Seclusion delusion.

I am officially a hermit!

No more coming home to Bubble greeting me by flopping around on the floor blissfully. No more catering to Enfoiré’s hunger before having him reward me with cuddles.

I no longer have pets to pet.

I can freely toss my hoodies over a chair without worrying about Enfoiré swallowing a piece of the drawstring, requiring a vet visit, as has happened before. No more waking up at 5am to the cats vaulting off me in a plea for crunchies. No more sopping up cat vomit with my socks while they’re on my feet. I can leave the bathroom door open without the cats sneaking in there to gnaw on the shower curtain liner. My electronic chargers, hair bands, and bra straps are no longer enticing snacks that need to be stored away.

Bubble was fussy and demanding, while Enfoiré had an eating disorder that ruled his demeanor. Despite their flaws, they were the best cats I’ve ever had.

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My sweet house and incoming Horse.

I was hoping to use my days off to write up a recap of Netflix’s Deaf U, but my laptop had other plans. The lock screen would appear for a fraction of a second before the computer shuts down. It was infuriating, although it also meant I was able to get started on this year’s gingerbread house.

Yes, it’s October. I should be focused on pumpkin spicing things up and eating fun sized-treats spookily; instead, I’m practicing Christmas in October. If supermarkets can do it, so can I.

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Wigging out indoors.

I’m starting to feel one of the side effects of COVID-19: Cabin Fever. I’ve become acclimatized to a very narrow range of temperatures of 18-20ºC. The only time I don’t see Yann is when he uses the washroom, and sometimes I go in there just to be alone. I’ve been experimenting with aerating my meals, making egg soufflé and soufflé pancakes, which I then pair with a glass of club soda. Yeah, I have a lot of air in my diet. (And cat hair. I cleaned out the fridge yesterday. HOW DID THAT MUCH CAT HAIR END UP INSIDE THE FRIDGE?)

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Reborn on the internet as a cat.

My top three skills are:

1. I’m exceptionally fast at throwing words up on the screen. My average is over 100 words per minute, and I can type in bursts of 130wpm, which puts me in the top 1%. This is almost meaningless, especially as I’m prone to repetitive strain injuries. At best, it allows me to make Boomers feel inadequate.

A circular digital alarm clock with camo pattern is shown with a Smartie shaped device meant to be inserted under the pillow to shake the person awake. The text reads
What a strongly worded product description.

2. I have excellent circadian rhythm. Ask me what time it is, and I’m usually able to correctly guess within a 15-minute range. I don’t need an alarm clock to wake up (many deaf people use either a flashing or a vibrating alarm clock). Jet lag doesn’t seem to affect my internal clock: I can still get up at 5am Japan Standard Time if needed, and I have!

3. I have the world’s most airtight asshole. Of course, I fart, but I do so within the confines of a washroom, or when I’m alone. I never fart in public. The ex with whom I lived for more than five years can vouch for this, as can Yann, my co-habitator of three years. This is a skill I’ve developed out of what I believe to be basic decency.

But enough about me. Please now direct your attention to…

Continue reading “Reborn on the internet as a cat.”