day progresses you get served more aggravation, from superiors, colleagues, and machinery. How are you doing with that “I have chosen to be happy because it’s good for my health” resolution?

I don’t have a car, so I don’t have to deal with highways and parking spaces, as a TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) user, I take the train, bus or streetcar. Not that that is without aggravation.

For instance …

Yesterday I was waiting in the Lawrence East station when I saw a youngster come out of the parole office across the street, walk up to the station and swan through the revolving barrier without paying.

This is the second time I’ve seen this happening. The first time an ex-inmate walked up to the ticket office and said that he’d come to see his parole officer but didn’t have any money for the train for the return journey. The TTC staff member asked him how he’d got to the parole office in the first place. “The same way,” he said. “They just let me through.” The staff member waved that he could proceed, without paying.

While that guy at least had the decency to ask if he could go through, the youngster I saw yesterday afternoon had no such manners. Without the slightest hesitation, he just walked in, indicating that this wasn’t the first time he was allowed on the train without paying.

Now that ticks me off. On average two million people take the TTC each day. The majority uses this form of transportation to get to and from work, but there are others who use the train for different reasons. Some are on their way to an interview, others have to go see a doctor, dentist or other medical professional. Others still have appointments at a hospital for life-saving treatment. All of these people, whether they are young or old, rich or poor, employed or unemployed, have to pay. But ex-inmates do not?!

If I was the kind of person to make resolutions, my “I have chosen to be happy because it’s good for my health” decision would go right out the window. I do not choose to be unhappy, nobody does, but life with all its complications and injustices just makes my blood boil.

What was that Mr. Voltaire …

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