Okay so let's continue on with the story of Murphy.
(For Murphy Part 1 - Click Here)
In the first few months I had Murphy I was a nervous wreck. I had never taken care of anything before besides Sam and I only had him for two weeks tops.
I guess you could count those fish that freak out when you put a mirror up to them? What are those called? I don't remember, but I went through a couple of those as a kid.
Other than that no pets.
My Murphy was a hand-full.
First it took her several weeks to learn how to clean herself. I don't want to explain why (and you'd thank me for that) but I was forced to her to give her baths. The very thought of this makes me cringe just thinking about it. It sounds cruel but it was necessary, I promise. Thankfully my roommate's cat, Tink gave Murphy the 411 on cleaning up and that problem was solved in no time.
Things were really starting to settling down with Murphy and it came time to take her in for her shots.
On the day of her first vet visit, I put her in the car with me in the front seat. Fastening my seat belt, I looked over at her in my passenger seat. The little ball of of fluff looked so peaceful perched in the seat and for a moment I imagined she would be just like any pet I've ever seen in a car (in the movies I've seen).
Okay, I may have pictured her more like a dog in my daydream. I have no idea why....
My daydream went something like this:
The moment I would pull the car out the drive, Murphy would jump up with excitement. She would be so ecstatic she's chase her tail in a circle for a few seconds. Then she would give me that look and I would say "alright Murph" and I'd push the button for the window. The window would slide down and Murphy would jump up with her back legs on the seat, front legs on top of the car door. She'd stick her head out the window, her whiskers blowing wild in the wind, tongue flapping in her face. Her eyes sparkling. Every now and then she would glance back at me and I would smile and she would smile...okay I realize this is impossible.
This is not at all how it went obviously. Because cats can't smile and Murphy's not a dog.
The moment I started the engine. Every muscle in Murphy's body tensed. Every strand of black and white fur straightened and pointed out in every direction possible. She jumped to her feet and arched her back. Her face stricken with terror. Eyes wide with fear.
: (
Okay I thought after starting the engine, Murphy would settle down. But this was not the case. As I drove down our street, Murphy threw her body ALL over my car. She was like a ball in a ping pong machine. Thank God I had the good sense not to put the window down because she would have shot her body right out of the window. She was a loose canon.
To anyone driving next to me, I would have looked like I was grasping madly at the air. Murphy was too fast for my hands. She was on my head, on my head rest, in my rear window, in my front window, on my shoulder, on my steering wheel, under my seats....oh yes and under my brakes (this was pretty tricky braking, I mean, without squashing her).
She howled this heart wrenching cry. Over and over.... and over again. This really crazy cry for help could have mistaken for a wild animal had I not known the source.
I don't know how we made it there in one piece, but we did.
When I finally pulled up into a parking space at the vet. I thought the worst was over. That she had gotten it out of her system.
She had not.
I pulled my visor down and attempted to fix my disheveled hair before going in. I took a few minutes to collect myself before getting out of my car.
Scooping my trouble making Murphy up, I carried her inside. Nestled in my arms you won't have recognized her as the holy terror that just ransacked my car only a few moments ago.
I put my hand on the door, pulled it towards me, and stepped into the rush of cool air conditioned veterinarian office air.
I'm not sure how much time passed, maybe seconds. It seemed like a millisecond.
All I know is that I had Murphy in my arms when I walked into the vet and when I got to the front desk, she was on my head. Yes, on my head.
Claws marks all up my arms, claw marks on my neck, claw marks on my scalp. Not to mention all the ones that were already there from the car ride.
I heard snickers from some people seated in the waiting room with their well behaved cats and dogs. I looked nervously around me, embarrassed of course, because try as I might Murphy wouldn't budge as I attempted to pull her off. When I managed to get her claws out of my scalp I brought her back down and tried to nestle her back in my arms.
And she was back on my head.
There was only so much scratching my arms, neck, and head could take before I decided I'd let her stay up there. I balanced her with one hand.
How did this look?
Well, I looked like I like a woman going to the well with my ceramic jar on my head, only my jar was Murphy and my well was the front desk of vet.
Walking up to the counter, I felt like I also looked like the moron who didn't think to put her cat in cat carrier.
The woman said, "You know, you could have brought her in carrier." I didn't have the heart to say anything. I just nodded my head.
I filled out paperwork all with Murphy clawed into my head and when I was done several vet people helped pealed her off of me and took her back to get her shots.
As I sat there in the waiting room, I thought, Well it's not soooo bad. If that's the worst I have to deal with having a cat. Can't be that bad.
Ha. If only.
To be continued...
I feel a little guilty having written about Muffin when I haven't mentioned a word about Murphy our house cat, so let me make up for it in the following blogs.
About five years ago, I was living with some of my friends and I decided it was time to get a pet. I found a lost dog and I suppose that inspired the idea. I couldn't locate his owners so I decided that I should keep him and that I would make him my own.
I bought him some food and a collar, a leash and some toys. I even named him Sam. But despite all that I did for Sam, he didn't want anything to do with me. In fact every chance he got he tried to slip away.
I couldn't keep him in the house so, I boarded up the back fence and I attempted to keep him in our big backyard. But Sam wouldn't have it. He always seemed to get out somehow.
I spent most mornings chasing him down the street, calling out his name, finding him and walking him leash in hand back to my house. I couldn't let him go for a minute because he would take off. That should have been some indication for me. There were plenty of hints but I convinced myself that he was mine.
One morning, Sam had gotten out like he always did and I went racing out to go find him. I think I may have been in my pajamas. I called his name as loud as I could without disturbing the neighbors and hoped no one would come out to find me looking like a complete lunatic. Then, I heard someone calling....another name (I can't for the life of me remember what). Curious I walked barefoot further down the street to find a woman searching in bushes and peaking between houses. I asked her what she was looking for her and she lets out a sigh and says her dog is missing. Well not "her" dog but this dog they found the other day.
Hmph.
I ask her if the dog has black hair and two golden brown spots above his eyes that look like eyebrows. Is he sort of short?, I ask. Like a weeny dog but has the look of a German Shepard?
Is he in the habit of always running away?
I can't believe I thought Sam was mine.
It turns out Sam had been spending time with her family too. He wasn't their dog. They found him just like I did. I guess I realized at that point that Sam wasn't all mine and that he was in the business of being everybody's rescued dog. Maybe he was always running off to be found by someone else. Maybe he was used to having people buy him a leash, food, dog dish and toys. Maybe mine weren't good enough for him. Maybe he was hoping for something better.
I called it quits and walked home with my dog leash and no dog.
Once Sam was gone, I knew I better go find my own dog.
Of course I looked at all my options. I was a regular at the pet store on Hardy Street. I guess that's the polite way of saying I was pet stalker at the Pet Store. I was there at least three times a week.
Everytime I went I got the same "oh it's you again" wave because they started to recognize me. I had no shame. I would give them the smile and nod and I'd point to the room with all the dogs and I'd spend some time searching for the right one.
But there never was a right one. I never got a dog. Turns out my roommate was allergic. Get a cat, she told me. I hadn't thought of that. So the search began for Murphy.
I was still doing my regular visits to the pet store, but decided to check the newspaper for any ads for kittens. There was a woman not far from our house who was trying to give away kittens so my friend, Bowman and I went over to check it out.
When we got there it was just as I expected. A mom (calico) cat and dad (tuxedo) cat on this woman's porch with several 6 week old kittens squirming around.
Some were gray and fluffy with matching grey eyes. Smoky, they looked like puffs of smoke to me.
There was one that was the worst calico mix I had ever seen in my life and one in the far corner of the porch, a tuxedo cat.
The woman was babbling on about how she thought her cat was neutered when she got it and then the next thing that she knew she had kittens in her closet. She tells me that the father is this tuxedo cat. She points at him. He's ours too, she says like I should know that the daddy isn't just some male cat off the street, that what we have here is something really domestic. she points to the calico kitten and says that nobody wants that one because its so ugly.
And it was.
I stood there staring at the ugliest cat in all the world. There wasn't a single patch of pure color on its little body. It's orange, white, and black hairs were mixed together like a mixture of creole seasoning.
I should have felt sorry for it. But sadly, I didn't.
It wasn't Murphy. I could tell that right away.
I think she thought her comment would spark empathy but I was really only interested in the loner tuxedo kitten on the other side of the porch. I walked over to the tuxedo kitten stationed off in the corner and crouched down beside her. I tried to pet her. Instead of a soft purr, she turned sharply around and glared at me. She let out this bark that I didn't even know kittens could make. Her eyes weren't sweet, they were cross. She was aggravated. A little ball of fury. How dare I pet her. She wanted to be alone. She moved a few feet to get away from me. And that's when I knew she was mine. Crabby little kitten. How could I not love her.
More on this later. :)
Grocery shopping.
One of my jobs in our house is to do our grocery shopping. When assigning who does what that's what I raised my hand for. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.
I used to really I hate it. The truth is that before Jason, grocery shopping was not something I did much. I never made a list. Never made a budget for it. Never could tell you what was on what isle.
But things have changed. I'm a new person. I am grocery shopper. I'm actually a pretty good grocery shopper.
Like most things I take on, I researched it. I googled coupons that I've never used. I tried to find a list of staple items. Something tangible to make my first grocery list. I found nothing of the sort.
You can't google a grocery list. It's just not how it works.
Apparently its all trial and error. And I really hate trial and error.
You might be asking yourself why if I hated grocery shopping did I raise my hand for it? It's simple.
I'm the bargain hunter and Jason is the package shopper.
If the bargain shopper goes shopping the monthly bill is less than $200.
If the package shopper goes shopping it will be $200++++++ and all they have to show for it is four or five of the best products on the market. Some ribs, and some steaks.
Why?
A bargain hunter = a person who buys the item that is the cheapest on the shelf
A package shopper = a person who looks for the coolest looking product.
I didn't even know there were package shoppers until I met Jason.
There were tell tale signs in the beginning.
A bottle of wine with an extravagant label.
Chips in in a beautifully constructed bag made to look like it had been recycled a hundred and fifty times over.
You could open the cabinets at his apartment and find products with beautiful labels. Cursive letters, bright colors, elaborate packaging. Phrases on them that said, "organic" "100% tastier"
I knew when I saw these things at Jason's place when we were dating that something was up. Confirmed it when we went shopping together.
For every cheap store brand item I picked up. Jason's picked up the most expensive, nicest looking product. "Look," He would say, "Now doesn't this look nice." His eyes would sparkle with excitement. A big smile on his face.
In those days, I let it go. It was his money.
But now. It's ours.
So a few nights ago, when Product Shopper asked me Bargain Huntress if we could have a grocery store date, I should have known what was in store for us....ha "in store"!
He called me at work and offered to ride over to the store with me. Asked me if I had a grocery list.
Nope, cataloged in my head, I say. (I lied.)
There's silence on the other line. (I know he's contemplating staying home because this could take longer than he hopes for.) I need to lasso him back in and fast.
You see as a bargain huntress, I know a great deal when I see it. I see a great deal all wrapped up in one. I see a grocery cart pusher, a grocery bagger, an grocery loader, and best of all a grocery UNloader. I need to keep him interested or I could lose all of the above.
"You know, I know exactly what I need. And it should only take a hour at the most. (more like three hours, really who knows...I forgot to make a list so it could take forever)." I'm trying my best to sound convincing.
A package shopper doesn't shop for three hours like Bargain Hunters do. They wouldn't waste time. They are in and out of the store in less than fifteen minutes. It's not unusual for this breed of shoppers. They can spot a good product in seconds.
Bargain hunters? Not so much.
"Oh okay, I'll go, but an hour, okay?." He says.
"Yep just an hour. :)" And we are set to go.
We get to Wal-Mart----I know---the dreaded Wal-Mart, I don't know why I skipped out on Casey Jones, my market of choice. I immediately remember why I don't bring my husband with me to the store. Why I choose to shop alone. Why I choose not to have someone challenge my Great Value and Equate purchases.
It all starts with pepper and its down hill from there.
Jason's been loading the grocery cart with some things he's been needing for some ribs he plans to cook later this week. Pepper is one of those things he needed.
I wasn't really concerned about any thing he's been throwing in the cart until the pepper.
"Hey, what do you think about this pepper." He says.
(Oh no.)
I glance around my shoulder at the pepper he's holding up for me. I walk over and sure enough its one of those metal container peppers jars. I'm kind of a sucker for those too, so I halfway understand why he's interested in it.
It has a black label over a gold tin can and nice bold lettering. It looks (....very Saints-like) antique and vintage. It screams "hey I'm the old-school" pepper. It looks.....more expensive than regular pepper.
I look at him and say "okay where's the other pepper you had?"
He reaches into the cart and pulls another tin can pepper. Maybe they all come like this...I starting to wonder whether I have I ever bought pepper. Do they even make Equate pepper?
Suddenly I too am fascinated by tin can pepper.
I quickly pop back into reality, "Well I say (thinking about bargains again) what's the price difference?"
"Its a dollar more...BUT it has two more ounces."
This is the problem with the bargain huntress, she can be adamant in her ways, eyes on the prize, ever focused on the bargain, but this can be no match for the package shopper who can become just as convincing as the product he is infatuated with.
I'm too tired to do the math. I'm sold. But wait---
"Okay well where is it made?" Shouldn't that have some factor? I can't let him win. Not over pepper.
We start scanning the fine print.
Minnesota and then the other can - Minnesota.
Both are Minnesota.
Pepper Competitors.
Okay you win, Jason.
But that wasn't the end, it was the beginning. For every Equate brand I went for, there was Jason's fancy brand. I tried losing him in the store but it only worked for a little while.
At one point, I suggested we split up. Go our separate ways. Makes sense, I say. We are shopping for different things.
Truth is I need to get away. And fast. I need to buy my Equate, my Great Value.
Once I'm on my own I pull myself together. I turn down a new isle and I try to remember my mentally cataloged grocery list. Then I scan the isles for the cheap stuff. I make my way down the isles and as I turn, I see him.
Standing beside a display of something jarred. Looking at labels.
I throw the grocery cart in reverse and almost pop a wheely trying to backtrack to the isle I came from. It's too late.
"Look Carrie. It's..."
Nope I'm gone.
By the time we finished I had enough of the cheap stuff and Jason had enough of the fancy products to make us both pretty happy and satisfied with our trip.
And the pepper?
I admit it's some pretty tasty pepper. Much better than Equate and the Great Value stuff. :)
Okay so let's continue on with the story of Murphy.
