The Wrong Stuff, Incorrectly (Home)

And before you ask - yes. This is a thing I’m willingly and soberly posting in public.

But honestly.

I just picked him up and told him he was my favorite thing. And then - because I have to over think everything - I thought, “Well is that actually true?” So I thought of the other things I loved and I pitted them against my cat, cage match style.

1. You have to either leave New York or give away Dewey - Easy. Move to London.
2. You have to either never listen to the Beatles again or give away Dewey - Hey, I’ve still got Radiohead.
3. You can never be a professional writer ever in your life or you can give away Dewey - Honestly, I think being an English professor would be right up my alley.
4. You can jump in front of that car or you can throw Dewey - This is precisely why I pay for health insurance.

And in 75% of those scenarios Dewey doesn’t even get hurt. He could go to my mother, he could go to my old roommate in Park Slope who loves him unconditionally and I could visit as often as I’d like!

No.

He’s mine and I must have him as long as his fragile kitty body can hold onto the slippery tendrils of life.

What I’m realizing is I’m a mother. And I’m deeply disturbed by this fact, partly because I have a child who can’t communicate with me, develop a fully functioning personality, or understand how to get from the desk to the bed without walking on the scolding hot radiator. But mostly because I’m profoundly selfish. I’m uncomfortable caring about things to the point at which they could dictate the terms of my life.

And also very slightly because I’m almost certain this means I’m going to die alone.

Or maybe, in about 12 years time, I’ll just have the vet put me down with him.