Agnes. Unexpectedly.

ONE OF US!

2009-11-23T09:33:00.000-08:00

When I stretch I cannot help but make appropriate audible stretching sounds. And when Nate is falling asleep, often it comes with little sighs. Like his subconscious is saying, "yay, finally, i get a break from all this thinking and analyzing. Sigh."
So it only makes sense that Agnes makes similar sounds when she is falling asleep or finding a new position during her frequent naps. We accept her. She's one of us!

H1N1...A1

2009-11-20T11:38:00.000-08:00

Literally a week after I told my mom I have a hearty constitution, one that isn't susceptible to the swine flu, I got swine flu. My team had just finished a big presentation to Sales and Product Development on Wednesday when I started to feel a tightness in my chest and a propensity to cough.
I jumped in my car, raced the 45 minute commute home and began my collage of couch laying, movie watching and shuffling around the house. Nate was in Portland and though I really needed him to do things like reach the remote or fluff my couch pillow, he just wasn't there. But guess who was? Agnes.
There's not much a 3.5 lb kitten can do for a full gown woman who suddenly can't do simple things like open a can of soda or comb a big snarl from her hair, but she did what she could. She curled up on the couch and joined me. I slept, she slept. I shifted around to find a more comfortable position, so did she. I moaned in misery she would too. And while I was coughing, she would sometimes sneeze. I tried taking a bath to overcome the wild shivers and Agnes curled up next to the tub to keep me company. I like to think we are getting through this swine thing together.
This morning, er, almost afternoon {it's 11:52 a.m. and I just got out of bed} I finally got out of bed, came into the living room and opened up the door to our patio. The air is chilly but fresh. It doesn't smell or taste like the swiney air I've been inhaling all night long. It smells like leaves and snow and FRESH. I can hear the chimes and the leaves rustling; it's so peaceful.
The moment I opened the door Agnes tore out of the house like she was suddenly in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. She does that sometimes. It's like she's running in place for a few strides while her little feet are trying to find traction on our wood floors. Anyway, she tore out of the house and is now chasing the leaves as they stumble across the yard. She's a total delight.

Here are a few photos of Agnes from the last several weeks.

Halloween 2009: Agnes was a chicken with a broken spirit.

Agnes attacking my ponytail elastic...viciously

Helping herself to some Whisker Lickens

I love that she was sleeping like this...exposing her scar and all!

SHAKESPEARE FOR KITTENS: STARRING AGNES

2009-09-24T22:03:00.000-07:00

In brief, I haven't been to bed since Tuesday night. We launched a product on HSN at 10pm last night and I spent 12 hours Tweeting, Re-Tweeting {RT}, LOLing, winky smiley facing ;-), and offering silent prayers to anyone who would listen {thank you Michael Jackson, your support was unmistakably Jackson 5 cool}. All prayers and hard work paid off because our product sold out in twelve hours. Eight people sitting around tables in the break room managed to lead our brand to the #2 spot on Twitter in 20 minutes flat. Tad-ah!

After just a few hours of sleep on Tuesday night, I ~~worked~~ scrambled, heaved, "umf'd" through Wednesday. Remember the cloud of urgency that typically follows me during my commute? Oh, it was my constant companion. One frenzied trip to the grocery store later and I had gathered enough food for an army {and apparently I thought this was the army's last meal based on sheer girth alone}. Read: Eight people innocently die from what can only be described as over consumption.

I worked all night long {like Lionel Richie} pausing briefly at 3am to drive home, take a shower, and go back to work.The details are a blur but I do remember doing everything in the dark so I didn't disturb Nate, who is currently picking up a Volcano no. 6 candle for me at Anthropologie. Love him. I grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer, put it on, and pushed the drawer quietly closed, stumbled around, did this and that, and finally Nate woke and I could use light. I went back to work for another five hours.

Remember how Agnes meets me at the door? Purrrring and twisting through my legs? She wasn't there this afternoon when I got home. It was Noon though, and I figured she could be taking a nap somewhere. After dropping my bags, and hugging Nate, I decided to immediately work on my photo assignment for a digital photography class I had tonight. I wanted to use Agnes as my subject. Stop action. Pan Shot. Show Action. She's good at all those things.

"Agnes". "Kitty Kitty". I called her name and listened for the bell on her neck to give her away. Surely she was hiding someplace; devising a plan to strike at my ankles like very unfortunate vermin. I heard something faint. Was it her bell? "Kitty"! "Agnes". Something faint again. Is she stuck behind the dresser? Nope. But...something. I'm on my knees and leaning my ear against the face of the dresser drawers and calling out "Kitty and Agnes". I was so close to the source and yet it sounded so far away.

And then, like a Shakespearean tale of tragedy and comedy, but written for a kitten, I saw her. Through the crack of my drawer I saw her nose, a paw and whiskers. And she was softly mew'ing. I had closed my drawer, trapping Agnes helplessly inside FOR FIVE HOURS. That's 300 minutes of her lying flat like a pancake with just a sliver of light pouring in. Little gray kitten purring like Barry White in my t-shirt drawer. Poor Agnes.

She forgave me. Purred upon her rescue, and loves me still. She even posed for a few photos afterward. I think I really captured her new found sense of freedom. This is what a kitten looks like moments after being liberated from a dresser drawer. Are you ready? This could blow your mind.
{click to enlarge}

This is for Agnes.

SCRATCHING THE OLIVE BRANCH

2009-09-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today was a long day. It trended normal compared to recent days, but next to a status quo day, it was brutal. I was on my cell when I walked in the house {after a 45 minute commute} but there was cute Agnes waiting for me; as usual. She greets me; I have come to expect this little thing, genuinely happy to see me, welcoming me every night with the warmest sound an animal can make. Prrrrrrr.

As I listen to my dad talk about cholesterol levels I glance at Agnes. There she is, lying on the kitchen floor spread eagle on her back {I call this star fish pose}, waiting for me to reach down and scratch her soft belly.

The stress of work still exists, cholesterol levels still rise and fall, commutes will always be 45 minutes or more, but Agnes reached out and offered me a an olive branch that might as well have been a diamond tennis bracelet. Thanks for your belly Agnes; I hope I scratched it just the right way.

KITTEN DICKIES AND ALARM CLOCKS

2009-09-20T23:18:00.000-07:00

Kitten dickey is a term I've coined since Agnes moved in. During the hours between 10pm and 3am, she'll usually stay tucked at the foot of our bed; curled into a little gray ball of fur and hidden away in one of the folds of our duvet.
During the hours of 3am and 6am, Agnes typically finds her way to one of two places.
1. Curled up in a little ball and lying on my chest {also known as a "kitten boob"}.
2. Laying across my neck to create what I call a "kitten dickey".
A kitten dickey is basically a kitten lying across your neck to simulate one of those dickeys from the 80s that fooled everyone into thinking you were wearing a turtleneck; but you weren't, were you?. I used to wear one. I know you did, too.
At 6am, the kitten dickey wakes up in the best mood. She is definitely a morning kitten. She purrs like she's plugged into an amp and usually right in my ear. I've come to believe that a kitten dickey followed shortly by a loud purr is probably the best way to wake up in the morning. I never have to set my alarm again!

A LICK IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

2009-09-12T16:38:00.000-07:00

Let's face it, perfect communication is impossible, right? I wish all the hours I spend on better communication would also burn calories because I might actually fit into those damn skinny jeans. And the real problem is that you're always relying on the other person{s} to, you know, get you? One wrong glance, gesture, tone, or ill-chosen word can take a good day and douse it in a steaming pile of bear shat and lite it on fire. Humans may get to stand on two feet and experience a rainbow of emotions but our struggle to communicate takes us right back to the cave and our dragging knuckles.

I long for something more simple. Like what Agnes and I have. I built this chart to explain.

What Agnes Does	What Agnes Means
Purrs	I’m happy, thank you, please wake up
Reaches her paws under the door	I long to be wherever you are. Let me in.
Bites me	Let’s play
Bites me and scratches me with her back paws	My greatest wish is to kill you and eat your brains
Hops sideways with her back arched	You should be so afraid of me right now
Jumps in a tub full of water	I like to swim. I like the blowdryer
Licks me	I love you

It's quite miraculous. That we can achieve all this advanced understanding without a single word.

DEAR AGNES,

2009-09-10T22:09:00.000-07:00

I was weary the day we adopted you. All the pressure of having to feed you and change the litter box; far more responsibility than remembering to take a multi-vitamin every morning and I was terrible at that. I told Nate I was scared and I hoped you wouldn't die in my care. Both still stand.

Your second day as a Conger, Nate and I took you to a neighborhood party. It probably wasn't a good idea to take a tiny, frightened kitten into a swarm of kids and fireworks. But you powered through. I remember one moment when there were about 15 chubby little hands petting you all at once and you just took it. I could not have been more proud if you had just won your first triathlon.

This last year has been a tough one. Nate and I have been blessed with a lot of successes but damn they always seem to bring worry and stress with them. Though we love our home and neighbors, we feel like outsiders most of the time. I think Nate gets cabin fever working at home; he misses out on socializing with other human sales guys-talking about bluebird ski days and how freaking awesome The Dead Weather were live. And I feel envious of women who can take a 9am yoga class or who bond over play dates at the beach. I see packs of women running and chatting and getting in great shape as I tune to NPR, eat toast, answer a text, and drive to work with one knee on the wheel. A cloud of urgency always seems to follow me.

What has been nice lately is having someone else to worry about. When my neighborhood friends are chatting up how cute/funny/moody/sick/ their kid has been, it holds a fraction of meaning for me. Though I'd NEVER jump in the conversation and talk about something cute you did or how I'm worried you're not eating enough, I have a better sense of belonging now. And while they worry about their little one struggling to learn his letters, I can feel secure knowing that you have certainly mastered stalking and pouncing well beyond other kittens your age.

Thank you for helping me fit in.

Love ,
Tonia

FORWARD

2009-09-10T01:03:00.000-07:00

NOTE TO READER: I do realize that FORWARDS are not generally also written by the author but until Diane Rehm offers, this shall suffice.

I'm writing a FORWARD primarily to explain myself; I am often misunderstood.

FORWARD
Since I can remember, there has always been a particular stereotype associated with women who own cats. Basically the stereotype is such: Women. who. own. cats. are. crazy. They take obscene amounts of photos of their cats and force people to look at them; generally talk about them as though they were human; and often have a stout collection of cat/kitten figurines which all have been lovingly named. I resent this stereotype for three reasons. 1) I adopted a cat on July 24th 2) She is gifted 3) I am allergic to porcelain as a general rule of thumb.

To fully appreciate this blog it's best to know who I am and how I got here. In brief, I married at 34. Thirty-four is way older than the national average which is something like 26. My husband is five years younger, a fact we both relish. When we married {in 2005}, he could be heard saying things like, "I could go ten years before having kids", and "Can we wait ten years to have kids?". Concurrently I would often say things like, "I want to wait until I'm ready", and "I'm not ready yet."

So now we've been married four years. I'm 38 and convinced my ovaries look like the dried figs I buy bulk at Whole Foods. But I'm still not convinced I'm ready. So in order to inch ever so slowly toward that line in the sand between not being ready and realizing I never will be, I convinced Nate that we should get "a gateway pet". Much like *pot is the gateway drug to other addictions, a pet would be our gateway responsibility to eventually become parents to another human. Naturally.

And then this gray kitten was abandoned. My father-in-law bottle fed her and two others until six weeks. When she was described as, "the crazy one", she became the only one I wanted. She became Agnes.

We've had Agnes for six weeks and I've already learned more than I expected. In fact, the insights have come at such rapid intervals and have been so significant that I decided to keep a record for posterity. Assuming my dried figs still have posterity in them.

-Tonia

*don't do drugs