I'm gonna have these cats forever.
Conversation between me and Tim, the cats' owner....
Me: "Such-and-such a place called today and left a message--they want you for an interview."
Tim: "Oh, MAN...I just filed for unemployment today!"
Me: "What happened to that job you were supposed to start last week?"
Tim: "Oh, man--see, G, what happened was...he said 'come see me on Sunday and I'll see if I have time for you,' so I went Sunday and he didn't have time--and he said 'come back Monday', so I went back Monday and he STILL didn't have time for me--so I was like, fuck THAT."
Me: :::sigh::: "Yeah, I can imagine."
Tim: "Plus, one of my guys said it would be better if I just filed unemployment and did some cash work on the side--he knows someone who does painting...."
Me:"Well, couldn't you do both?"
Tim: "No--if I get that other job, I can't collect unemployment."
:::short pause while I beat myself about the head with the telephone receiver::: "No, I mean take the job AND do the painting too."
Tim: "Well....I mean....See, how I see it is this--why kill myself? I mean--c'mon...FREE MONEY!"
Conversations like this are almost enough to turn me into a conservative, I swear. Meanwhile, I'm stuck cleaning up after his nasty cats, who have questionable litterbox habits and foul intestines. My White Cat hasn't put his back-hackles down ONCE since the night Tim walked into the house with the carrier; he's got a permanent kitty back-mohawk. Poor baby--his house has been invaded.
MY house has been invaded, damn it, and though I love cats, I don't love having other peoples' cats foisted upon me. Particularly since they're three of the most personality-less kitties I've ever come across--Cassidy, in particular, is like a loaf of bread with feet and whiskers. He's almost bovine in his complete disinterest in the world. Sosa and Mikey at least have the gumption to run around like heathens, but Cass just sits there like a bump on a log. Even Foof, who's 13 years old and hyperthyroid, at least has some LIFE to her.
The litter bill has tripled, at least; the food bill, about the same. And if Tim is too busy making "free money" (and excuse me, but there's a line-item on my paycheck that says his "free" money isn't exactly "free"--it's called FEDERAL TAX and frankly, I can think of things I'd rather do with that money than pass it along to people who see it as a viable alternative to "killing himself" by actually WORKING for a freakin' change) he's not making money with which to pay me back for the care and feeding of his little methane-factories.
What's worse: this is the SAME Tim who laid up on my sofa for EIGHT MONTHS once, without working one flat DAY of it. He's a MASTER of excuses as to why he can't get a job; he's also got the most monumental persecution complex I've ever experienced (with the possible exception of CR, who was his best friend for years). EVERYTHING and everybody is against him--that's why his life sucks so badly. It has nothing to do with the poor choices he makes at every turn--no, that's got nothing to do with it.
I know I sound harsh. Actually, I FEEL a bit harsh--like I should know better about getting past an addiction, how hard it is, or about how much compassion is needed to get over the poor choices we made in the past.
But here's the thing, see: I've never--NEVER--said that my poor choices were caused by anyone else. The closest I've ever come has been to bitch about how I was never given a full picture of the spectrum of opportunities and choices, how I was never allowed to take the consequences for my own fuck-ups til I was old enough to fuck up BIG time. Otherwise, I've tried to take full responsibility for all my shortcomings--even some that may not BE my fault entirely. And while I try not to hold others to standards as harsh as those by which I judge myself, sometimes compassion is difficult---especially when the people in question don't seem to learn anything from their mistakes.
This is not a five-cat household. I'm going to have to do something about this.
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