There's an absolutely hysterical youtube video of a cat stalking a cameraperson. The videographer is hiding behind a partition and playing peek-a-boo with a cat at the end of a hallway. Every time the camera emerges to film the cat, it is stock still; then the camera retreats. A moment later when the camera "peers" around the corner, the cat is again absolutely stationary but noticeably closer, until in the last frame, the cat's face takes up the entire field of view. It is a brilliant piece of amateur horror comedy.
I am a morning person. Usually in the morning, I come instantly awake. But I was up till 2am at work and today I am like a tired engine, coming to life in fits and starts.
And so, this was my morning: the first time I open my eyes, my cat is about a foot away. Close my eyes for a second, open them: cat is closer, her body pressed flat into the covers, looking right at me. Rinse and repeat about four times, and suddenly her eyes are as huge as the sun would be on your forward moniter if you were flying your spaceship right into it. Also she drools when she's happy and a rather sizable droplet has accumulated on her chin; the flap of a butterfly wing would bring it down. I manage to ninja manoeuver out of the way just in time, but my pillow does not escape. She buries her face in it. In the one tenth of a second before I can karate chop her from the bed, her super powers of happy drooling have left a three inch ring of liquid on the pillowcase.
Now I am awake, but still not alert, and grouchy as hell - which is also unusual; as I said, generally I am a morning person and annoyingly chirpy on first rising.
And then I remember my dream.
I am driving home to a townhouse after a hard night's drinking at the salsa clubs with my queer dancing girl homies. One of them, a super sweet soft butch is too drunk to get home so I have invited her to sleep on the couch.
I lead her in through the tiny garage, and by the time I cross the threshold, my dream has decided I have two roommates, one good and coincidentally hot, and one evil and also coincidentally a guy. The hot femme sleeps upstairs in a giant bed with her parents, a la Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The guy is still out carousing.
I decide to give my friend - whom I will call Sophie out of sheer bloody-mindedness, since in reality she has a far more appropriate and gender neutral name - my bed. I get into bed with the hot girl and her parents, all of us naked as the day we were born, and it is sweet and erotic and awkward and totally dream-normal. I end up sandwiched between my roomate and her mother, with my legs draped across her mom's legs, which elicits a sigh of happiness from mom. Apparently I have feng shuied her into a very difficult-to-achieve uber zen sleeping position. Eventually I roll over to spoon my roommate, who I should mention at this point is rather straight, and fall asleep somewhat sexually frustrated but still pleasantly curled around her.
I wake up alone, in the sort of misanthropic mood you might find yourself in if you had been drinking too much the night before and then did not have sex with the naked femme in your bed or, more to the point, with the even hotter actually queer drinking companion who somehow by the power of your own drunk-logic ended up sleeping alone. Sophie, the aforementioned hot drinking companion, is gone. I wander groggily into my kitchen, to find a man peering in through the sliding glass door, which is fortunately covered with a sheer shade that just might be enough to make someone uncertain whether I am buck naked, and unfortunately, unlocked .
Shriek, run to the door handle and push the latch down, while this man knocks, gestures and calls to me in Spanish. I turn to go into the living room and see a very short, very muscular man with no neck and a six-pack in one hand; with his other hand he is jiggling the knob at the screen door, trying to get in. The main door is swung wide open, and there is no shade, sheer or otherwise, to cast doubt on my state of undress. I run upstairs to the sound of catcalls and put on floor clothes, not even sure they are mine.
When I come back downstairs there is a party in full swing in my living room; the stereo is on, at a volume not at all friendly to the recently hungover, seven people are draped on various pieces of furniture holding beer cans, and while many of them admittedly are girls, mostly nerdy and unthreatening, I am 93% sure I know absolutely none of them.
I ask the crowd if I've met any of them before and this girl with horn-rimmed glasses and a waist-length ponytail of thick shiny black hair raises her hand urgently like a fourth grader with the solution to today's algebra problem. Yes? I say. Miriam she says, smiling and blushing. We met last month at Jay's law school party. Now I do remember her; I relax just a millimeter. This is followed by a wave of escalating irritation. At 830 on a Sunday morning, my evil roommate aka Jay aka the budding lawyer has brought over his law school buddies to "study" over beer and the learning-friendly sounds of Hole and Rage Against the Machine.
Jay, of course, is nowhere in sight.
I go into the kitchen to make eggs.
And wake to the feline version of Jaws.
Watch the youtube clip of Cat-stalking-camera here and if you are hungover and despondent, perhaps it will brighten your day. More likely you will just be spitefully glad that someone else is up at this time of day feeling as much like ass as you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uo0F1YEYU1U
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