In praise of my a**hole cat

When the world is in turmoil, it's good to know there are some things you can count on

As I’ve written in the past, I am not a fan of boats. This must be why, when life feels particularly difficult or uncertain, I find myself using boat metaphors.

When our daughter was in treatment for leukemia when she was little, for example, I called the ordeal—three long years of it—a “crappy little boat trip.” This felt much more apropos than something like (barf) “journey.”

More recently, I likened my new, empty-nested phase of life to a lake, which, I know, is not the same as a boat, but it is boat adjacent.

Lately, my nautical metaphor of choice is that I feel like I’m walking on a boat.

You may be familiar with this feeling if you’ve ever been on a ferry or a whale watch or even one of those pontoon party boats. You get up to get a snack or a brewski, or to change seats for a better view, and you're trying to look all casual and cool, like, hey no big deal, I can walk on this boat even though it’s rocking a bit, because check out my balance and grace. But inside you know you are just one tiny swell away from face-planting into someone’s lap.

My reasons for feeling this way are, in part, personal ones. It’s turning out to be more discombobulating than I expected to have the kids back and forth from college on their breaks. They come home, and the rhythms change, and it’s disorienting and, ironically, sort of haunted feeling: This is but the shadow of a reality that once was!

But I get used to them being there, filling the house with their presence and voices and shoes (everywhere, their shoes!) and it feels good and sweet and right. And then, bam, they’re gone again, and the boat is off balance, listing to one side, and it’s a good thing I’ve got decent core strength, otherwise I’d be on my ass.

» KEEP READING! THERE ARE CAT PICTURES COMING! «

This feeling of constant flux is compounded by the thing that’s making it even harder—much harder—to stay upright, which is the chaos and cruelty of the Trump regime.

Between the horror of our homegrown Gestapo wreaking havoc in Minneapolis and beyond, the fact that POTUS has decided to give Putin a run for his money in the take-over-other-countries-just-cuz game, and a thousand other less flashy instances of awful—like encroachments on academic freedom and retreat from global climate change initiatives—I feel like I’m in a constant state of low-grade dread. What’s going to happen next? (An ICE surge here in Boston? Martial law? War with fucking Denmark?) And is it going to overturn this boat completely?

(At this point in this writing, I’m no longer even sure what the boat represents. My life? The United States? THE WORLD? )

I know I am not the only one who is feeling this way.

But in the midst of all this volatility, I try to remind myself that there are some things that will never change. The sun will rise every morning and set every night. The moon will wax and wane. The trees will sprout leaves in the spring. And my cat Opie will always be a dick.

Look at him. Do you see what’s happening here? He wants to get fed, even though it’s way too early for his second feeding of the day, so he’s just sitting there on the counter, knocking shit off of it, trying to get my attention while I’m working.

That’s a stapler you’re seeing in mid-fall.

Several hours after this picture was taken, while my husband and I were happily watching Mad Men (another constant: Pete Campbell will always be insufferable) Opie started marauding in the kitchen for scraps on post-dinner pots and pans, pushing a sheet pan off the counter so as better to lick it, and knocking a glass to the floor in the process—shards of which we continue to step on in spite of sweeping and vacuuming multiple times.

Once we were settled back onto the couch and Don Draper resumed making out with his secretary, Opie proceeded to walk across the keyboard of my husband’s laptop, which was in the the middle of backing up a bunch of files. Just a little “fuck you” for taking away that delicious, greasy sheet pan, probably.

Ahhh. Normalcy!

Other things the little bastard will continue to do, sure as the earth will continue to turn and J.D. Vance will continue to lie:

• Chewing on paper (checks, bills, and important forms are his favorite)—his other signature “feed me” strategy.

• Wailing like a wounded rabbit to be let outside and then wailing to be let back in precisely three minutes later.

• Jumping onto the table while I’m eating lunch or breakfast and attempting to steal food right off my goddamned plate with his little paw.

I’d barely finished my overnight oats when he tried to get in on the action.

At this point you may be thinking: Is all this bad feline behavior—ordinary though it may be—actually a comfort to you while the United States marches steadily toward fascism?

To which I say: OK, fine, not exactly. But there is something to be said for mundane, relatively manageable problems, like a 12-year-old orange cat.

There is something to be said for the fact that despite the nearly unfathomable amount of change and uncertainty in the world right now, the annoyances of everyday life persist. And more important (but less fun for an entire Substack post): so do the pleasures.

I confess, the little fucker does bring us quite a lot of that second one.

He’s a good cuddler.

He loves / tolerates his sister

He makes us laugh. (Who sleeps like this?)

It’s almost worth the broken dishes.

I hope there are lots of things that feel stable and steadfast in your life right now—and that they’re mostly good. I hope you’ve got some people (or pets) to make you laugh, some daily rituals that keep you grounded, and some good rocks to cling to if you get tossed off that boat.

On that last note, I’m gonna let Pete sing you out.

Take good care of each other out there.

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All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but writing is how I make my living. If you enjoy my work, I’d be deeply grateful if you would consider leaving me a one-time tip or upgrading to a paid subscription. Or, hey, buy my book! Thank you for being here. xoxo

P.S. If you want to get involved in solving some bigger-than-cat-sized problems, and push back against the Trump regime, Indivisible is a good place to start. Chances are there’s a chapter near you.

P.P.S. Yes, we have tried many, many techniques to curb our cat’s problematic behaviors, but he appears to be incorrigible.