Life, with cats

I’m a “basic bitch”. Basic as shit. So, I love coffee, Gilmore Girls, pretty nails, vintage dresses and cats.

Given that statement not to be confused with “labelling”, I own cats, three to be precise. One black, one b/w and a tiger like kitten.  All of them came from the streets of Caracas, dehydrated, starving and sick… Not to mention scared, injured and alone. Since I’m not a cat I’ll write from my limited human point of view, a human born safely and loved, cared and protected for almost 30 years, no one had to feel sorry for me, or pick me up out of pity for you see, I’m lucky.

But luck is a strange wild card, it can lead you to life, but that’s it and the rest of your existence is that: yours. Then you have options, choices and decisions, good, bad and beyond, wise, smart and plain dumb, live varies at the blinks of one’s eyes and chance is certain, at least for me regardless my unchangeable nature and constant fear of dying haunting me with every breath I take.

Where Human meets Cat? Right at Scared, Injured, Alone AV. There’s where I relate to their lives closely, intimately and freely. Each cat has a piece of my soul as I have their paws engraved in my hands, no other relationship right now can be as inclusive and understanding as the human / cat is. It’s honest. Brutally honest, born out of weaknesses and loyalty, each furry partner broke my heart and sought me, a fallen girl who cries and can’t manage crowds without rapid levels of anxiety running through her body. In my intimate fears I was brave enough to save them. It’s a victory of unlikely odds over predictable behavior. We won.

Quietly in my house we enjoy a unique way of life, a life of happy solitude. Three victorious creatures and one human that was saved, overcoming  their bad lucks a fault.


A time to step back and gather yourself together.

While most people are still pass out drunk or heavily drugged on family festivities, I just want to escape, hide myself or simply disappear. It’s not a matter of love for my family and humanity – I’m always questioning that second statement though- or being a simple Grinch, and I couldn’t care less about holidays to be honest. The fact is this: Christmas has stolen my tolerance for crowded, forced and unrealistic happiness.  
Magic is for children and the excessive amounts of alcohol were for me, but like 5 years ago, now my cynicism kicks more than the times I blink, and finding a good place to compost myself after unwanted phone calls, text messages and all the goods given to us by social media gets harder, not because of me per se but rather as a result of the lack of space to mourn childhood before embracing the loneliness inherently attached to any person pass his/her mid 20’s.
Christmas becomes a shriek for my heart as strong as a knife stabbing me several times a day, I think this is a time to heal for 11 months of -mostly and surely- grief, joys, losses and life as it comes. Mourning is not suffering or self punishment just for the sake of it, is how I, we, you, prepare to enter to another 365 days of living in your chosen, designated part of an enormous wheel -destiny, fate, karma- named as you like. It’s a time to seek lost pieces left behind during the past days, to forgive yourself -again- and make promises for a better tomorrow.
Let me lick my open wounds, and I’ll be back on track as my witty self in no time at all.