Total ellipsis of the heart
Before giving birth to this blog, I did a fair amount of hemming and hawing, similar to the mental gymnastics a woman on the fence about motherhood might put herself through when deciding whether or not to go off the pill: Will the hot pharmacist with the nose ring who fills my prescription notice I’ve stopped coming? Will my complexion suffer? Am I ready to temporarily put my crack addiction on hold? But once I made my final decision, it was full-steam ahead until I stumbled upon an unexpected impasse.
This blog already exists. Sort of.
It seems my cyber nemesis, B.RAND.ON, had the same epiphany I did – six years earlier. But then, like a child who won a goldfish at the county fair and promised on his grandmother’s life to cherish little Golda Meir and clean her bowl, B.RAND.ON lost interest after the first day and never was heard from again.
And those four comments? All spam, mostly porn. And not even good porn, because I looked. Very carefully. For research purposes.
But like Golda, there’s something downright fishy about the first incarnation of “Alone with Cats.” The writer seems to be implying that it’s a bad thing. His use of a comma – “die alone, with cats” – suggests hostility or even, dare I say, an aversion to felines. And where are the cutesy pet photos? And anthropomorphic biographies? Where are they, B.RAND.ON??? In the same way that I can spot a lesbian based solely on her shoes, or how I intuitively know that hipsters who wear skinny jeans cry themselves to sleep at night, I can come to only one conclusion here thanks to my finely tuned catdar: B.RAND.ON doesn’t have cats. Oh yeah, I said it.
With “Alone … with cats,” the ellipsis says it all. We single cat moms and dads may get lonely, even despondent, but we have an awareness that we are never fundamentally alone. As my pal Dennis so poignantly said the other day, “Being alone with cats sounds divine sometimes.” It is, Dennis. It is.
What really gives B.RAND.ON away as a fraud is his certainty that he will expire before his cats (which I’ve already established he doesn’t have). No self-respecting cat lady or gentleman would ever dream of hoping to outlive his or her animals. In fact, when I die, it’s gonna get all Leona Helmsley up in here. Minus the multibillion-dollar fortune left to charitable canine causes. And instead of a $12 million trust fund for my darlings, it’ll be more like hundreds. And I probably won’t require that their remains be housed next to mine in a mausoleum. But you get the idea. After I depart this vale of tears, Teva and Isabel will be my beneficiaries and continue to live the opulent lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed for the remainder of their nine lives. Ultimately, that’s what all parents want – to give better opportunities to our children, human or otherwise. It’d be easier to one-up my mom and dad if I’d been raised in slums and squalor, or if the movie of my life were based on the novel “Push” by Sapphire. But, you know, the girls and I are taking things one day at a time, putting one paw in front of the other (in front of the other, in front of the other) and staying unrealistically optimistic that either a book deal or wealthy benefactor will materialize. That would totally make my parents and B.RAND.ON eat my blust.*
* Blust is a combination of blog and dust.**
** In the same way that catdar is a new twist on the ever-popular gaydar or Jewdar (I have both).***
*** Maybe my book deal should be for a dictionary.