A Killer Amongst Us

I do not frequently remember my dreams and rarely do I write about them.  They have to be truly weird for me to talk about them at all.  My dream last night wasn't necessarily "truly weird" but after I woke-up and thought about it I realized it was horrifying.

In my dream I was back home in Fredericksburg in the parking lot of a CVS.  Why such detail, I have no idea.  It was cold, dark, and snowing and I was attempting to get into someone's car.  However, there was a huge, grey lion that kept lunging at me (and ONLY me) and preventing me from doing so.  Every time I thought I was safe the grey lion would appear and come after me.  I was always able to escape but eventually I grew weary of the shenanigans.

Finally, someone suggested I call 9-1-1 and so I did.  The firemen came to my rescue and captured the grey lion, though they gave it some other name that I can't remember anymore, and I was able to get in the car and leave.  Obviously, it was at this point that I awoke.

After waking up and releasing the anxiety and stress that comes from constantly eluding a lion in one's dreams I realized something.  The lion was grey.  Lasagna is grey.  The lion was constantly trying to kill me.  Lasagna is constantly trying to kill me.  The lion was Lasagna.  That sneaky b*tch snuck into my dreams and manifested herself as a lion which she most certainly thinks she is.  I'm assuming since she can now apparently get into my mind I should start sleeping with one eye open. 

The look of a killer.

If You Live On The East Coast You Can Probably Guess What This Post Is About

We survived the 5.8 earthquake of 2011, Washington D.C.

Trust me when I say I’m being facetious in writing that.

Yesterday began just like any other day. I got to work late (though if you ask my officemate I’m the most punctual person he knows since I arrive every day right at 8:30. Too bad my start time is 8:00), I took a quick trip to the new Wal-Mart across the street (it’s all the rage right now in this little town), ate lunch, and oh, yeah, did some stuff for which I’m paid. Then, at around 1:50 pm, the earth began to shake. There is a hotel being built next door so my first instincts were that a piece of construction equipment had fired up. When it didn’t stop I immediately knew we were experiencing an earthquake. Thankfully, my officemate was gone for the day because if he had turned around he would have seen a rather panicked Lauren half out of her chair, half under her desk wildly looking around at the ceiling, the desk, the lamp posts outside, and the skeleton of a three story hotel waiting for any one of them to come crashing down. Luckily, none of that happened and the quake was over in a matter of seconds though my nerves were shot for the rest of the day.

When I was a little girl my family lived in Monterrey, Ca and some of my earliest memories are from that time. One that sticks out in my head is how my three year old mind processed earthquakes. In my mind earthquakes were actually a giant ant shaking our house. Clearly, nobody thought to inform the three year old what was going on at the time. With that being said there are many differences between being 3 and experiencing an earthquake and being 30 and experiencing an earthquake one of which is the adult knowledge that earthquakes cause death and destruction. On the other hand there are similarities between being 3 and experiencing an earthquake and being 30 and experiencing an earthquake one of which is pooping in your pants.

Speaking of pooping pants there was one family member who seriously needed a 50s-housewife-style tonic to calm her nerves down hours after the quake struck. Poor, Lasagna. She was so unnerved by the earthquake we found her collar in the baby’s room and eventually found her in the farthest room of the house, cowering in a corner. It took a lot of treats and coaxing to get her to come out and even as of this morning she was on edge when anything sounded out of the ordinary (which apparently includes her food being poured into her bowl…which might make one wonder if I feed her often enough and I promise, I do). I can just picture her as a person, small and nervous and constantly wringing her hands with anxious eyes shifting around, waiting for the next thing to set her off as she reaches into her purse to get one of her special remedies for her “headache.”

Finally, and hopefully the only person in the family who really poops her pants, there’s Alex. According to Marcus, who was home with her at the time, she was completely oblivious to the 5.8 magnitude earthquake. I know she’s aware of her surroundings more and more each day but she is apparently not so in tune with the earth beneath her feet…or in this case the earth beneath her toy. Marcus sent me the picture below not long after the quake shook and I like to think she’s laughing in the face of danger. It’s either that or she went all Dr. Evil on our asses and plotted the whole thing herself because she certainly has a devilish look on that pretty face of hers.

 I demand the sum... OF 1 MILLION DOLLARS.

My Frenemy the Cat

When I first got Lasagna my goal was to make her the best cat on earth. Of course the requirements for what makes a “best cat” are relative but for me it is a cat who sits contentedly on your lap and doesn’t go all stranger-danger when someone new enters the house. I thought the best way to make Lasagna into this type of cat required two things: 1. Force her to sit on my lap and love my love and, 2. Make sure as many people as possible handled her when they came to visit. The first one backfired on me and I think it’s because there is such a thing as “too much love.” Still, some will disagree with me and say that the reason she isn’t a lap cat is because I dressed her up in ridiculous outfits. You say tomato I say tomatoh so let’s just agree to disagree. (On a side note how many whimsical phrases can I fit in one sentence? Roughly 2.)

The point I’m trying to make is that Lasagna did not turn out to be my ideal “best cat.” On one hand she is very friendly. She loves being around people and enjoys sitting somewhere close-by provided you don’t touch her. Another thing she does that I find endearing is she allows children to come juuussst close enough before casually getting up and moving a bit farther out of reach. Instead of running as far away as possible she plays a little game with them and seems to be as interested in them as they are in her. Finally, one last thing I like about Lasagna is that I have never seen her act aggressively towards anybody. Except for me.

Lasagna hates her some Lauren. I have known for some time now that she prefers Marcus over me and I have come to accept that. However, her preference for Marcus and dislike for me has turned into what can only be described as an assassination attempt on her part to be rid of the b*tch that stands between her and her man. For the last few months my days and nights have been spent trying to quietly go about my business and avoid making eye contact with the cat for fear that she may off me at the slightest provocation. I’ve found that by moving slowly I can avoid any confrontation. Unfortunately for me there is little time in my day for moving slowly.

Assassination attempts have been occurring more frequently and, as any good assassin would, she has the element of surprise playing in her favor. Being a small cat allows her to hide and crouch in places not in my line of view. Having pointy teeth and claws also helps as does my resistance towards going to jail for animal cruelty.

If you haven’t lived through an assassination attempt I assure you it is no laughing matter. With one wrong move the fight for my life begins as she hurls her tiny, yet freakishly strong, body into my legs while shouting her war cry. I desperately seek a place to run and hide but by turning my back to her I leave myself vulnerable and she goes for my Achilles heel in an attempt to incapacitate me and finish the job. I fall to the ground in a heap of panic and tears yelling out for help from the man who supposedly devoted his life to me when we said our vows. As she makes her attempts to rip my jugular out I hear Marcus say “What do you want me to do about it?” I begin to wonder if he’s in on it, too? Has she used her cat wiles to seduce him into thinking life would be better without the ol’ ball and chain? Surely not, for if I were gone who would clean her litter box? I shudder to think what horrible plans they have made for life after me.

Then suddenly, much like the attack began, the attack ends and I watch the time bomb that is my cat retreat into another room. I painfully crawl into the nearest room and close the door mindful to lock it in case she’s grown opposable thumbs and figured out how to open doors. I quickly scribble out an SOS and send it sliding out, under the door hoping that Marcus will find it and rescue me (assuming, of course, that he isn’t in on it). A minute later the same note is sent back to me with one, long, bloodied whisker. She’s waiting. As darkness falls I cry myself to sleep hoping and praying that I will live to see the daylight again.





I wake up to a stream of light flooding the room. It’s quiet in the house as I cautiously unlock the door and peer out. No Lasagna. I make my way downstairs and warily begin making coffee when suddenly. She’s there. Rubbing against my legs purring and meowing pitifully for her breakfast. I look down at her and she looks back up with her big, green eyes seeming to ask for a little scratch behind the ears. I oblige and then make my way to the pantry to get her food. It seems like all is well and we are once again friends. As I happily scoop up her food into her bowl I turn, just in time to see her go running away with the butcher knife.

Just come a leetttle closer

I will murderz u

Lasagna (The Cat Not The Food)

I’m going to take a little break from baby chat and talk about my other baby, Lasagna (you thought I was going to talk about Marcus, didn’t you?). She’s our 1 year old cat who came into our lives shortly after we married. How she came into our lives isn’t much of a story though it basically involved me calling Marcus’s bluff and actually proceeding with getting a kitten. For ages I had begged Marcus for a puppy or a kitten…life just wasn’t complete without a furry body to snuggle. Marcus relented, though only a little, when he said I could get a kitten after we married. So, about a month after we married I began searching through Craigslist looking for just the right kitten. I don’t know what drew me to Lasagna other than she was tiny and fluffy and looked rather pathetic and just dying to be adopted. There was also a catch to my getting a pet which was that I would be the sole provider while Marcus could simply bask in the joys of being a pet owner. This came back to bite him in the butt when I got pregnant and he was thus on kitty-litter box duty for the next nine months.

In my attempt to turn Lasagna into the kind of cat I dreamed of, the kind of cat that sits for hours on your lap and rubs affectionately against your legs, it is my belief that I over-loved her as a kitten. I loved her so much that as she grew she began to reject me and turn towards Marcus. As it is Marcus is of the “take her or leave her” mentality which probably prompted her to turn towards him even more; she had to work for his love and by golly she did her best! So now, a year later, we have a cat who could care less for me (other than when I forget to feed her), and who adores Marcus so much it’s sickening.

Case in point: Marcus is currently on travel in Japan. He’s been gone for a week now and it’s just been Lasagna and me hanging out, kicking back, and painting each other’s toenails. Or, it’s the complete opposite. Usually when Marcus is home Lasagna sleeps on the bed with us. You can typically find her curled up next to him. Occasionally I wake-up to find her next to me but I suspect Marcus puts her there to make me feel better. Now, with Marcus gone, Lasagna does not even try to sleep on the bed and if she is it’s on his side at the very corner of the foot of the bed. In other words: As far away from me as possible.

I’ve also noticed she’s grown a little paunchier as time goes by. Being a housecat probably compounds to any sort of weight gain but she has certainly filled-out over the last few months. I have two theories other than her simply being a lazy housecat: 1. She’s been overeating to drown her sorrows because her beloved isn’t around and she doesn’t know why or, 2. Unwittingly she’s packing on the sympathy pounds. Either way the fluff of a fat belly is hard to resist and it takes much self-control (of which I'm greatly lacking) to not pick her up and snuggle my face into the deliciousness. This of course has nothing to do with her continued hatred towards me. Nothing at all. It also has nothing to do with the picture below...

I can haz dignity back?