Famous bloggers blog at least once a day, they say. And do stuff like "outfit of the week" or "quote of the day". That's 365 posts a year. Many. I'm not going anywhere specific with this, it just sort of hit me.
So now I have a cat. Responsibilities. I'm in a mutual agreement: I provide for cat and cat provides company for me. Is it the female BIOS in me that goes "oh noes what if I do something wroooong", or is that just the general reaction to responsibilities when they involve other living things? Or inanimate objects, in some cases. Yes that's true, I freak out about inanimate objects too. As a matter of fact, I'm terrified of breaking anything at all, to the point where I'm even reluctant to do things I know are bad in a game-world even if I know that the solution is always just a 5-second quick load.
Anyway my point was that I waited and waited for the cat, and then when he was inside my apartment my brain imploded in "omigodomigod" over how much I should feed him, what I should feed him, if I should brush him, what to do about his teeth (because I read cats often get problems with their teeth), when I should let him outside... and that, that is the question. What if I let him outside and he doesn't come back? Or another cat beats him up bad, there's a lot of cats here. Or I dunno, if a giant fucking eagle flies in from outer space and eats him for a snack and good measure? Logically, it all seems as probable as the last suggestion there, or at least as equally valid arguments to not let him outside. This is most likely how parents feel, I imagine. Poor things.
To be honest I think of myself as quite qualified to take care of a cat, but the worrymonster isn't really interested in qualifications. It's very easy to get a job from him though, i hear.
So with regular intervals I give myself a mental slap in the face and a harsh "Get a hold of yourself!", but then again, nothing new with that. I'm usually the one telling people to take a chill-pill, and that includes myself.
Att våga välja den man är
1 week ago