A Fond Adieu to Cats and Other Stuff

With our old cat Hobbes (our once resident Cellar-Dweller) being gone since Easter, I took to the task yesterday of releasing our house (well, mostly the basement) of all things cat.  Cat beds, cat carriers, cat food, cat litter.  If it had something to do with cats, it was outta here.  The main reason for such finality is that about five years ago I made a solemn pledge to Jay that I would never bring another cat into our house.  Main reason being that Jay is super allergic to cats and has been living in cat fur/dander/drool hell for almost 20 years, ever since my mother gave me Gulliver, our now deceased Maine Coon who was, without doubt, one of the best pets with the most hot-shit attitude I've ever known.  Jay believes my mother gave me Gulliver purely to spite him because deep-down she doesn't like him (Jay, that is).  Verdict's still out on that one, but I'm pretty sure she thinks he's OK (again, talking about Jay).  She still might have done the cat thing on purpose, though.  Control-freak thing.  Anyway, Gulliver was soon followed by Hobbes, one of a litter from the cat of my very dear friend Helen, who happens to be the mom of my best friend since 5th grade, Laleh.  [Laleh...if you're reading this, we NEED to get together VERY, VERY soon!]  How could I not have a kitten from that litter?  And then Gulliver and Hobbes went on to live for a long, LONG time, happily ever after.


Hobbes and...

Gulliver.  Cool cats, they were.

Enough about the cats.  As I was cleaning up their stuff, I realized that I needed to clean the entire basement.  Not just the cat stuff.  Holy crap.  And so I moved from one end of the basement to the other, removing every last bit of unnecessary junk.  Seriously, why did we still have the car seats from when our now-teenagers were in preschool? 

I finally emerged from our subterranean-jungle-of-clutter-aplenty about 6 hours later, with a feeling of self-satisfied achievement.  I am going to let go of the fact that as I was poking the insulation back up into the rafters, an empty pecan shell fell out.  What kind of entitled vermin were eating premium nuts in my basement rafters?!  And who cares that I couldn't breathe through my nose anymore and that my throat burned in a kind of unsettling way?  The damned basement was clean.  Check that off the list, save for the immense pile of Jay's stuff in the middle of the room by the water heater, waiting for him to rifle through everything and complain that I could have been a bit kinder and not just chucked everything into immense storage boxes all haphazardly and without regard.  Doh.

From sailboat halyards and mooring buoys, to golf clubs and fishing poles; bilge pumps and cycling trainers, to beer making carboys and baseball bats.  You name it, it's there.

Sitting here writing this, my sinuses are still blocked.  And I am still all sneezy.  And my throat is still sore.  I can't help think that karma is paying a visit and letting me know how Jay has felt living with the cats all these years.  Well, touché, karma--I got it!  And Jay, I vow to keep you cat free from now on.  But I still want a pet skunk.