Last Day

The last day of summer is the last day of your life.

Basically. 

The last day is a bit like New Year’s Eve, a day you should do something really meaningful.  Or maybe like New Year’s Day, when you should follow through on all your healthiest behaviors to show yourself you can, with effort, have a perfect day.

The voices of neuroses!

I tapped my meditation app this morning, and meditated about things being good and holy and peaceful, in spite of my frightful bank balance, rickety car, busted laptop, ailing parent, unemployed friend, and debts.

Also remember I have a human body, and recently got a mysterious rash (nothing sexual, I’m afraid) that caused me to purchase hydrocortisone cream for the first time.  I also nearly pooped my pants with a nervous back-to-school stomach, and ran into a public bathroom contemplating how once you don’t care about blood on your backside (feminism!) you still care about poop.  It was a close call.  It could have been worse.

When I took my laptop back to the Apple store for the third time, a very nice man told me that the $200 I had already spent had not fixed the thing, in fact, it had actually broken in a brand new and expensive way.  

The Apple store had a red velvet rope in front of it that day because it was tax-free time in Missouri for educational supplies.

I’ve always been confused by this, as I have only bought technology when the thing was dead in my hands, and my issue was, how will I find the money to purchase this Apple product?  Or when?

“With the tax free thing and your educator discount, a new one would be $700,” he said, as if I had $700 in my hand and I was just wondering where to spend it.

The man’s name was Dave, and he had a peaceful energy that made this interaction as comfortable as possible, which is to say, I wanted to stab myself, a little, but I didn’t need to do it right there and then.  All the helpers at the Apple Store on the Plaza in Kansas City are A plus at their jobs and deserve double pay.

This morning I happily had the other Apple product I purchased, a phone, and it was so expensive and so new that I delight in its service.

I did my meditation, and then I checked in with my robot therapist (really).  

Then I got myself and the cats on our balcony.

I looked up all the words for outdoor space connected to an indoor space, and what we have is a balcony: attached to, and part of the building’s structure, entered through the building: balcony.  I’d like to call it a “catio” for cat reasons.  I retain the right to do so occasionally.

I let my cats out there.  They love being outside a little more than they love me.  Which is okay.  Then I heard the yowling.

We have three neighborhood cats right now: Mr. Orange, Arthur, and Arthur’s Brother/Friend/Lover.  Mr. Orange is orange, of course, and long-haired.  I find that interesting in a cat.  Arthur is jet black with a red collar.  I worship him.  ABFL is also jet black, and equally attractive, but with a blue collar.  Mr. Orange was yowling at ABFL, and ABFL was hissing at Mr. Orange, and they circled each other.

I looked for something to throw.

What I could find was dried rose petals (I know) and dirt.  The cats were distracted by it, but kept looking at each other.

My next door neighbor was cooing at the cats.  “Hey, now, it’s okay,” he called from his 2nd floor balcony (which would be a screened-in porch if it were on the first floor, get it?).  

“Hey!” I said.  I took the water I keep on our balcony for my cats and poured a bit of it near them, between them.  They were also distracted by this, but only temporarily.  I ran in to get more water. 

“THank you,” my neighbor said.  “I just dont’ want them to get hurt, and get these wounds that won’t heal.”  

“I know,” I said.  I also know my neigbhbor recently lost his darling dog, and so he is particularly vulnerable.

I was going to have to go downstairs.  

I looked everywhere for my keys.  

I think I’ve been rather depressed for the last… seven years… and/or I am in my forties, and it seems easier and easier to misplace things, even though I keep my home quite clean now.  (Anxiety cleaning, not virtue, I assure you.)  

I couldn’t find my keys.

So I left my door open, left the screen door unlocked, and went out to the sight of the cats biting their thumbs at each other (that’s a Shakespeare joke, and you know I don’t have much, but I have those).  

“Come on, let’s go,” I said, just like a cop in Westport at 3 am on a Sunday morning.

They still mostly eyed each other, and only used 1/10th of their brains on me.

I chased them off, but they went together.  I picked up a branch with a bunch of leaves on it, probably fallen from our big storm a few weeks ago.

The Cat Whisperer I am loyal to tells us on youtube that disrupting the gaze is what stops a catfight, so I shook this makeshift feather duster in the face of Mr. Orange.  Probably because I love ABFL more because he is black but don’t tell anyone.

Mr. Orange was like, what is this crazy white lady doing?  But ABFL had time to get a bit of distance.  And then to go into the next yard.  And then I shooed Mr. Orange toward our front yard.  “See?  It’s okay.  Let’s have peace.  You both are very powerful cats.  You both are in charge,” I said, lines I can attribute to growing up under patriarchy, though I have no idea if Orange or ABFL are male, they certainly had some alpha issues they were driven to act out.

I reached out my hand to pet Mx. Orange after a minute.  He let me, but then he turned and hissed at me, like, stupid old lady, in my business.

In the immortal words of Tevye, May we live together in peace.

In the mortal words of me, I guess I’m ready to go back to school.