As Carrie's Facebook friends already know, not long ago her levels of RO$$ fatigue reached their breaking point. Desperate for a solution, she determined that our marriage simply couldn't go on unless we acquired some sort of pet to "mix things up." I still have no idea what the hell that meant, but I figured it would be better to be woken up every night by a confused animal than by the continued sobbing fits of an emotionally shattered spouse.
Initially, the thought of getting a cat didn't thrill me. Those close to me know that, when I was four, the cat of a neighbor -- completely unprovoked -- slashed me down my right forearm. Forgive me for dipping my pen in cliched ink when I say that the physical scars vanished long ago, the emotional ones still remain. But, being the loving husband that I am, I couldn't bring myself to stand in the way of Carrie's right to ignore me in favor of some animal she'd just met. So on March 27th, 2011, Sam the cat (not to be confused with Sam the MaT) entered our lives.
Early on it became clear that having a cat would be more enjoyable than I'd anticipated. Perhaps my biggest concern was that our condo would quickly become covered in a layer of cat hair, but it seems that Sam sheds considerably less than I do, which is a plus, I guess. And we are lucky that Sam isn't one of those asshole cats who constantly gets mad at you. Even if you approach her when she doesn't want to be picked up, she doesn't fight back at all. So, since it quickly became apparent that Sam had the potential to be more to me than a mere co-habitant, I started thinking about how I could take this cat ownership thing to the next level. My inspiration came from this very blog.
In past entires, I've complained about always having to run alone, because it sucks. But since I knew that Sam the MaT regularly forces his once-abused dog to do long runs and Yasso 1000s with him, I figured it couldn't do much harm to take Sam the cat out for a few easy eleven-milers. Needless to say, Sam the cat thought this was a terrible idea. To sway her, I played the guilt card, pointing out how Sam the MaT's pet goes running with him all time. (It's the same approach I use when I point out to Carrie how Sam the MaT's wife goes running with him all the time.)
Sam whined throughout the entire run, but I told her to suck it up, because things were only going to get worse in the near future: For each of the next six days, we would be waking up together at 4:00 a.m. to go search for an authentic Ben Roethlisberger GHB pill that was dropped somewhere in Allegheny County as part of a contest put on by the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Every morning as we set off on our search, Sam would give me a look that seemed to ask, "Don't you have a job?" It was a fair question, but everywhere we went, we were surrounded by several thousand fellow pill-searchers, so who was I to question the entire region's economy shutting down so that one of us might win the grand prize of two tickets to Big Ben's wedding reception? The contest came to its extremely disappointing conclusion when a two-year-old girl who isn't even potty-trained yet found the pill in a glass on the bar at Cheerleaders (aka Ground Zero for Gordon's bachelor party).
Then I forced Sam to attend a Pittsburgh Penguins game with me. Given that she runs and hides under the couch every time I get home from work, spending an evening in an arena with over 18,000 people she didn't know was a harrowing experience for her. Just as Sam started to get comfortable, the Pens came out and played a terrible third period, finding a way to lose a game that by all rights they should have won. I stormed out of the arena like a little child, and Sam gave me a look that seemed to say, "Why are you so upset about the Pens losing only one out of 82 regular season games? In a year's time you will almost certainly forget this ever happened." I said nothing in reply because, as we all know, cats just don't understand sports.
The next day I asked Sam if she wanted to write an entry for MaT. She relented at first, so I once again tried to guilt her by pointing out that Sam the MaT's pet wrote an entry post a few months ago. Sam the cat quickly shot me a look that seemed to say, "Why the hell should I write a post for your stupid blog when Gordon never bothers to write for it?" For that, I had no comeback.
At the end of ten occasionally acrimonious days, Carrie and I decided that we needed to show Sam just how much we appreciate her for having saved our marriage, so Carrie worked very hard on penning this tribute song to our new family member. Carrie sings and plays the bass, I'm on guitar, and Sam is on the drums. Enjoy, and look forward to meeting Sam the cat on race weekend!
Initially, the thought of getting a cat didn't thrill me. Those close to me know that, when I was four, the cat of a neighbor -- completely unprovoked -- slashed me down my right forearm. Forgive me for dipping my pen in cliched ink when I say that the physical scars vanished long ago, the emotional ones still remain. But, being the loving husband that I am, I couldn't bring myself to stand in the way of Carrie's right to ignore me in favor of some animal she'd just met. So on March 27th, 2011, Sam the cat (not to be confused with Sam the MaT) entered our lives.
Early on it became clear that having a cat would be more enjoyable than I'd anticipated. Perhaps my biggest concern was that our condo would quickly become covered in a layer of cat hair, but it seems that Sam sheds considerably less than I do, which is a plus, I guess. And we are lucky that Sam isn't one of those asshole cats who constantly gets mad at you. Even if you approach her when she doesn't want to be picked up, she doesn't fight back at all. So, since it quickly became apparent that Sam had the potential to be more to me than a mere co-habitant, I started thinking about how I could take this cat ownership thing to the next level. My inspiration came from this very blog.
In past entires, I've complained about always having to run alone, because it sucks. But since I knew that Sam the MaT regularly forces his once-abused dog to do long runs and Yasso 1000s with him, I figured it couldn't do much harm to take Sam the cat out for a few easy eleven-milers. Needless to say, Sam the cat thought this was a terrible idea. To sway her, I played the guilt card, pointing out how Sam the MaT's pet goes running with him all time. (It's the same approach I use when I point out to Carrie how Sam the MaT's wife goes running with him all the time.)
Sam whined throughout the entire run, but I told her to suck it up, because things were only going to get worse in the near future: For each of the next six days, we would be waking up together at 4:00 a.m. to go search for an authentic Ben Roethlisberger GHB pill that was dropped somewhere in Allegheny County as part of a contest put on by the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Every morning as we set off on our search, Sam would give me a look that seemed to ask, "Don't you have a job?" It was a fair question, but everywhere we went, we were surrounded by several thousand fellow pill-searchers, so who was I to question the entire region's economy shutting down so that one of us might win the grand prize of two tickets to Big Ben's wedding reception? The contest came to its extremely disappointing conclusion when a two-year-old girl who isn't even potty-trained yet found the pill in a glass on the bar at Cheerleaders (aka Ground Zero for Gordon's bachelor party).
Then I forced Sam to attend a Pittsburgh Penguins game with me. Given that she runs and hides under the couch every time I get home from work, spending an evening in an arena with over 18,000 people she didn't know was a harrowing experience for her. Just as Sam started to get comfortable, the Pens came out and played a terrible third period, finding a way to lose a game that by all rights they should have won. I stormed out of the arena like a little child, and Sam gave me a look that seemed to say, "Why are you so upset about the Pens losing only one out of 82 regular season games? In a year's time you will almost certainly forget this ever happened." I said nothing in reply because, as we all know, cats just don't understand sports.
The next day I asked Sam if she wanted to write an entry for MaT. She relented at first, so I once again tried to guilt her by pointing out that Sam the MaT's pet wrote an entry post a few months ago. Sam the cat quickly shot me a look that seemed to say, "Why the hell should I write a post for your stupid blog when Gordon never bothers to write for it?" For that, I had no comeback.
At the end of ten occasionally acrimonious days, Carrie and I decided that we needed to show Sam just how much we appreciate her for having saved our marriage, so Carrie worked very hard on penning this tribute song to our new family member. Carrie sings and plays the bass, I'm on guitar, and Sam is on the drums. Enjoy, and look forward to meeting Sam the cat on race weekend!
I, for one, am stoked to meet Sam the Cat. We were pretty obsessed when Stuffy Pierre arrived in our lives, though he's a fat POS that could never dream of running eleven miles.
ReplyDeleteWhile Natalie and I initially experienced the opposite of your marital bliss upon getting Charley--finding our marriage in a downward spiral after Natalie took a week to warm to the idea of having a dog--we've since agreed that nothing beats pet ownership. As far as blog posts go, nothing beats personification of said pets.
I think this is my favorite post. I look forward to making Sam's acquaintance.
ReplyDeleteWelcome to the former cat-haters club, Ross. I never thought I would be a happy cat owner, but here I am
ReplyDelete