when the cat scares you half to death

i did this gem of a post a while ago. i'd rather forgotten about it.
but then the this other thing happened (see below) and i was reminded of said post (really though, i didn't lock myself out of my caddi...) mostly because  I thought that my world was going to fall apart due to a situation was completely and 100% out of my control.

i was house sitting for these people that we've known for basically forever. their daughter was my first real friend. i know them, they know me, i've been to sleepovers at their house and know their animals and really house sitting shouldn't be a big deal, right?

WRONG. i realized after the first two nights that i had always stayed there when everybody else was there. the house had always had people in it other than me. i've tried everything - i've tried sleeping with the dogs in the same room, i've tried the exhaustion method (staying awake until you're so tired you could fall asleep anywhere), I've tried watching funny videos and listening to music right before I go to sleep, i've tried walking through the house every time I hear a creak. And let me tell you - there were so. many. creaks.  The 10-pound dog could walk down the hallway and it sounded like a bunch of 300-pound assassins playing football tag. The perpetual thought that maybe I wasn't the only one in the house was making me a little paranoid. 

Back to the point though: nothing helped. No matter, I thought, I'm almost done with this job anyway. It'll be fine!

Oh, the hilarity.

I was woken out of a sound sleep to the two dogs wanting fed and let out - as usual. It's early morning, so I fulfill the requirements and catapult myself back into bed. Laying there, half of my brain is still asleep, half is sprinting through the ideas of today and what it will look like. 

And then the yelling starts. I kid you not: it sound like a small child who's arm had gotten chopped off. A small child yelling help. Over and over and then BAM - the sound gets super loud. that three year old was standing in the kitchen. Help, help, help, help...in a solidly round voice with minimal pronunciation.

I grab my phone (honestly I'm wishing for something much larger and heavier that I can use to protect myself with but there really isn't anything in the bedroom that fits the description and I don't want to lug the lamp through the house because that is the farthest thing from subtle that there is). ANYWAY - the phone, and I'm pressing send because Mom was the last person I called. I start to make my way down the hallway towards the noise. Help. I tell myself to be prepared for anything (and anything at this point in my mind looks like child with blood everywhere and a missing arm) (too much NCIS, dang it). Help. The phone line buzzes in my ear. Help.

"Sam? Good Morning!" Mom's cheery voice goes up that the end, and I realize that I've either woken her or she's still in bed.

If you hadn't caught on by now, I AM TOTALLY FREAKED OUT. Yes, I'm still pretty groggy. Yes, I'm normally a really logical person. Yes, this situation SHOULDN'T BE FREAKING ME OUT BUT DANG IT I DON'T KNOW HOW TO REACT WITH ANY OF THIS. Why do i want to grab something to protect myself? shouldn't i be grabbing helpful items if the sound really is a wounded person?

And then part of my mind is going over the idea that if it is a kid that's hurt, what am I gonna do about it and are we both going to end up mentally traumatized from this? 

And then I'm thinking that I really hate the idea that I am going to try to be a midwife, but this whole scenario has got me jittery. I'm going to have to deal with probably a lot worse than this.

All this is racing through my brain while I'm trying to figure out how to make words to greet my mother.

The old orange cat walks around the corner, yowling the same sound that sounded so much like a wounded child.

"HEY. HEY MOM. SORRY - SORRY I DIDN'T MEANT TO - EVERYTHING'S FINE, MUM, I'M OKAY, EVERYTHINGS FINE SORRY - SORRY I JUST THOUGHT THAT UM, I'M OKAY YEAH EVERYTHINGS GOOD ITS JUST THE CAT."

"What?" My mom sounds utterly confused.  

"Ahhhhhh....The cat was making a really freaky noise but I didn't realize it was the cat until I called you. No worries!" I look down and my entire body is shaking. Like, uncontrollable, earthquake-is-happening, haven't-eaten-anything-in-17-hours shaking. I'm that scared.

And by now my mom has caught on that something is not quite right. So I tell her the whole ordeal and the cat keeps yowling and there's a part of me that wants to figure out all those ways to skin a cat because this one almost gave me a heart attack. 

___

moral of this little tale: (or tail...cat's tail...ok i need help.)

on little sleep, an attempt at a youthful heart attack, and kind of a second look on where I'm at emotionally (i.e., little things get me worked up), this idea popped into my head:

I'm an introvert. I'm fairly to the point. I don't like all the small talk, the aimless chatter. I try to make things comfortable for people but I would so much rather everyone just not care and do whatever they like. If someone has a problem they can leave. 

That makes me sound pretty cynical? Pretty closed off? Harsh? I'm a jerk, right? 

WRONG. I'm not all of those things together. I can be those. Sometimes I'm even really good at those. But in reality...when I thought that there was a bleeding infant in the house, i was freaking out because i didn't want them to die. I wanted them to be safe and healthy and, well...alive. I care. Just because i have the capability of being a mean person doesn't mean that i don't have the ability to be nice and caring. just because someone comes across as a little cold-hearted doesn't mean that's all the deeper their personality goes. usually they just have a wall up, or are preoccupied or have had a different upbringing from you.

maybe they're just having a bad day.

so before you judge - take a minute: how are they really coming across? do you think that their actions and words are based not out of a hatred for you, but maybe on their circumstances and life?

don't treat someone differently or wrongly just because they're not like you.

(wow. i'm starting to sound like Pocohontas.....i would totally be okay with that. i want her skin color.)

Next time you hear a yowling cat, think about this story, and think about how you are interpreting other people.

i DIDN'T lock myself out of my Cadillac...

There are days where I am extremely stressed. When I get extremely stressed, I do one of three weird things: (a) eat hot cocoa powder at midnight; (b) attempt to run from the basement to the loft, leaving me wheezing and breathless. (I'm really out of shape...); (c) lose my keys.

YES, THIS HAPPENED.

Four weeks ago, it was the first night of practice for the musical that I am playing piano for. I had rushed to work five hours earlier after sitting through a 90 minute Anatomy class, and honestly, my brain was close to frying. Seriously, the bags under my eyes were dragging on the ground. (Okay, maybe that's exaggerating. And morbidly gross.) But you get the idea. I had been through the ringer, and it was only Monday.

I'm crossing the street, digging through my bottomless pit of a purse, searching for my keys.
They weren't there.

Shoot, I'm thinking, this is just my luck. I have locked myself out of my Cadillac.

(Hence, the picture above...it was a cool picture...apologies for my Pinterest obsession.) 

Thankfully, I remember the sound advice that my older sister had given me earlier in the summer, regarding a spare key: zip-tie it to the tailpipe. So, after reaching my car, I look under it, expecting to see my key. All I see is an unadorned tailpipe.

(Insert minor panic attack here.)

I call Mom and tell her the situation. She laughs at first, and then tells me that zip-tie-ing the spare key to the tailpipe wouldn't work because the pipe gets hot. It probably melted off. Mom tells me to check again, go back to work and look under my desk, keep an eye on the sidewalk (maybe I dropped them) while I'm walking over there, etc. I do all of these things. No keys.

So I text my older sister, teasing/chewing her out for letting me ZIP-TIE my spare key to the TAILPIPE. She responds, confused, and then calls me, laughing hysterically, (although I can't hear that because it's her silent laugh) because she just realized what happened.

"Dani, I can't find my keys." I can hear bits and pieces of wheezing on the other end of the line.
"Did you check your purse?" She tries to pull herself together, successful on the second try.

"Yes, it was the first place I checked."
"No, really check it. Dump it out."

I dump it. Nothing. (Well, let's define nothing as no keys. My purse usually contains a notepad, my Kindle, my phone, my lunch container, several pens, chapstick, and whatever other crap I need or can fit into it.) As my chapstick starts rolling away, I consider crying. Would throwing a tantrum fix this? I decide it would only help me look even more like a fool, so I finish the conversation with Dani.

And call Dad.

"Can you come pick me up? I locked myself out of the car."

A deep sigh on the other end. "I'm at work now. Call Triple A and I'll come get you."

Let me tell you something about the people at Triple A. They have developed a beautiful callus to people on the verge of tears. They are nice, but you can tell that they deal with stuff like that ALL THE TIME. In my case, the conversation sounded like this:

"Hi, um....I locked myself out of my car. Is there any way you can send someone out here tonight?"
A slight pause, not completely silent because of the echo of a pair of eyes rolling (not mine).....then, in a monotone voice:

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Ma'am. I hope we will be able to assist you this evening. Please tell me your location so I can estimate the time frame in which we will be able to send a driver to assist you."

My eyes almost bugged out of my head, mostly because it took her about 30 seconds longer than it should have to say those three sentences. So I tell her my "location", and she says it'll be about 40-50 minutes, and gives me my call reference number. I give her my Triple A card number and name and what my car looks like, and everything else. (I was a little disappointed that she didn't ask my favorite color...)

Deep breath. It's going to be okay, Sami. 

My dad pulls up right then, Thank goodness.

We look for my keys again. Under the car, in my purse, EVERYWHERE.

And then, FINALLY, my dad asks the stupidest and most brilliant question EVER:

"Did you check all the doors?"

And I am suddenly bombarded with a flashback of 6 hour old memories. The noise of my keys hitting something, but that noise isn't muffled by the sides of my purse. My backpack sliding off the back seat. Slamming the door shut, but not using my fob to lock the doors, just thinking that I had locked it from the inside, before I closed any of the doors.

I'm standing next the the back door now. I close my eyes, exasperated with myself, because I'm thinking that I just had THE BIGGEST BLONDE MOMENT IN HISTORY. The door opens when I yank on the handle. Puffing air into my cheeks, I hold my breath and allow myself the tiniest of temper tantrums.

Yes. A temper tantrum. And I'm being sarcastic when I describe it as "tiny". I stomped my foot and everything. Kicked the air, did a tiny scream, extreme sounds of exasperation, even the bend-over-and-hold-your-torso-while-grunting gig.

Dad watches, then grunts, and I hand him five bucks because he had to drive into Hamilton to come help me open my already-unlocked car door.

He was happy about the five bucks. "Coffee money", he calls it. And then heads home.

So I call Triple A, and cancel my call. Of course it was a different person that answered, so I have to tell them my reference number. Guess what? THEY USED THE SAME MONOTONE VOICE. Seriously, if it wasn't a girl the first time I called, and a guy the second, I would have thought that they were using the same voice on a recording and a computer to figure out how to answer my request.

"Oh, I'm so glad that you were able to work out this difficulty without our assistance, Ma'am. We hope you will call us next time you encounter any problems. Have a very nice day."

My eyes are bugging out of my head again.

Oh, well...at least my car is unlocked.

This was quite an adventure for me. (I know. This means I have no life.) But hey, it was a bit of my day that, while it was agitating and a bit depressing (when you consider how I completely blanked out on locking my car and making sure that I had my keys), I was able to laugh at. It was enjoyable because it was kind of stupid. In a blonde sort of way.

I mean, come on. It's hilarious when you think about it. I thought that I lost my keys, called my mom, my sister, AND my dad. Then I called Triple A, and THE CAR DOOR WAS UNLOCKED THE WHOLE TIME.

I did laugh.

This is improvement. Normally I would be extremely embarrassed. Do you think the stress is taking its toll?

Seriously, though. Laugh at yourself. They say that laughter is the best medicine. That laughter is the fireworks of the soul. That life is better when you laugh.

So laugh! Even at the most inopportune times, at the awkwardest moments, and at the stupid stuff. Because those are usually the funniest.

Sam