New feature: CATURDAY!

I've decided to try to do a cat-related blog post every Saturday - an anecdote or ramble or even just a funny picture.

Today, I will tell you how and why I acquired a cat in the first place.

It's funny - if you'd told me even five years ago that I would willingly become a cat owner one day, I wouldn't have believed you.  I've always been a hardcore dog person.  I didn't hate cats, but I kept having unpleasant experiences with them - trying to pet friends' cats and getting my hand attacked, for instance - so I was definitely cautious with cats.

But then in 2008/2009, through a series of bizarre circumstances, I ended up babysitting one friend's cat(s) after another after another.  Basically there was at least one cat in my house at any given time for about a year.  And...they started to grow on me.  I got to know each kitty really well, and it turns out each one had a distinct personality and a set of hilarious quirks - none of which were "let's rip up Meredith's hand when she's trying to pet us."*  One cat in particular used to lie pressed up against my butt/lower back while I perched on the edge of the couch painting, and I loved that; his steady, purring presence helped still my twirling brain and put me in the right headspace for making art.

Eventually the catsitting ended and I decided I wanted a pet of my own - but I'm really not in a place in my life where I can care for a dog, as much as I'd love one.  And so I decided to shop for a cat, although I felt kind of conflicted about it.  What if I wasn't cut out for cat ownership in the long term?  What if I got a cat who seemed nice but turned out to have a streak of pure unadulterated evil in his little peanut brain?  I was (and am!) still pretty scared of a cat's claws, so if I got a cat with rage issues I'd end up feeling terrified in my own home.  I'd have to wear shoes all the time and tiptoe around with a flashlight and a baseball bat, or something.

These are the very first pics I saw of him. :)

But my friends convinced me that I would be fine, and when I started browsing the Toronto Cat Rescue's** website I fell in love with a photo of this one little guy they'd named "Sinatra".  I love animals who are really distinctive looking - I'm shallow like that - and this Sinatra kitty had blue eyes and a hilarious black blob in the middle of his face.  Better yet, his description made him sound like the best, most well-adjusted cat in the whole world: very sweet and calm and friendly.  They estimated that he was two years old, which I also liked - a kitten is more prone to playfully attacking people and that would freak me right the hell out.  I immediately contacted the Rescue to make an appointment to meet him and it turns out his foster home was right up the street from my house!

The conjugal cat visit went well.  I brought a friend for moral support and a second opinion; the foster mom sat my friend and I down in her spare bedroom, brought "Sinatra" inside and shut the door so we could all hang out.  He was, of course, all distracted because he was in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people.  Mostly he just prowled around the perimeter of the room on his belly to make sure the premises were secure, but it was still obvious that he was a pretty mellow kitty - not the type to pounce on my feet or scare me with a lot of sudden movements.  What really clinched it for me is that when he came close enough for me to gently hold one of his front paws, he didn't scratch or hiss or even try to pull his paw away; he just looked down at my hand and then back up at my face like, "Buh?"

I had a really good feeling about this cat, and my friend did, too.  His foster mom had told me all kinds of things about his health, habits, likes and dislikes, and it sounded as though he and I would be really compatible.  So...I took a chance and said yes. 

Over the next week I agonized over getting exactly the right dishes, litter box, toys and food for my impending bundle of joy.  When I finally took him home, he adjusted way faster than his foster mom predicted: he did start off hiding under the bed, but within half an hour he was on the couch with me, purring and rolling over for a belly rub.  He truly was an awesome and friendly kitty right from the beginning; little did I know that he would bond with me more and more strongly as he realized I was his permanent mommy.  He's a part of me now...a furry little piece of my heart.

Meanwhile, the name Sinatra didn't really do it for me.  I posted on Facebook asking for name suggestions and my cartoonist friend Brett (of Weird Green Cat fame) suggested Birch "because birch trees are black and white."  It was perfect.

And that's how we became a family. :)

*By the way: the many seemingly random hand-clawings I'd experienced in the past had given me the idea that cats are all deeply eeeeeeeevil, but in retrospect I realize I just wasn't approaching them properly.  I tended to go for the head-pet via the direct route: darting my hand straight toward a cat's face.  This would quite understandably make the cat go "OMGWTF" and swat my hand away (it works with people, too). 

**I can't speak highly enough about the Toronto Cat Rescue.  Their volunteers are friendly and dedicated and amazing and they're always completely honest about what each cat is like - they want to put the kitties in a permanent home, not foist them on someone who will discover some horrible secret and bring them right back.  If you're shopping for a cat, please please please check out the Toronto Cat Rescue's website instead of going to a pet store.  They have cats and kittens of all ages and descriptions - you won't be disappointed!

BEST GRAFFITTI EVER

I found this on a subway station wall:

Once you see the pie in the No Smoking sign, it cannot be unseen!

...And it works, too.  I have never once seen anyone on the subway eating pie.

Kids and dogs

I was the kind of kid who got picked on a lot in school (shockingly, being precocious, socially awkward, and freakishly tall is not a recipe for grade-school popularity.  Oh, and also I had glasses and braces.  And my clothes never fit right because of my extreme tallness.  And I had a few years where I cut my own hair). 

Since then, I haven't really hung out with kids too much; I don't have kids of my own, my friends don't have kids, I'm an only child so there are no nieces or nephews...basically what I'm saying is that the last time I spent any substantial amount of time with children, it was recess and they were chasing me through the schoolyard with sharpened sticks or something.  I don't know how to relate to kids as an adult.

A while back, a friend and I were in a restaurant waiting for a table.  A couple with a little girl was also waiting, and my friend started making small talk with this little girl: "Hi there!  I like your dress.  Are you having lunch with your mom and dad?  What are you going to eat?"  And I was amazed by this because I never know what the hell to say to kids.  I mean, at times in my life I've felt called upon to acknowledge the existence of a child (when someone brings their spawn to work to meet everyone, for instance), and I draw a total blank.  I'm like, "Um, hey. What's up?" and so far no toddler has ever given me a satisfying answer.

I do have the capacity for gentle, playful banter, though.  I know this because I've caught myself talking that way to random dogs that I pass on the street.  I always pretty much ignore the owner and focus entirely on the dog: "Hi there!  Look how pretty you are.  Did you go to the park with your daddy?  Did you have fun?  Were you a good doggie?"  I know that dogs probably don't understand my questions and definitely won't answer them, but I try to engage them in conversation anyway.

Perhaps the solution to my awkwardness with kids is to pretend that they're dogs (commence with the leg-humping jokes...NOW!).

Yesterday morning I was walking past a school bus that was stopped at a red light and a girl inside tappity-tapped on the window to get my attention.  When I looked up, she waved at me.  It didn't seem malicious, so I smiled at her.  She smiled back, and I kept walking.  It was nice.

That's the other thing: even though I feel awkward as hell around children, they usually seem fascinated by me.  Probably because I look like a cartoon.

Children respond to me for some reason.

Gender Wednesday: Poses.

I'm toying with the idea of doing regular "features" on my blog, so let's try this: on Wednesdays I'll make a post about crossdressing or gender.  Starting.............NOW!

The Boy, as I may have mentioned, enjoys presenting as female sometimes.  He likes to feel sexy and pretty, and regular boy-clothes don't really allow for that the same way fishnets and pleather do.

As for me, I've experimented with dressing as a boy once or twice - mostly out of curiosity and an urge to mess with people ("if I go out in public like this, will I pass?"), and partly to ramp up the contrast when The Boy is being The Girl.

The problem, though, is the photographs.

My hard drive has approximately fifty gazillion photographs of The Boy vamping it up in girl clothes.  He strikes all the archetypal "sexy woman"-type poses: crawling sexily across the floor, looking coquettishly over his shoulder, lying on his back with his legs in the air, and many, many more.

Also on my hard drive: approximately five photographs of me as a dude.  In them, I am striking all the archetypal "dude" poses: grabbing my crotch, giving the finger to the camera, and standing there with my arms hanging like salamis...and that's basically it.  I'd get The Boy to take more photos of dude-me, but they would all look just like those first five except with a different shirt.

Maybe the shortage of viable boy-poses is why drag kings seem so much rarer than drag queens: it's hard to be campy as a boy.  If you try to do a satire of manliness, you just end up leering and grabbing your wadded-up pants-sock every single time.  Meh.

Conversational Snippet #2

Boy: I thought about buying you an advent calendar today, but then I thought "will she actually be able to pace herself?"

Me: You'd be surprised at how well I do when there's portion control.  Those little perforated cardboard doors would hold me at bay...but I'd know the chocolate was there.  Waiting for me.  And it would drive me insane.

Boy: That's exactly what I thought would happen, so I didn't buy one.

Me: And this is why you're awesome.

(He had bought me a full-size chocolate bar, though - another reason why he's awesome.)

Conversational snippet #1

The Boy does not drool when he's relaxed.  However, he obsessively thinks he's about to drool, and will twitch and slurp the imaginary saliva back into his mouth.  I think it's cute...I can always tell when he's really enjoying one of my massages because, all of a sudden..."schllllluuuup!"

Last night he did the slurp as he was falling asleep, and the following conversation occurred:

Me: I'm gonna buy you a PVC pillowcase that is impervious to drool.  [Thinks a moment]  But then if you did drool, the pillowcase would basically become a slip-n-slide and your head would skid across the pillow and slam into the wall.

Boy: [Gives me the stinkeye for a full minute and a half]

Me: Hey, man, that was funny.  You are clearly not mentally developed enough to grasp my sophistimacated sense of humour.  I am a comedic genius.

Boy: Yeah, just like Beethoven. [A reference to this awesome thing we'd read right before bed]

Me: [Highly undignified snortlaugh]

Sad bastard with a paintbrush pt. 2

Okay, so here's a preview of some more breakuppy paintings I'll be putting on Etsy soon:

It probably goes without saying that monogamy is much easier when you're with the right person: if your partner fulfills most of your needs, you'll be less likely to wonder what else is out there.  If you're with the wrong person, however, monogamy - and especially marriage - can feel really claustrophobic.

This 4"x4" painting is all about that feeling of claustrophobia.  To heighten the sense of being trapped, I made the picture area a mere 2"x2" window in the centre of the canvas, surrounded by lines of text that close in on it tighter and tighter.  The picture is of a woman squinting at the sky through her engagement ring (from the woman's point of view).  The text reads: "The future is wide open," he said with a smile...but I felt my future beginning to shrink down to a circle that got smaller and... (I was going to put "smaller and smaller" but I ran out of room.  Which actually works really well with the subject matter, when you think about it).

This idea appeared in my brain out of nowhere and kept haunting me until I gave in and painted it.  Basically, the deal is that someone was so enamored with the beauty of this butterfly that they nailed it to the wall so they could look at it whenever they wanted...but watching a dead butterfly dry up on your wall isn't nearly as engaging as watching a live one interact with the world, so it looks like our butterfly-catcher got bored and left.  Judging by the grime on the Victorian-patterned wallpaper and the way the inscription under it has faded, the butterfly has been nailed there alone and neglected for quite some time.

(Oh wow...I just totally flashed back to Nailbunny from JTHM.)

On the surface, it would appear that these two paintings are very different from each other, but no: they're both about the dangers of a badly run or badly chosen marriage.  I think most people put themselves on autopilot when they get married - they assume the relationship will be permanent so they don't work at maintaining it.  I know I was like that: I was all, "Well, my love life is all squared away...time to focus on other things!" because I thought my partner had been, well, nailed down.  But you can never stop working at a relationship.  If you stop actively working at it, the relationship will eventually dry up to a dead, empty husk...just like that Victorian butterfly.

Oh, I almost forgot - I made a third and somewhat less CRIPPLINGLY SAD painting recently. 

It might be a cautionary tale about people's tendency to make mountains out of molehills or it might be a portrait of an adorable little monster with delusions of grandeur.  You decide. :)