a confession.

So I know that Irene is about to rip all hell loose along the Eastern Coast of the USA, where most of my friends abide, my beloved university rests, and where I currently call home.

Yes, I am terribly concerned and worried (most especially for my friends in New York) and yes, I’ve had the news on in the background all day.

But I feel as though our newsfeeds, twitter homepages, headlines, and otherwise plugged-in-media selves have been polluted enough with worry over the hurricane. So, in an attempt to be lighthearted and fun (and because I have not really posted a blog in two weeks) I am going to divulge a not-very-well-kept secret to you all.

Are you leaning in, dear reader? Your hooked nose touching the screen with gossip-like anticipation? (Or am I fantasizing about Severus Snape being alive and well again…?)

Once before I put out a secret, a confession, near and dear to my heart on the interweb: a longing, a passionate love affair running some five years now with the beautiful and dashing and doesn’t-know-i-exist Alan Rickman. If you’re confused, this video blog shall explain.

And yet again, I find myself falling head over heels for someone- well, two people- and I simply can no longer maintain my strict rules about what I do and do not post on the internet. Though I swore never to put it online, here it is: I’m in a relationship.

…with my cats.

Premature, I know, as I’m not yet collecting social security checks nor smell of figs (hopefully). But it’s true, and at last I am liberating myself by posting to an audience that has no face, ye gads!

But, actually. My kittens. They’re four months old, precious, perfect in every way, and I might be considering making wallet-sized photos to keep with me everywhere I go. I woo them with yarn, I sneak them cat treats, I sing them songs like they are my newborn babies and I a mother who need not change their diapers (yes!). Stella (the scrawny little girl) and Picasso (the fat boy) were adopted by our family a week before I left for Africa when they were a measly six weeks old. It was love at first sight, and my unyielding devotion has yet to stop persisting.

And while I don’t see any problem in the fact that I literally spend hours of my day cuddling with them, laughing at their funny faces and obsession with my shoe strings, and otherwise ignoring my phone and email and not bothering to evensomuchascheckthemailbecauseimightmissanadorablemoment, I think I’m losing my grip.

Even this blog, it’s gone to the dogs cats. A few posts ago, I was spewing profundity in the depth of names and how potent it was I was given a name meant for the season of weeding.  And yet now, here I sit in the squalor of squeaky toys and cat nip and covered in more half-moon-shaped scratches from their i-love-you-but-you-have-not-given-me-a-pee-break-in-eight-hours-leaps-to-freedom that I care to admit, writing about kitties when the war in Libya appears to be at a gruesome end. Mooning over mammals when there are such political battles to be watching on TV like the debacle of Michelle Bachmann. And all I can do is oggle the kitties as they nip at each other’s ears.

In social conversation (on those rare occasions that I leave the cat-house) I find myself telling people that I’ve spent my precious two weeks home with the cats. Giving excruciatingly detailed accounts of their wrinkly little noses, how they mewed so pitifully when they came home from the vet, how much I love it when they bound in at six in the morning to wake me up- because who cares if it’s too early to be awake?! THE KITTIES HAVE BESTOWED ME WITH THEIR PURRRFECT AFFECTION.

When I return to beloved Mount Holyoke in a week’s time, I can only hope I will still have retained enough human behavior to not mew at every person I meet. Purring may not be acceptable in the dining halls- though I think I could get away with hissing in the hallways. Some women do wear capes to class, after all.

sleeping on my bed, because they deserve it more than me, the human pet.

try to tell me this is not the most adorable thing ever. just try. there, you failed. all hail the kitties.

current jam: ‘lover’s eyes’ mumford & sons NEW LIVE SONG FROM BONNAROO AAAAHHH (no, i have not regressed to listening to that wretched musical named for my divine lords)