Advice Part 95- A visit to the vet

For the past four years, I have shared my apartment with my animal companion (fancy name for "cat"), Polly. Most of the time, we get along very well, but once in a while, our harmonious existence is disturbed by a visit to that most dreaded of entities.

The vet.

(The above picture in no way represents my cat's experience at the vet- that picture is the stuff of feline FANTASY)

With five such trips under my proverbial belt, I feel suitably qualified to offer some advice to young players on surviving this most monstrous of excursions. And so I have combined a list of handy hints below, which I hope will be useful if you ever have to venture to the animal doctor.

1. Surprise is the essence. Do not let your animal companion twig as to what fun you have in store for them until you are just about ready to go, and you commence your trapping attempt.
2. Don your protective gear. No piece of exposed skin is safe from the ferocious claws of the screeching banshee. I foolishly believed that my neck was out of reach, but I now have a Texas Chainsaw Massacre style scratch across my throat to show for my complacency. 
   
3. Prepare your container in advance. Polly is more than happy to stick her nose into any empty box I have lying around my apartment, but as soon as I try and put her into the dreaded cat box, she fights like a demon. From trial and error, I know that the best move is to put her in feet first.
4. Do not be fooled by the plaintive cries.Your animal companion is unlikely to be well pleased when contained in the box, and may emit pitiful cries. At VERY loud volume. Do not be tricked by this! It is a clever ruse to obtain freedom, and, should you unleash the beast, you will not be able to capture it again. 
   
5. If you don't have a car, getting your fiesty furry friend to the vet surgery is an added piece of excitement. For me, this involves carrying said shrieking feline through the main street of my suburb.
6. When walking through along the main street with your unwilling animal companion, you may receive "helpful" comments from the local denizens. Sample: "Ooh, you have a cat in the box!" (No, really? I would never have guessed. Or to use a more earthy expression, "No s*%t, Sherlock!"); "She doesn't sound very happy in there!" (Yes, I am fully aware of that, but if nosey parkers like you would mind your own business, perhaps I'd be able to get her to the vet faster and she would shut up!!!).
7. Waiting at the vet surgery to be seen can be a further feat of endurance if you are sharing the waiting room with a 54kg Newfoundland dog (which may be mistaken as a bear) and a squarking parrot.
   
8. By the time you finally get in to see the vet, both you and your animal companion are likely to be nervous wrecks and completely shellshocked. The unceremonious poking and prodding seems positively benign, considering the rigmarole involved in getting to the surgery.
9. Then the vet will produce the bill, and you will find yourself hundreds, or, more probably, thousands, of dollars poorer.

Still, at least I know that I will never be tempted to become a Crazy Cat Lady, living with multiple cats. If I have this much trouble taking one to the vet, imagine how I'd go with five!

Advice Part 88- On being depressed....

Aah, yes. This is a difficult one.

I figured it was about time to update my blog, which has been distinctly lacking in posts for the past few weeks, but, to be honest, I have very little urge to do so because I have (yet again) fallen into a depressive hole/been visited by the Black Dog (thank you, Winston Churchill)/taken to my bed/whatever other euphemisms you wish to use for feeling rather "under the weather". So to speak.

But, ever the model citizen, I have decided to turn my bad experience into advice for others! (my generosity knows no bounds today!)

That being said, my advice for young players is that if you are depressed, it is NOT YOUR FAULT! And there is ABSOLUTELY no shame in admitting that you are depressed. Why do I say this? Read on.....

If I think about things honestly, I have probably suffered depression in some form or another for most of my life. As a child, I was never exactly full of verve and vim (to the brim or otherwise), and I would say, in retrospect, that I was more than likely clinically depressed throughout the vast majority of my teenage years.

However, it wasn't until I enrolled in uni that I decided to see a counsellor about my general dissatisfaction. She asked me to fill in a Depression Scale, and I scored in the top 5% of depressed entities (amusingly, this is the highest score I have received on any test- as Charlie Sheen would say, "WINNING!").

So how does it feel being depressed? I'm sure it's different for everyone, but for me it is

• not being able to get out of bed in the morning;
• having absolutely no motivation;
• seeing a week pass at work and realising I've accomplished nothing;
• not caring about eating or drinking (yes, it's true!); 
• pulling out my Leonard Cohen, Elliott Smith, and The Smiths CDs for a bit of "light listening";
• leaving dirty dishes in the sink for days on end;
• getting (even more) short-tempered and snappy than usual; and
• feeling annoyed when my cat jumps on my lap and purrs (poor puss- the travails of feline life in a depressed household).

This is how I feel at the moment.

I went to the doctor yesterday, who advised me to up my dosage of anti-depressants, make some "life changes", and see a therapist. So that's what I've decided to do. Will I recover from this? I would like to. Will it be easy? Probably not, for me or for the people around me who have to suffer these things. Will I have a relapse? Almost certainly. But I can at least hope that it's later, rather than sooner. And that has to be something, right?

Advice Part 83- My cat's vendetta

So, human beings are supposed to be the "smartest" animal species, are we? Certainly, we can talk, think abstractly, and have the ability to spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about non-essential activities (such as updating our blog....ahem.....).

However, my advice to young players is that human intelligence is NOTHING compared to the power of the feline brain, especially when it comes to forming and enacting devious plans.

How do I know this? Read on.....

My cat, Polly, does not appear to be a mastermind on first acquaintance. She is elderly, overweight, and spends a disproportionate amount of time eating and sleeping. But I have started to realise that the innocent exterior is simply a facade.....

EVERY evening for the past week, the following has occurred:

• It's around 10 o'clock at night. I change into my pyjamas and nightcap, brush my teeth, and then hop into my nice, warm bed to read my book for a while. At this stage, Polly is on the couch in the lounge room, apparently "fast asleep" (it is a ruse, I tell you!)

• After 30 minutes or so of reading, I switch off the light, and settle down to sleep. There is TOTAL silence from the lounge room. Polly "sleeps on."
• After 10 minutes or so, I begin to drift off to sleep. All is well.....
• The peace is suddenly shattered by a barrage of scratching, digging and burrowing. It sounds as if I've stumbled onto the set of The Great Escape, but without Steve McQueen for company.
• The burrowing continues for 5 minutes or so, until there is a LOOOOONG silence. I know EXACTLY what this silence means- my cat is leaving me what could euphemistically be described as "a gift" in the litter box.
• My room is enveloped by a fetid odour, before the scratching and burrowing starts again, as "the gift" is buried.

At this stage, I try to ignore the stench, but it's no use- I must depart from my warm bed, clean out the infamous "gift", take it to the garbage, and then try and get back to sleep.

This DOES NOT make me well pleased.

Sure, I should be glad that Polly elects to use the litter box, rather than going on the floor. And yes, I am grateful for this small mercy. But I never cease to marvel at the fact that she somehow knows PRECISELY when to time her midnight toilet run in order to cause maximum aggravation. Five minutes earlier, and I wouldn't be dozing; five minutes later, and I'd be fast asleep.

I have tried to trick her into using "the facilities" at a more reasonable time by pretending to go to bed a couple of hours earlier. I close the door, jump into bed, read, then switch out the light.

To no avail.

All I can say is, if anyone is looking for an instrument of torture, I am very glad to lend you my cat.

Advice Part 73- Fickle affections

For the past few years (let's not go into exactly how long, suffice to say, it's been a LONG time), I have been single. This has meant that I have spent many a dismal Saturday night staying at home, watching rubbish on TV, and eating ice-cream straight out of the carton.

Good times.

But recently, a miracle transpired. I met a gentleman (who actually LIKES ME!), and this heralded a welcome change in my relationship status.

Whoo hoo!

However, my advice to young players is that whilst it's all well and good to meet someone, it is best to exercise considerable caution lest they become the target of another woman's affections.

Particularly if the other woman is fickle, furry and feline.

How do I know this? Read on.....

Having departed the realm of Eternal Singledom, and managed to sustain a relationship for a few weeks (!!!!), I decided to invite my boyfriend (let's call him Ricardo) over to my house for dinner (and please, no comments about "dessert"- nudge, nudge, wink, wink....).

I was somewhat nervous about introducing Ricardo to my cat, Polly, who tends to be a bit of a relationship barometer. When she met one of my exes, she took one look and ran straight under my bed, where she stayed for the rest of the afternoon. She had the opposite reaction to another ex, refusing to let him out of her sight, and hissing threateningly whenever he approached.

Whilst loath to get all "new agey", I think Polly must have picked up some weird vibes from my exes. Both of them turned out to be BIG mistakes.

Consequently, this time, I resolved to pay more attention to my cat's reaction.

At the appointed hour, Ricardo arrived at my house, and I nervously presented him to Polly. Would she run? Attack? Hiss? Snarl?

Answer- none of the above. Because Polly promptly decided that she liked Ricardo.

This was all well and good, but in the subsequent weeks, I've started to realise that she seems to like HIM more than she likes ME. 

• She RUNS to the door when she hears him knocking (and let me attest, Polly NEVER runs!)
• She meows constantly at him, wanting to be patted. 
• She follows him around, to the extent of parking herself outside the toilet door when he goes in. 
• And when he leaves, she sits where he's been sitting so she can pick up his scent.

Whilst I was glad Polly "approved", I seem to have been usurped in my cat's affections.

And this is something I DON'T like. At the risk of sounding petty and petulant- I was there first!

All I can say is, I really hope Ricardo and I don't break up anytime soon, as I don't know how to cope with a heartbroken cat.

Advice Part 66- Too much advice....

Aah, the amusement....I'm giving advice on how to avoid unwanted advice.

Anyway......

If you're anywhere near as clueless as I am, you probably rely on other people's advice A LOT. But my advice to young players is that whilst this can be helpful at times, there is such a thing as TOO MUCH advice. And knowing when to stop seeking alternative opinions is a VERY valuable trait.

How do I know this?

Read on.....

In the last month or so, I have been suffering from a crazy eczema outbreak. What makes this particularly intriguing is that I have NEVER had eczema before and it's only on my face.Weird.

So, eczema novice that I am, I decided to ask some knowledgeable people for a bit of advice on the subject. BAD MOVE. I soon realised that everyone seemed to have a different suggestion for what was causing my new blotchy face, and what to do about it.

Here's a small sample of the "potential culprits"....

• Washing my face too much in hot water (Colleague 1)
• Touching something that I'm allergic to, then rubbing my hands on my face (Colleague 2)
• Office air conditioning being too dry (Colleagues 1, 2, 3)
• Stress (Mum)
• Allowing my cat to sleep on my bed (Mum and Colleague 3)
• Allergy to make up or shampoo (Dentist- yes, even my DENTIST wanted to offer some advice on this!)
• "Just one of those things" (Doctor)

 

The proposed cures were equally varied, and included:

• Not washing my face (Colleague 1)
• Washing my face in cold water only (Colleague 3)
• Washing my face using a special cream (Colleague 2)
• Buying a humidifier for the office (Colleague 1)
• Tricking my cat into not sleeping on my bed (Mum and Colleague 3)
• Anti-histamines (Colleague 3)
• Changing my make up and shampoo (good old dentist again)
• Anything BUT hydrocortisol cream (Colleague 3's SON, who had popped into the office for a visit)
• ONLY hydrocortisol cream (Doctor)

What the HELL?! After this, I felt more confused that ever. And the advice just keeps on coming.....

I think I'll go and buy a big paper bag to wear over my head. That should solve all my issues.

Advice Part 51- When choosing your animal companion....

I know I'm not the only one out there who shares their humble abode with a member of the feline persuasion. And whilst I am inordinately fond of my cat, Polly, I have also come to realise that owning such an animal has a number of VERY bad side effects.

One in particular.

My advice to young players is that IF you are going to obtain a cat, and IF you also have a penchant for only wearing clothes of one particular colour, it is best to make sure your cat's fur is the same shade as your gear.

How do I know this? Read on....

A few months ago, it was unseasonably cold, so I decided I would wear a jumper. As those of you who know me would attest, the VAST majority of clothes in my wardrobe are black, and this sweater was no exception.

So I chucked it on, not really looking too closely, and headed to the station.

I was sitting on the seat, waiting for my train, when the random man next to me started to chat:

• Man: What's the name of your cat?
• Me (a bit suspiciously): Pardon?
• Man: Your cat. What's his or her name?
• Me (cagily): Polly. Why? How do you know I have a cat?
• Man (looking smug and self-satisfied): It's not exactly difficult to tell. She's got a lot of white on her, hasn't she?
• Me (starting to get a bit worried): Well, yes, she has. How did you know?
• Man (laughing uproariously): I know because you are absolutely covered in white cat hairs!

At this, I glanced down at my jumper, and sure enough, he was right. There was a veritable forest of white fur ALL OVER IT.

My new buddy thought this was hilarious- "Don't worry, I'm covered in hairs, too!" he laughed, proudly holding out his arm, which was populated with ginger cat fur.

Hmm. Great.

After that day, I've been maniacally brushing my clothes to try and clean off the cat hair, but with little effect. But let me assure you, the next cat I get will DEFINITELY be black.

Or hairless.....

Or I guess I could start a little enterprise like this.....

Advice Part 33- Attracting attention from the ladies

So, as readers of this blog would know, I do not seem to have a whole lot of success with men. I have had a couple of good relationships, but these have been few and far between.....

Yet whilst I have a LOT of trouble attracting romantic attention from the males of the species, I have no such problem receiving interest from ladies.

This would be great. Except from the fact that I am not a lesbian or bisexual.

My advice to young players is that if you receive advances from people of the gender that you are NOT interested in, it's best to take them as a compliment, rather than as a suggestion that your sexuality is ambiguous.

Case in point. On Friday night, my friend and I were out at a restaurant. We sat down, pulled out the menus, and I began discussing my cat. However, I soon became aware that our chat was causing A LOT of interest from two ladies at the neighbouring table....

After a few minutes of silently listening in, the woman next to me pulled out her phone, and showed me a photo of her cat (aka "The devil in a fur coat"). Then the OTHER lady produced HER phone, and started chatting away. The conversation continued for around 20 minutes, both ladies talking away furiously at me, and totally ignoring my friend.

When they FINALLY left, my friend remarked "Wow. The lesbian ladies certainly like YOU." "Ha ha ha!" I smiled nervously "Weren't they just being friendly?" "Err, no", my friend disagreed, laughing away.

I tried to shrug it off, but things took a further turn when we went to the bottle shop to purchase some wine, and the woman behind me asked what I was doing for the rest of the night, and if I'd like to join her to "party on" at her place.


WHAT THE HELL?!

I haven't been approached by three men in an entire year!!!! Yet three women tried to pick me up in a SINGLE NIGHT?! What on earth was happening???

Maybe I should take Woody Allen's advice, and play to my strengths. After all, as he rightly remarks, the good thing about being bisexual is that it doubles your chance of a date on a Saturday night.

Advice Part 8- Top Cat

So, my last post was on "animal behaviour." This post continues the theme.

But instead of focussing on the activities of particularly bad members of the human species, today's post is dedicated to the behaviour of my cat......(wow, how was that for a great segue? Ha ha!)

My advice for young players is- if you have a cat, make sure it knows that YOU are "Top Cat". Otherwise, it may start getting delusions that IT occupies this exalted status.

Case in point. Last year, I obtained my cat, Polly, who came as a "package deal", along with her comfy cushion.

At first, things went well- I sat on the couch, and Polly sat on her cushion.

FANTASTIC!

Or so I thought....

After a couple of weeks, Polly decided to exert her authority, and challenge me for the mantle of "Top Cat", and all it entails (namely, prized position on the sofa).

When I arrived home at night, there she was on the couch. And despite much encouragement, she would NOT budge. I tried everything.

• Bribing her with tuna.
• Beseeching and pleading.
• Spraying her with the water bottle.

Nothing worked.

Now, Polly occupies the best part of the sofa (closest to the TV and the heater), whilst I am "permitted" to squeeze myself into a tiny space in the corner.

Maybe if I'm lucky, she'll let me sit on her cushion.....But I doubt it.