5.18.2009

The End of Evie Watch '09

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition—tonight is my last night with Evie! Soon my blog posts will return to their normal non-feline related awkward subject matter, I'll be able to sleep through the night and my neighbors won't show up at my door with pitchforks and torches chanting "kill the beast!" anymore.

Last night was probably the worst night yet, which doesn't make any sense as she's been here for almost a week and you'd think she'd be acclimated by now. Last night started promising enough—I invited Evie up on my bed to watch Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai on my laptop and have a little snuggle-fest. She politely accepted. Evie dozed off laying on the keyboard and I dozed off with both the laptop and Evie resting on my tummy. It was a warm and adorable Meg/Evie/Forest Whitaker sandwich.

I woke up at about midnight to find the movie over and Evie missing. I shut my laptop and looked around for the cat, who was curled up like a little shrimp at the foot of my bed, fast asleep. "THERE IS A GOD
AND HE IS JUST AND GENTLE!" I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

I woke again up about another hour later feeling like I had just walked through the Gobe Desert while downing a bag of cotton balls. I don't know what marathon I had been running in my dreams, but I was painfully thirsty. Even worse, there was a large bottle of Deer Park water sitting three feet away from me on my coffee table. Mocking me. It glistened in the night, all wet and delicious just waiting to be guzzled (that's what she said? Or he said? Either way, someone said it.) Obviously if I got out of bed for a drink, Evie would wake up and do her best impression of Christina Aguilera hitting a high C for the next five hours. I cursed myself for over-using and subsequently breaking my Gopher Grabber, and cursed Billy Mays for not being my live-in lover.

The way I saw it, I had three options:
1.) Get out of bed and get water, but deal with Evie howling at the moon all night.
2.) Call my sister and ask her to drive over and hand me the bottle of Deer Park water.
3.) Die in my bed from dehydration, but not wake up Evie.

I ruled out option #2 because I'm pretty sure Becca's boyfriend would kill me for waking him up too, and if I'm going to die, dehydration seems more exotic than murder.

I was down to #1 and #2. I was leaning towards option #2, so I decided to weigh the pros and cons.

Pros and Cons of dying in my bed from dehydration:
Pros
- Would not disturb Evie
- Neighbors would not wake up from Evie's scr-owing
- Wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow (or ever again for that matter)
- Wouldn't have to worry about my overdue cable bill
- Liked Friday's blog post, so I'd be going out there on a high note
- Need to do laundry and go grocery shopping anyway

Cons
- Am wearing madras booty-shorts and a wife beater that says "Wormser" in puff-paint.

In the end, I decided dying in a shirt with a Revenge of the Nerds reference on it and my ass hanging out was just not the way I wanted to go. I'd like to think I have slightly more class than that.

I strategically slithered out of my covers and slid down the side of my bed to the floor where I proceeded to army crawl to the coffee table. Once there, I chugged that fucking bottle of Deer Park water like it was going out of style. And I'll be damned if water has ever tasted better in the history of people drinking water while trying not to disturb their sleeping cat.

Getting back into bed was going to be harder than slithering out of it, as gravity was not on my side. I laid there on my back staring at the ceiling, panting like a fat kid who had just run the timed mile, water dripping down my neck, strategizing how I was going to pull this one off. In the end I decided my best plan of attack was to slowly integrate one part of my body after another onto the bed.

First I slowly sat down on the bed
, ever so gently resting my ass deeper and deeper down on the mattress. Once safely sitting, I swung my left leg over the sleeping beast and lay it down next to her. Then the right one; all the while Evie still in sleeping shrimp mode. Then I put my hands behind my back and slowly scooched my butt down the bed. Finally, I slowly lowered my back, then shoulders, then arms and lastly my head onto the bed. I had done it. I was back in bed. I stayed perfectly still for a few seconds, waiting for Evie to stir. She didn't. I let out a small sigh of relief. And then...I got cocky.

I shifted my weight to my right side and bent my knees slightly for added comfort. Why did I do that? I had made it so far. I didn't need to bend my knees; I was comfortable enough! And yet, bend my knees I did. Suddenly, time stood still. My heart stopped beating. I watched in horror as my right heel overshot it and kicked Evie square in the jaw.

Damnit.

Her head shot up and she gave me the universal look for, "Oh, really?"

I knew it was over. I could apologize and plead with her all I wanted; but she was up. And so the vicious cycle began:
Skulk away.
Photobucket

Scr-ow at the front door.
Photobucket

"O-Heyyyyyy!" like nothings wrong.
Photobucket

x5 hours.

...Just...one...more...night.

10 comments:

xfileluv said...

You can do it, Meg. Stick with it. Almost.....over.....

Cute area rugs, btw!

2 Birds, 1 Blog: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

Thanks! Evie agrees...as she keeps treating them as her scratching post.

Ushma said...

There's a light at the end of this long miserable scrow filled tunnel. You can do it. We all have faith.

Wiggs (The Beholder) said...

Good god, I haven't been reading blogs for the past couple of weeks because I was moving across the country, and now I have 12 2B1b posts to read and I'm DYING with happiness.

Love the Kill The Beast reference, by the way.

Emily said...

I thoroughly respect that you took the time out of your busy crying, "Why me?!" screaming-filled night to capture photograph evidence of the infamous "scr-owing". Truly. PS: Cute apartment. =-)

Anonymous said...

http://peteducation.com/article.cfm?c=1+2174&aid=3360

too little too late?

2 Birds, 1 Blog: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

Aw, thanks! <3

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