She's ok, folks... -April 7, 2006

Well, in the ongoing saga of.... me.........

not much has happened.

I've been in a wrestling match with the federal government concerning my identity. (I'm winning, but only because of my signature WWE-worthy moves...)

Let's see:

License, check.

Passport, in the mail.

Social security card.... next week.

Vet appointment... today.

Yes, in my ever eventful life, the big event of today was traumatizing my cat a little more by taking her to the vet.

I'm so cruel.

But she's fine, in fact, better than fine. She's as healthy as a geriatric cat can be. And that's great.

I realize that most of you don't know about her, but she's my best friend, my confidante, and the darn-best lap-warmer this side of the Yangzi River.

She's about a foot tall, around 8 pounds, and as round as a football.

And she's the best cat in the world.

Yes, I know this claim is made my people around the world, but I have UNCONTESTED PROOF that she, in fact, is the best, most amazing feline to ever grace our presence. (When she feels like it, of course...)

"Why is that, Selena?" You probably aren't thinking at all, but I'll assume that you are anyway...

Well, to begin, she's a survivor. Her name is Ocean Cat, a name given to her by the Humane Society where I got her 13 years ago, when I was a wee lass of nine...

She was huddled in a tiny cage in the corner. She had arrived the day before. "Was plucked from the ocean." The gruff Humane Society attendant explained. (Hey, they're not all little old ladies working there, ok?) "She was found paddling her little paws for her life. A couple found her in knee deep water in New Symerna Beach and turned her in here. We think she was in a bag with her other brothers and sisters, but we never found the bag. She's got some salt in her eye, and it'll be black and water for the rest of her life. But she's a scrapper, that one. Aye." He explained. (In this version, the worker is Irish too... just go with it.)

But none of that mattered. The moment I saw her, I knew. Dad forsaw the medical complications of adopting a water-logged kitten and asked if I wanted to look at the other cats first. "Sure," I replied. "But I want this one."

Ever since, she's gone on to prove that she is, in fact, the best cat in the world.

For example, she follows me around the house. She's always got to be within two feet of me at all times. How cute is that?

Secondly, she's a great paperweight. Whenever you work on homework or taxes or something, she's always right there, on top of your work, lest an errant breeze rips through your house and mix up all your work.

Thirdly, she's a great distraction from all that homework or tax work you don't want to be doing anyway. I mean, who can resist not petting her football shaped head when she's just sitting there on top of all of your work? No one, that's who.

Finally, she's always sticking out her tounge. Yeah, always. She sticks the tip of her tounge out of her mouth at the world all the time, as if to say to all the other inferior cats... "Nayah... I am clearly the best cat in the world. So there."

So there you have it.

Undeniable proof that:


A) My cat is the best cat in the world

and

B)I have little to nothing else to do with my time off the ship, now that I've tracked down my own identity, finally sent off my passport application, and aquired my license,

but sit around with my cat.

Goodness, from being too busy to breathe to being bored beyond belief.

Someone.

Anyone.

Call me.

Let's have dinner. Lunch. Dog park, whatever.

I'm obviously spending WAY too much time indoors.

With my cat.