I’ve lived in Hollister for nine months, three weeks, four days
and about seven hours, respectively.
I’ve lived in Hollister for nine months, three weeks, four days and about seven hours, respectively.
During this time, certain demographics of this town have caused me some angst.
Many of the people I’ve met here are great, others not so much.
Some of the people here make me want to stick around for awhile, and just the sight of others makes me want to put the pedal to the medal and never look back.
But despite all the good and bad people in this small, albeit “interesting” city, being single and young in a town of couples is starting to have an effect on me.
So much so that in two days I’m going to do something I thought I would never, ever do.
On Saturday I’m adopting a kitten.
I always pitied single women who lived alone and came home every night to a cat – it just seemed so pathetic and desperate.
But a few weeks ago when I found myself speeding over to Blockbuster on Friday evening to get first pickings on new releases, and then realizing there was no point because I’ve seen everything on the shelves, I decided enough was enough.
I’m either going to be pathetic alone, or be pathetic with an adorable little kitten mewling at my side on wild and crazy Friday nights spent on the couch in front of the television.
The only problem with this cat thing is that I know absolutely nothing about them.
I’ve always had dogs, and even though my fantastic landlord would be OK with my big, fat, lazy black lab (which, despite those unfavorable characteristics is the best dog in the world) living with me, I just don’t have the time to bestow the needed attention on a dog.
So Kaycee stays beached at my folks’ house up north, and I pick up Oskar at the animal shelter Saturday.
Other than being eight weeks old, I don’t know much about my soon-to-be roommate. Like I said, I don’t know anything about cats so I couldn’t even say what kind of cat he is, other than he’s small, furry and black.
Being that he’s an orphan he’s probably a mutt cat – I don’t know if you can call a cat a mutt, but like I said, I don’t know anything about cats.
I’ve already bought a little cat house, some cat toys, some cat food, the all-important litter box and even a cat place mat to put in front of the litter box so he can wipe his little paws on it when he steps out so he doesn’t track crap all over my house – literally.
I’m hoping all this stuff works; although I despise any type of cleaning, I still do it regularly because I prefer my house tidy and odor-free.
I’ve heard cats are pretty clean and manageable, but if I happen to adopt a four-legged hellion it’s not beneath me to take a trip to the nearest Chinese restaurant to scare some sense into the little guy.
But I’m sure everything will be fine and the new addition to the Musgrave household will prove to be a good one.
Then I can continue my descent in becoming one of those weird single girls who devotes all her time and energy to her cat.
It probably won’t ever get that bad, but if you ever see me walking around with a T-shirt with a picture of a cute black cat on it, please feel free to knock me upside the head.
Man, what an exciting life I lead.
Erin Musgrave is a staff writer at the Free Lance. Her column appears every Thursday.
