Let me just set the record straight: I really don't have a mind-freezing, body-shaking aversion to cats.
In fact, I have a cat. He's great. He stays outside most of the time and catches small rodents like a good cat should, protecting his owners from the terror of scurrying things that go eek in the night. Not just that, but he's a sweetheart too. And I would love to cuddle with him and stroke his creamsicle fur and let him knead my blanket-covered lap.
But I'm not going to.
The only problem with a picturesque cat lady scene like this, is that, while morphing into my old piano teacher, I'd be actively breaking out in hives. My immune system says I'm allergic to cats, and, while I probably won't die from cat-hair inhalation/contact/images, all of them do make my life less than comfortable.
Which is why Kitty stays out.
Moving to San Francisco for the summer has been a challenge. There are lots of new things, some people call them roadblocks, (others call them God's caution tape), to get used to about the transportation, the housing and just the city itself. One of those things is Kitty.
When I arrived at my hastily-found (and by that I mean I secured it four days before I flew in) sublet, she was there waiting for me. On my bed. Her two-inch white and grey hairs wafting through the air like some kind of toxic snow. At that moment, we looked at each other, and knew.
The sad thing is, she's really sweet (as far as cats go). She loves to be pet and actively tries to snuggle with anyone who happens to be nearby. Anyone. Sometimes aggressively. She is an equal-opportunity shedder and doesn't care who you are or what your allergies are. You will be loved and marked accordingly.
So we have issues.
Especially since her owner is the one I'm subletting from. Not only is all of her graciously-left furniture/bedding covered in Kitty-hair, but Kitty also thinks it's her room, and loves nothing more than curling up in between the pillows. Cool.
The first night was the worst. I moved in late after spending a week perched at a friend-of-a-friend's place in the city and, for the first hour or so, gawked at my room and its lack of closet. As in, it didn't (and still doesn't) have one. At all. The rest of the night was spent with one of my roommates, (the only one who has moved in thus far) bonding. And by that I mean hardcore cleaning the kitchen, refrigerator and bathroom, which looked to be the victims of a serious drunk-eating/hair-braiding episode.
But I knew the real challenge was still ahead, taunting me with its down comforter and hair-swaddled blankets. I washed and brushed and shook and prayed that the hair wasn't lurking in fabric crevices, waiting to be unleashed. I actually had a dream about running from a giant hairball (but that could have been from the cleaning session...two of the previous tenants were from Hawaii. 'Nough said.). When I woke up, my eyes wouldn't open all the way and my nose tingled with pre-sneeze prickles. I spent the rest of the day popping Claritin like it was gummy bears and plotting how to steal the lotiony tissue from the office bathroom.
When I got back home (sans lotiony tissues or actual gummy bears), I had a plan: if Kitty couldn't get in my room, she couldn't leave hair everywhere. Genius, I know. Took me all day.
I implemented the plan (Operation Close-the-Door-Really-Quickly) immediately, and, I have to say, it has been marginally successful. Team Cat-less has had a few losses (like when I woke up to her almost jumping on my face), but I hold out hope for a better future. In the meantime, I'm honing my door-closing reflexes and hoping that cats can be trained fairly easily. Wish me luck.
Especially since her owner is the one I'm subletting from. Not only is all of her graciously-left furniture/bedding covered in Kitty-hair, but Kitty also thinks it's her room, and loves nothing more than curling up in between the pillows. Cool.
The first night was the worst. I moved in late after spending a week perched at a friend-of-a-friend's place in the city and, for the first hour or so, gawked at my room and its lack of closet. As in, it didn't (and still doesn't) have one. At all. The rest of the night was spent with one of my roommates, (the only one who has moved in thus far) bonding. And by that I mean hardcore cleaning the kitchen, refrigerator and bathroom, which looked to be the victims of a serious drunk-eating/hair-braiding episode.
But I knew the real challenge was still ahead, taunting me with its down comforter and hair-swaddled blankets. I washed and brushed and shook and prayed that the hair wasn't lurking in fabric crevices, waiting to be unleashed. I actually had a dream about running from a giant hairball (but that could have been from the cleaning session...two of the previous tenants were from Hawaii. 'Nough said.). When I woke up, my eyes wouldn't open all the way and my nose tingled with pre-sneeze prickles. I spent the rest of the day popping Claritin like it was gummy bears and plotting how to steal the lotiony tissue from the office bathroom.
When I got back home (sans lotiony tissues or actual gummy bears), I had a plan: if Kitty couldn't get in my room, she couldn't leave hair everywhere. Genius, I know. Took me all day.
I implemented the plan (Operation Close-the-Door-Really-Quickly) immediately, and, I have to say, it has been marginally successful. Team Cat-less has had a few losses (like when I woke up to her almost jumping on my face), but I hold out hope for a better future. In the meantime, I'm honing my door-closing reflexes and hoping that cats can be trained fairly easily. Wish me luck.
