R. I. P. Diane Kitten

(Well, not really.  I mean, kind of.  Like you think you know someone for a whole year and then they turn out to be a completely different person so you sorta feel like the person you knew is dead.  That’s where I’m at right now.)

Alessandro and I finally took Diane Kitten to the vet after almost a year of having her (not out of neglect, we’re poor) but because she randomly started coughing and it was clear she was having trouble breathing.  We rushed her to the kitty Emergency Room and found out she has asthma so it’s all good and she has medicine and feels much better now.

We found out some things like she’s about 2 years old and has a little tracker in the back of her neck (which I totally wanna remove, especially considering we looked for her owners for a longggg time and nobody claimed her so they’re clearly just bad people).  We also found out she is not a she.

Caitlin Jenner Diane Kitten Vanity Fair Cover
Diane Kitten is a boy.

Then again, how am I supposed to know how he/she identifies?  It’s my fault for assuming he was a girl, but apparently he’s neutered so it makes sense why I was confused.  Also I hoped he was a girl for solidarity purposes, imposing my own desires concerning his gender upon him which is totally philistine and not at all forward-thinking.  I never thought I’d be this type of mother (cat-owner) and my surprise as well as my feelings of loss at the news were quite disconcerting.

I looked it up though, and there exists a phenomenon within the transgender community that people don’t really talk about.  There is often a need to mourn the person you (or your friend/family member/etc.) used to be so that the true person can live and flourish in their real identity.  It’s actually good to grieve the loss of the prior identity and gives the transgender person a feeling of closure without any guilt in moving on.

I’m likening my feelings to this phenomenon because even though it’s just a cat, I feel like I got to know him as “Diane Kitten” and in my childish brain, I built up this whole personality surrounding that female identity.  Now I feel like I have to get to know him as a boy and mold an idea of who he is around this knowledge.

The worst part is changing the name. I was proud of that name.  (She even has a twitter account.)  The deal was that if we found out Diane was a boy, Alessandro would get to pick the name, so he picked “Mr. Tibbs”, Sidney Poitier’s character from the movie “In the Heat of the Night”, which is a badass role and Sir Sidney Poitier is probably the coolest person you could name someone after, but he already has lots of social media accounts and Virgil Tibbs had to deal with so much racism and bullshit which I would like to shield Diane/Mr. Tibbs from.  “They chew you up and spit you out.”

Sidney Poitier Mr Tibbs Cat Face
“THEY CALL ME MISTER TIBBS!!!”

So here we are, going through the gender identity process together.  Tibbs has certainly taken to his new name like a justice-minded detective to the mean streets of Sparta, Mississippi.  I’ll miss Diane, but I can’t wait to spend the next couple decades growing and learning with my perfect little boy.  :)

Coming Clean Into 2016: I Finally Showered!

(Jk.  I showered in the interim.  But only because the back of my head turned into a giant dreadlock and my cat fell in the toilet.  It’s been a tough month.)

This isn’t really a cohesive post because I’ve been sick and I have to go back to school next week and I want to jump off a cliff.  I’ve been hiding in bed with Rufus (my giant stuffed dog), Nyquil, and large bags of chips.  It’s also come to my attention that I’ve gained weight because apparently when you turn 23 you can’t sit around eating bullshit and drinking entire cases of beer anymore.

(I don’t actually know what to do now because that stuff is pretty much all I do.  In addition to buying novelty pillows on Amazon Prime.)

Huggable Pizza Pillow Amazon
It’s becoming a serious problem.

Not to mention that evvverrryyything is falling apart.  Over Christmas, Diane Kitten decided to celebrate the holidays by eating tinsel and scoot around the apartment dragging a long shiny string from her butt with a little turd ball on the end, and I couldn’t even snap a picture because everything was happening so fast and my body was in a laughter-seizure.

Then for the New Year (and because she only drinks water that poses adventure), she was sitting on the bathroom sink watching me pee (it’s weird, I know, shut up) and when I got up, SHE JUMPED INTO THE GODDAMN TOILET.  I screamed and she screamed and it was totally madness (not at all Sparta), but luckily Alessandro ran in and saved the day by fishing her out and covering all of us in my urine.

In light of all this crazy, I barely did any work on my novel, washed none of my clothes, didn’t clean my house at all (except for the bathroom), and wasted my entire break in bed/playing Grand Theft Auto V.  Also, my body is turning on me because for the very first time in my life I threw up after drinking.

Diane Kitten with Vodka
Two things I love that are trying to kill me.

So now I have to lose weight, stop drinking, do my laundry, and find a new therapist.  (The one I see at school for free is great, but she’s really nice and I tend to lie to her so she doesn’t see how nuts I am.  How are you supposed to tell a sweet little Christian lady your opinions on the best methods of torture/execution or details of the dirty dream you had about your cousin?)

You can read all about it in my book.  If I ever actually finish.


 

Anyways, so I don’t bum you guys out too hard, I’ll end with a conversation between me and myself which Alessandro so rudely interrupted…

ME:  They say, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, but why the Hell not?  Are they self-conscious about their teeth or bad breath or something?  And if so, somebody give them a mint and some Crest White Strips.  Or is it because they’ll bite you and then they wouldn’t technically be a “gift horse” but rather a “punishment horse”?

ME:  Or is the expression, “Don’t PUNCH a gift horse in the mouth”?  Because at least that would make sense.  Nobody likes being punched in the mouth, including gift horses. Also, what even is a “gift horse”?  I have to look this up…

ME:  [Making a verbal reminder on my cell phone]  “Lookup ‘gift horse’.  And the expression about it.”  I’m picturing a horse with a fancy hat that rides into towns in the Wild West, bringing gifts to all the good pioneer people, like a sort of equine Santa Claus.  Unless you punched him in the mouth.  In which case he comes to your house and takes a giant horse-dump in your stockings.  Instead of coal.

ALESSANDRO:  [Poking his head into the bedroom with a look of great confusion]  Who the HELL are you talking to??!  Are you alright?!? 

ME:  I’m reminding myself to lookup the origin of why you shouldn’t punch a gift horse in the mouth.

ALESSANDRO:  It’s, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

ME:  Why not though?

ALESSANDRO:  Because a horse’s teeth indicate how healthy it is, so if someone gives you a horse it’s considered rude to look at its mouth since you’re assuming they gave you a weak or sickly horse.

ME:  Well then the saying should really be, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth until after the person who gave you the gift horse leaves and then you can be all kind of judgemental about their crappy non-gift horse.”

ALESSANDRO:  …Uhhh…. I guess so

 

Exactly.  Get with it, colloquialisms.  Nobody wants to end up with a broken horse.  (Actually… yes you do.  Oh well.  You guys know what I mean.)

horse plays with ball and falls lol gif

So, how’s everyone’s new year been?