Thursday, January 27, 2011

In Which My Life Resembles a Sitcom

Have you ever stopped to think about sitcoms?  No, no, hear me out.  I don't watch very many, but it occurs to me that the reason they're hilarious is that many present situations which would be excruciatingly awful in real life.  I know this, because my life has become one.  I am living in a sitcom.

The scene is this: the bedroom is small; cluttered and dark in the pre-dawn hours.  Nothing can be seen on the bed beneath the many comforters.  All of a sudden--chaos.  The cat has decided it's time to get up, and rouses the rest of the bed's occupants by alternately meowing loudly or leaping on them.  The single human occupant wakes suddenly, struggling to free herself beneath the heavy mass of blankets and dogs which have pinned her legs.  Her plan is to stagger to the bedroom door--as she does every morning--to open it just enough for the cat to slip out.  The cat is fully capable of opening the goddamn door himself, but for some reason known only to him, he requires the human to do it for him.  On this morning, somewhere between the bed and the door, the larger of the two dogs decides to join the fun.  The human, blind in the dark, does not notice the large black mass, trips over it, and fall face-first into the narrow wall next to the door.

The cat continues to meow insistently, so she struggles to regain her feet, swearing incoherently at the dog to get back in her goshdarn bed, and accomplishes her goal: the door is open.  The cat slips out.  Human and dog return to bed, where the human, an insomniac who considers any night where she manages to fall asleep at all a damn good one, is wide awake.  She lies in the dark, doing crossword puzzels on her ipod and plotting the death of her beloved cat, until she finally falls back to sleep.  At 4:45 AM.

I have never had so much empathy for Simon (see the video below).

I have so many updates on my current, multi-pet life.  If any of us survive until tomorrow, perhaps I'll write about them.

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