Holly Jolly Christmas

My therapist reminded me today during our session that I should write a book about the unplanned yet synchronous events that occur in my life. I laughed and told her that Andy suggested I take a peer reviewed personality test a few days ago. I took the test, and it showed I was 45% psychopath and 65% introverted. So there, Andy can take his "you're not actually an introvert you just don't like human interactions," opinion and stuff it. The University of Minnesota says I am both an introvert AND a psychopath. How is that for multitasking? It also said I am 44% male and 44% female so WTF happened to the remaining 12% of me?

Today started off normally enough. There was a turd near our bed and all of the dogs claimed it wasn't them. I had a text message from Toyota of Muscatine that my new RAV4 was going to be delivered any day, it was in transit from the factory (yes they are made in the United States, even though Toyota headquarters is in Japan). I decided that instead of doing nothing today, as was my plan, I would clean out my 4Runner and get it ready to drive to the dealer. We had a great road trip yesterday to Des Moines, worthy of its own post, but the weather was awful and my nerves are still over firing with the wind howling outside. I had a telehealth appointment scheduled with my therapist at 2 pm, so figured I had plenty of time to clean out my 4Runner.

I started cleaning out the 4Runner shortly after noon. Really only took about 20 minutes, during which time I rediscovered the M engraved cufflinks in the glovebox with the owner manuals. I bought my 4Runner slightly used, and that was an oversight of the dealership when they took it back off the lease. I was pondering what to do with the cufflinks when my favorite Amazon delivery person pulled into the driveway. He has great blue hair and always has shiny nail polish, which I think he must have to reapply every night since he spends all day delivering packages. Today Blue Driver was wearing a Santa stocking with reindeer ears and chipper as ever. He greeted me and I said, "Not trying to be creepy, but does your last name start with an M?" His face dropped and he said, "Yeah it does, why?" I replied, "Well I am trading my car in and I'm cleaning it out and I found these cufflinks with an M initial. They're not real gold but look like nice craftsmanship, probably gold plated over brass. Do you want them or know someone who might use them?" He smiled and took the handcuffs and said, "Oh they are so cool! I actually have two last names and my dad is the M part and he would definitely wear these!" So I got my Amazon packages and don't have to worry about what to do with those cufflinks.

Next on the agenda for the "do nothing" day was to figure out what the heck the dogs were barking at that was under the dying mugo pine by the bedroom window five feet past the dog yard fence. By the tone of the dogs, and the extreme interest of Spooky the super fat orange barn cat, I assumed there was a possum in that spot. I thought of grabbing the broken handle from a broom to poke the possum out and get it to amble away, then thought, nah let's see what it is first. I fatly squeezed between the Ann magnolia tree and dog yard fence, crouched down, and low and behold some asshole dumped another cat overnight just in time for Christmas. I immediately named her Holly, since we have had so many cats dumped here that now they get recycled names so I don't have to think of something new. I asked her if she's a good kitty and wants to come out and get warmed up. The wind was howling and it was maybe 25 degrees. Holly didn't respond, didn't look up at me, just sat in the "covered wagon, I have no legs," cat position. I got on my belly and was able to reach her scruff. I gave it a hesitant tug, to see how she would respond. Still nothing, cat was in total shock. I pulled her out from under the evergreen shrub, then slowly started to stand up. She was flopped over and very fat but very sad and very ready to give up on life. I picked her up, and she cradled her head under my chin. I walked around the house to the door to the cat room, aka Steve and Frank's jib jive club. I walked inside and put her on the ground. She shot to the back of the room and hid. By shot, I mean she very fatly waddled while Frank and Steve looked like someone just threw cold water on them.

I'm going on a limb to guess that her owner died, and either the landlord or whoever cleaned out the residence drove her out here and tossed her out, probably barely slowed down. I told my therapist that I hope their Christmas tree catches fire and burns down their house (but not when anyone is home, because that is a bit extreme).

So here's this morbidly obese housecat, and I have 10 minutes to eat some kind of lunch and get on the connection with my therapist. I went upstairs, and had my session in the dog room (sleeping, happy, warm, farting Vallhunds arranged on the bed while I sat in the armchair).

I went back downstairs after texting an overjoyed Andy that we have a new cat, and I was afraid that maybe Holly had got into the water softener closet and jumped through the hole in the ceiling and was now stuck somewhere between the first and second floors of our house. I went back upstairs and took a cooked boneless ham steak out of the fridge (nitrate free, made from humanely raised pork right here in Iowa). I opened the package and started munching on the ham, which dear God was delicious. Frank and Steve wanted in on this, so I tossed them tiny bits and put a few tiny bits on the shelf nearest the hole in the ceiling. I looked around the storage room, and sighed when it sunk in that it has been a few weeks since I reorganized the room. Therefore, Andy had the entire huge area looking like a densely populated encampment for homeless people. I started dragging things outside, putting tops on open plastic storage containers, garbage in bags, empty boxes in a separate area outside to burn when weather conditions are safe to do so. I deflated the half full air mattress that Andy insists that the cats love. Yes they love it, but it's an eyesore, and I was worried that Holly might have crawled under there and was suffocating at that very moment. I tossed the sheets back into the main area of the house to wash and store later tonight. Of course Steve and Frank need sheets and comforters on their air mattress that doesn't hold air.

I pulled my old North Face sleeping bag out of an open plastic container, and there was Holly, fatly squeezed in underneath. I paused to look at the sides of the clear container, and started giggling because it looked exactly like a fat calico cat stuffed in a clear plastic container. I could not have fit a Green Bay Packers hand stitched coaster between Holly and three sides of the container. Frank stole those coasters from a shelf. Andy loves those coasters, which he inherited from his Uncle Marc. The coasters are now safe in a separate container.

Holly looked up at me and we shared a mutual expression of, "WTF do we do now?" I picked her up and she immediately started purring, rubbing hard against my hand as I pet her. I am not joking about the enormity of this gal. I decided then and there that her name will be Fat Holly because she is the size of three bowling balls, but squishy like the gel inside of stress balls. I don't care who judges me for burdening her with that name, because she would have been coyote chow come nightfall had I not found her.

Andy arrived home shortly thereafter and wanted to meet Holly. I was in full cleaning mode, so I paused and told him to look behind the shelf by the water softener closet. I laughed hardily at my initial concern that Holly could have got through the hole in the ceiling above the water softener. Her head alone would have got stuck, and she would have had to break multiple laws of physics to get on the upper shelf to try such a maneuver. I removed the tidbits of ham from the upper shelf and tossed them to Frank, who eagerly consumed the treats.

I sat on the old mattress in the room (which gets to stay, it has a waterproof cover and the cats do love it). Holly shuffled over and climbed all over me, rubbing my hand hard with her head every time I stopped scratching her. She's covered in jasmine scented dog shampoo, which was from a spilled broken bottle I found near the closet. I have no idea how I am going to get it off of her. It's non toxic and super gentle, premium shampoo. I still feel that she would be deeply insulted if I put her in the bathtub and rinse the shampoo off of her. Andy, ever the optimist, posted on various community boards and notified the Wilton police that we found a cat. He included pictures he took while Holly was climbing all over me. We're the only people in our rural neighborhood that have indoor cats. We're the people that get stuck with so many unwanted cats, getting them vaccinated and sterilized and either integrated into our farm or find them a new home. Fat Holly can't run 20 feet, never mind the two miles from town to our house. She probably had multiple cardiac events running from the edge of our property to the first floor window that she was huddled against. She's not scared of dogs or other cats. She's extremely friendly and clearly never been abused or mistreated by people. She was someone's beloved indoor pet, then suddenly her world changed. She was cold and hungry and so very sad.

I'm going to place the blame for my personality test accounting for 45% psychopathy squarely where it belongs: rotten people with empty souls who dump fat, friendly house cats on rural roads during a tornado watch, because they are unwilling to pay the $30 fee to the local shelter to surrender the animal.