Evil is the 23 pound beast that we inherited from Carly. See, Evil is happier in a house with boys in it. So he was delighted when Carly moved in with us last fall. However, we were not a permanent home for him. Roomate-Andrew and I can barely take care of our own selves sometimes, much less be parents to a large orange cat. So I came up with a brilliant home for Evil. In fact, it’s with his human counterpart. Like Evil, this new owner has also had weight problems and health issues due to an overconsumption of Taco Bell in his youth. Both he and the cat think that they are some sort of lion.
The only snag is geography. Because this new owner is Big Scary Mike. Remember Mike? DJ Phigmeta? Better known as Jillian’s Large Texan Ex, Mike is still in the Pacific Northwest. Despite being MORE TEXAN THAN EVER. “I’m’a Texan,” he says, “I’m’a’always gonna be a Texan, but I ain’t never goin’ back to Texas. That place is ug-ly! compared to here!” Mike is currently living in the same yuppiefied Seattle suburb he’s been in since we moved up from Dallas. And he’s happily married, and has his own cat: a white Siamese named Pandora, “’cause she’s a box’a’trouble,” he says. However, because Pandora is not cuddly, (“she’s too proud to cuddle,” Mike says, “it’s beneath her,”) his wife wants a snugglier beast. And Evil is like a real live teddy bear.
So I’m sending the cat off to Seattle. He and Mike are obviously destined to be together. There’s been some delays, while Mike was looking to move, and while I was hoping I could take the cat up myself in person. However, I’ve had to expedite the process because now, I have spots. It’s a temporary viral skin condition called “rosea pitarysis”. It’s not the Arts County Leprosy I had three years ago – a plague of open sores all over my face that I had to cover with pancake makeup for two months. This time, it hasn’t spread to my face. But it is all over my midriff, lower back, tummy, upper thighs, upper arms, and there’s a great swirl of spots from the tops of my boobs up to my left shoulder. I look like I have the fucking plague, and I’m very vain about my skin.
The cat is not the direct cause of my spots. But combined with stress, my allergies to the cat caused a breakdown of my immune system. Hence: a pox upon my house! I didn’t think it was that bad, because I haven’t been sneezing or wheezing or itchy-eyed. However, it’s suggested by my mother AND my doctor AND an allergist that the cat is Not Helping Me Get Better. And I’d really like to be able to wear my bustier without having to slap cover-up makeup on my tits and neck. I look hot in that bustier, but not when I have blotches up to my jaw.
So Mr. Cat is going to go live with his human equivalent in Seattle. And I wanted to take him up there myself, to introduce him, so to speak, so he wouldn’t be scared, because I love this critter. But I can’t put it off that much longer. Even after I moved the cat out of my room, the spots have got worse. So even though I will miss Evil terribly, and am very sad to let him go, for the sake of my skin and my health, he’s destined for the forest.
However, here are some of the antics he’s done lately:
1. When a boy slept over last week and I locked him out, he cried outside the door for an hour. Then when I wouldn’t let him in, he went and crapped on the carpet. I threatened to make him into a cape, or maybe a tippet, or a fur stole, for that one.
2. ME: “There’s a syposium on human behavior in Austria my mom told me about. It’s basically a conference on Evil.”
CAT: *looks up and preens*
WENDY: “He’s saying, ‘of COURSE there’s a symposium on me! Look at me! I’m magnificent!'”
3. He follows Andrew around like a little dog. When Andrew goes into the shower in the morning, Evil waits for him to come out. I think he hopes that someday, he might get to go to the office if he waits patiently enough
4. Every day, when I get home, he’s crying for me to feed him. Even if his daddy already has.
ME: “Evil, you still have half a plate of food!
EVIL: “Mrrrrrrrrooooouuuuuuu! MROOOOOUUUUUUU!”
ME: “You’ve been fed!”
ME: “What is WRONG WITH YOU?”
EVIL: “MROOOOOOUUU! MROU! MROU!”
(Translation: IT’S ONLY HALF A CAN!!! YOU PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO STARVE ME!!!!)
5. He begs shamelessly for food, and actually climbs into the fridge when I open it looking for something to eat. One day, I will close him in there if he fits.
6. If I don’t close my door, I roll over on him in the morning because he sleeps right against my lower back.
7. He will ONLY sleep on my bed, or on the black velvet couch.
8. Still cries outside my door, two weeks after being moved out of my room, and then goes into our new roomate’s room instead. Who has almost dropped a weight on him a few times as a result.
9. Sits on the dining room table to watch the fish tank in the corner. Incessantly. One day, he will fall in and we will find him floating in it.
10. Just wandered off to say hello to our other roomate. This cat is far too loved.