Gatito en ventana? Bueno. Gatito en casa? No está bien.

She replies with “:3”. My connection to her is tangential. She’s the ex-girlfriend of an acquaintance who threw an epic Facebook fit when she told him he had to come correct or they were done. Yeah . . . so . . . if you know this blog and the community it speaks of . . . a demand to come correct isn’t going to go over well. That happened.

Este pequeño gatito tiene problemas. Which . . . is a bit of a given if I’m acquainted with her. None of this is new or worth 1500 words of my time. I feel like I need to repeat myself, though. I need to leave gatito lindo alone. I really should. But . . . no, I am going to make a feeble attempt at repeating some of the ways I do things and hope that I don’t get myself in too much trouble.

Ese pequeño gatito perdido lindo es un problema. “No” isn’t a word I do well with. Name a crazy idea and ask me to do it and I’ll go for it. When I was a tweenie, kids in my neighborhood, friends in my youth, pissed into a Jack Daniel’s bottle and dared me to take a sip. It smelled worse than it tasted.

Rinse, repeat. I’m supposed to say no. I’m supposed to learn to look at the kitten in the pet store window and keep walking. I keep talking to the helpful sales clerk about the kitten and pricing litter boxes. I allow a little lie that litter boxes don’t stink that bad if you keep up with them. Yeah, about that . . .

I abhor blog posts that are lists but here we go. God gave me some rules along with the blessings I’ve received:

  • 最好的禮物是秘密給出。Gifts have to be given with no agenda, no hope of return. So, the oft-attempted tactic of feeding the kitten and expecting the kitten to be grateful in some amenable way? Can’t happen.
  • Don’t attempt to fix el gatito so it stops being a shit in ways that piss me off. My life and this blog are home to people who respond to demands to come correct with bad behavior. I was asked to serve them even though they act out.
  • Never, never, never ask lindo gatito if she is saved. She’s probably more worried about my soul than hers.
  • el pequeño gatito who has lain across the railroad tracks hoping some Lone Ranger looking guy will scoop her up? Si ella espera que yo soy el salvador entonces que es un gatito muerto. gatito estúpida.
  • Romans 7:15 “No entiendo lo que me pasa, pues no hago lo que quiero, sino lo que aborrezco.”?

I don’t think the above list is for you, dear reader. We know what the expected choices are. A kid in the laundromat yesterday *had* to ride the coin operated race car and couldn’t get his Dad to give him $0.75. He knows he’s not supposed to find the quarters in his Mom’s purse. He knows he’s not supposed to ride the race car. He knows he’s supposed to sit still on the bench and wait. Does he? You read this blog. What do you think?

I’m trying to talk myself out of something I know I’ll end up doing. El lindo gatito en la ventana necesita para mantenerse en la ventana. Usually what happens is that I lose my damned mind and bring the kitten home after signing a bunch of contracts agreeing to pay for her on credit. Then she sees what a total man cave my house is and how bad a housekeeper I am. (Nota a los muy pequeños gatitos, que sé sobre el mal hedor en el baño). No hugs, no flirts or kisses, no meal and wine, no happy ending, straight to the maridos lista de tareas. El gatito hands me the kitchen gloves, a bucket and sponge and makes it clear I am cleaning the bathroom now. There isn’t even a dreamy morning after. In a millennial second the first, “¿me amas y por qué vives así, papá?” argument starts. Mutual friends message me with concerns about what my intentions are.

When gatito bonito walks across my ankle and rubs her head against it I think about the afterglow on Sunday morning. I forget about the hangover or the SnapChat video where she declared an ultimatum–get my shit straight or forget her. Ah well . . . gatitos gatos se vuelven lo suficientemente pronto. Then gatito bonito is gone and I’m ghosted. My life returns to its prior quietude. Until next time.