My Daughter’s Cat Vomited Under My Bed, and Other Reasons Why I Want to Live Alone
A sickly, sour odor is wafting through the air as I sit down to get some writing done, and my face takes on its familiar what the fuck?! expression. It spends far too much time in that position these days.
One of my daughter’s cats has thrown up under the bed and hightailed it out of there as fast as he could before I caught him in or just after the fact. It’s not like I would yell at him. He’s a big, smart, clumsy, floofy mountain of a cat, big enough to terrify little dogs, but he was a rescue and is scared of everything. I would never jeopardize his fragile sense of safety.
Instead, I silently fume, and glare in the direction of my daughter in the other room. It’s not her fault either. These things just happen. The thing is, these things wouldn’t happen if I lived alone.
If I lived alone I wouldn’t be lifting a heavy wood bed frame, trying to find the source of the vomit. I wouldn’t have a box spring fall on my head. I wouldn’t slip and land my hand squarely in a stinky pool of chunky cat vomit. I would be peacefully writing on some profound topic other than cats throwing up. I would be a calm, contented Zen-like goddess.
If I lived alone there wouldn’t be any 20-something dude whiskers all over the bathroom sink.
If I lived alone there would always be clean spoons and towels.
If I lived alone I would never have to wait for the bathroom, hopping around like a five-year-old on fire.
If I lived alone I would never have to ask anyone to turn it down or speak up.
If I lived alone I would find my leftovers in the refrigerator the next day.
If I lived alone I would never worry about my grown-up kids coming home late because I probably wouldn’t even know they went out, and I wouldn’t have to bite my tongue to stay silent because at our ages I don’t need and shouldn’t be asking.
We all live together for several personal and financial reasons, and the truth is I have a pretty sweet deal since I never have to do housework, among other perks. But I still feel like Kevin McCallister in “Home Alone”.
“When I grow up and get married I’m living alone! Did you hear me? I’m living alone! I’m living alone!”
And since I’ve established that I’m never getting married (again), I’m really going to be alone. No kids, no cats, no vomit. I can’t wait to grow up.