Hotel

Crazy Cat Lady

So, it is to say I think we are well overdue a crazy cat lady post. About a month ago a neighbour offered to take me out to the Cat Protection Society. We should all be aware she definitely meant Cat Protection Society. I had hoped to bring home a kitten. I was asked if I wanted a boy or a girl. Plus several other questions which I just wanted to smile serenely and say “Yes!” But alas, we were a bit early for kitten season, “I’m sorry, what?” I thought kitten season was all year round. Alas, if you also thought that you would be wrong also.

Kitten season falls between November and April. Which would be the warmer months here in Australia. My Oracle of Life just told me something completely different. But my friend, the mother to her four existing felines and one human and a foster Mum to boot and I were not so easily discouraged. We went to peruse the cats in the neat, clean and well set out cat hotel. We know it’s a cat shelter, but hotel sounds better, right? Stickers on each cat window indicated if the cat was ready for adoption, could live with other cats or dogs or what kind of environment would be ideal, family, no children, quiet older household, etc. You can open the door to the cat condo’s and meet the cats, using hand sanitiser in between obviously, and if you were really keen on a cat you could lift it out of its hidey hole and snuggle it or take it into a meeting room to spend a minute or two getting to know each other.

Anyone else thinking this is how dating could work better? I mean, don’t answer that.

We both met a few adorable cats. I met a beautiful guy called Ginge. He was a surrender cat. But he gave me head butts and I got him out and held him. I could have left that day with him and returned for a kitten a month later, if my friend didn’t point out to me, he had a medical note on his profile. We asked and he was prone to UTI’s. Poor bastard, my friend pointed out that would mean a special diet and expensive vet bills ongoing, I could not afford. So, alas we both departed empty handed. He was later adopted so that’s a happy outcome for Ginge.

Another couple were there and were also meeting and greeting the different cats. I suggested to them we should all just move in there, keep the staff to manage the litter trays and we could just spend all day and night with all the cats.

I don’t know if it’s obvious or not? I only have one cat, singular, however I practice being a multi-cat household often – at least in mentality, if not in reality.

A friend has five and I often point in her direction when meeting other people who start the cat conversation and they will look at me to suggest I should be advising my friend that she has too many. How dare they? I shut it down by informing them its inspirational. My friend catches on and tells them she used to have eight cats and even she realised that was to many and she rehomed three to her father.

Sleep

There is never enough when you have a brain injury. Never enough. Add, crazy bitch hormones as I call them, the Peri-menopausal hot flushes, sliding into the pause.

More sleep, much, much more sleep.

But, finally following up on my visit to the clinic. Yeah, I’ve been busy and am now circling back to the thing. I had to go to an older building that is on the same block as the St Vincent’s Hospital in Fitzroy. Seen this entrance for years wondering what was in there. Well, now I know.

I went in a little early, off Nicholson Street and was shown to my “room”. Mum had been to a sleep clinic in the country and told me it would be like a self-contained hotel room.

Mine, no it wasn’t. The room had a single bed – expected. An armchair, nice place to put suitcase and sit to take off shoes and AFO’s – check. A small hand basin, oh nice. Where was the bathroom? Apparently, there were only three of us in the inn that night, me and two men and I got the room closest to the ‘Men’s’ bathroom.

Super! Where’s the lady’s bathroom? Oh great, no shoes or AFO’s. I’ve gotta go for a nice long walk to the lady’s bathroom. Past the waiting room, finished with a big vinyl chair in Orange.

Now, I’m a kid of the 70’s, we had an orange car.

And an orange kitchen bench. (Yes, mum! I hear your voice, it was Mandarin) Sue me! I’ll let you be the judge.

The Doctor who was showing me around was the same age as me and we bonded over the orange of our childhoods.

You know those moments you meet people and if you meet them in completely different circumstances, you might become friends.

We bonded over the fact that neither of us live with other people. I bluntly stated “I fucking hate people!” She laughed and said I was her spirit animal.