According to my trusty iPhone, it’s a frigid 3°F outside. My trusty desktop computer, on the other hand, says that it’s only 1°F. Hmmm. Those artificial brains – always competing. But since I’m trying to think optimistically, I’m choosing to believe my iPhone.
Yeah, like two measly little degrees makes any sort of difference when we’re down to single digits. Either way, it’s I-can’t-feel-my-toes-anymore kind of weather.
And I think I’m fighting off a cold. I’ve been desperately popping Airborne tablets and these little gummy bear-type Sunkist fruit chews (“Each package contains 100% of your daily requirements of Vitamin C!”). I don’t know why I’m doing either of these things. I’m not convinced they work. But I also sometimes think that succumbing to illness is a mental thing. And I’m trying not to be mental about it. Ha.
So I’ve decided to concentrate on things that make me smile or laugh to get through the rest of my day.
Like my new tissue holder. I’ve named him Mortimer Snodgrass. Don’t ask me why – the name just fits. Isn’t he adorable? I couldn’t resist buying him for myself when I was Christmas shopping. In fact, I bought Mortimer’s twin brother for my father-in-law for Christmas. Don’t ask me why I did that either – it’s not like my father-in-law has ever shown any interest whatsoever in owning a tissue dispenser with a face on it in which the tissues come out of the nose.
But Mortimer just spoke to me. And he makes me smile every time I catch a glimpse of him when I turn to get a tissue. So even if I AM catching a cold, maybe it won’t be as bad if I’m smiling every time I blow my nose.
The other thing that makes me laugh whenever I think about it is something that happened the other day. Vince decided that our comforter and the top pad on our Sleep Number bed needed to be washed, but they were too bulky to clean in our washing machine at home. So he and his son trekked over to the Laundromat down the street. Meanwhile, I was at home doing other chores.
I routinely pile the clean laundry on our bed to fold it and put it away. This is Twinklebelle’s cue to jump on the bed to roll around in the warm, fresh laundry. She’s either getting her scent on all those clean clothes – or she thinks it’s her personal heated blanket until the warmth from the dryer dissipates, anyway.
Either way, I’m not crazy about this little habit of hers because then I have to take a lint brush to all those clean clothes so nobody will think I’m one of those crazy cat ladies who wears more stray cat hairs on her clothes than is on the cat.
On Sunday, though, since Vince and his son took the top pad to the cleaners, all that was on top of the bed were these foam baffles. Not a problem when you’re merely placing laundry on it to fold it and put it away – but evidently a major problem when you’re a cat.
Even though I admonished her not to jump on the bed per usual, Twinks just gave me the I-am-a-cat-and-will-do-what-I-want look and jumped anyway. Per usual.
But she had never encountered foam baffles before. And she Did. Not. Like. Them.
She immediately popped up off of them where she hovered in mid-air for a second with a panicked look on her little kitty face.
But gravity being what it is forced her to land back on the baffles.
And she immediately popped up in the air again. A bunch of images flashed in my brain just then. Like those little balls in the Powerball drawing that pop up into the chute to make some lucky stiff a multimillionaire. And kernels of corn in an air popper when they finally start popping. And a kid on a trampoline who doesn’t like it and moves as quickly (and awkwardly) as possible toward the edge of the trampoline to get off.
Well, Twinks was all of those things. She kept popping up and down on those baffles moving as fast as a feline can possibly move toward the edge of the bed, where she finally jumped down to the floor and landed with a big whump!
I had never seen anything so funny and I was practically rolling on the floor laughing. I mean, I felt sort of bad that the poor cat was traumatized by the foam baffles, but I was still snickering as I called after her, “Are you – hahahahaha – okay, Twinks?”
Before the question was even completely out of my mouth, Twinks had streaked out of the bedroom and was cowering behind the couch in the living room.
The good news is that she will probably never again jump up on that bed and roll around in the newly cleaned laundry. So we’ll save big money on lint rollers. And maybe – just maybe – nobody will refer to me as that “crazy cat lady.”
Hey, an opportunity to laugh with abandon like a kid – and a chance to save a little money. Score.
So I think I should be okay today. Especially if I don’t go outside and test the I-can’t-feel-my-toes-anymore theory. And I’m happy to stay indoors. After all, I have Mortimer to keep me company. Which is good because Twinks is still not speaking to me.