Dear Derek,
We have now been together for a year, and you have proved yourself a fine companion. Indeed, after a life spent on the streets, I now feel as if I have a home. More importantly, I feel that I have not just a friend, but a companion, a loyal servant who will be with me not only in good times, but in my darkest hours. Having said that, I would like to pose an important question to you about your day to day culinary selections: Whatcha got there? Whatever it is, from day to day, I find it fascinating. Mind you, I have no qualms with the food you give me for my daily nutritional needs. It is more than adequate, though it does resemble a darker colored version of the material used for packing fragile items for overseas shipment. However adequate this may be however--and however more than adequate the occasional moist consumables you give me on special occasions--this is not the food you eat. Given that everything in this apartment belongs to me, the food you eat belongs to me as well. Therefore I must request that you surrender said food whenever I deem it necessary. Mind you, it is not the food itself that makes me desire it. It is, instead, the simple fact that you are eating the food. When you eat food, understand that it imbues the food with a mystical quality. When you eat food of any kind, it becomes, officially, Food That You Are Eating That I Therefore Must Eat. Consequently, it is necessary that you always leave some of this food behind, much the way those who celebrate Passover leave a glass of wine for Elijah. In this case, it is not so much an offering to a spirit as a necessary tribute to The Emperor of the Apartment. I believe I issued this edict--”All Food You Eat is My Food”--shortly after taking residence with you. If you consult the Record of Past Edicts, you will find it as a subheading of my second edict, “Everything in This Apartment Is Mine,” which, as you may recall, I issued shortly after my first edict, “I Am Not Your Cat; You Are My Person.” It appears you are eating cereal. This is fine. Just leave me some of the milk at the bottom. Perhaps, as some veterinarians suggest, milk is not the best thing for me. On the other hand, I really don’t think your doctor has the kindest thing to say about Double Stuff Oreos, so we’re even. Just leave me the milk. So. Having reminded you of the assorted laws and bylaws of this apartment, I once again ask the question that all cats ask their people: whatcha got there? Inquiring minds want to know.
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I was with my Dad the other day, and, as usual, he was out of Caffeine Free Diet Coke. Dad loves Caffeine Free Diet Coke.
“Wanna go with me to Costco?” he asked, “I have a voucher, so if you need anything, we can pick it up.” As usual, my Dad joked about his inviting me just so that he had a slave to lug the 30 can case of soda. We both knew the truth, though: once again, he was going to buy me a few things, as he’s done recently. I’m getting used to being divorced. This is a delicate way of saying that I have no money. I have found out the hard way that if you divorce someone who chose not to work for twenty years (don’t ask)--and is therefore not all that qualified for anything--you are obligated to pay their legal fees as well as your own. So in addition to alimony, I’m paying a sizable chunk of cash each month as part of a debt consolidation program. This means that I’m adjusting to a budget in which I basically come out slightly ahead for the month if I don’t eat anything. I feel like a twenty something graduate student, living on Trader Joe’s meals and the kindness of friends who invite me over and feed me. And, of course, there is my Dad, who takes me to Costco, and buys me army sized packages of cereal. This time, however, Dad bought two items that made me reflect on the need to find happiness in the simplest of things. Which is to say...Dad bought me coffee and underwear. It dawned on me, as I was going through the checkout aisle, that coffee and underwear determine how your day is going to go. You get up in the morning, and the first two things that can throw a wrench in the whole day are not having a fresh cup of coffee, and not having a clean pair of underwear. Because this past summer was all about shelling out a ton of money as I finalized the divorce--and because I’m a teacher and don’t get my first paycheck in two and half months until next week--my situation was becoming dire. My coffee supplies were running dangerously low. I started to imagine a life similar to that of Matt Damon in “The Martian,” where he has to live on nothing but potatoes. As for the boxer brief situation, I’d rather not elaborate, if that’s all the same to you. As the checkout person rung up the sale, I thought of those simple things that you need in the morning, and smiled. Dad had my back. This, in turn, made me think about the friends I have (awesomeness), the job I have (more awesomeness), and the people with whom I work (still more awesomeness). Most importantly, it made me think: I have coffee and clean underwear It’s going to be okay. Life goes on, and life is good. |
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