everyday life is life

As some of you know, I have a big problem with "the blog"--in particular, my blog. I have decided that this is probably because I suffer from some sort of slight social conciousness that often disables me from really opening up my mind (like I would, and do, in a normal private journal..you know..the original..). Although I am a proud enjoyer of the freedom of speech, I am also a victim of human nature. I don´t feel bad...I´m sure even the most outspoken practice a bit of censorship.

But how unfortunate is this mental block! How I would like to touch on certain "hot topics" (Johnny Depp), or narrate stupid yet entertaining stories (I never had to get a new phone!), or go into disgustingly gruesome detail that would surely cause my poor mother to fill with an undescribable anxiety (read on).

Sorry, mom. I can´t hold back any longer. The levees have broken. Here I go...

Welcome...to my apartment. It was a pig´s sty about two hours ago, but now it is somewhat spotless, you could maybe even say shining (I mopped! first time!). Okay..maybe "shining" is a stretch. Let´s just say...MUCH better.

Now I don´t want anyone getting the wrong idea. We may not be the cleanliest girls in the world, but we certainly aren´t total slobs. The dishes generally eventually get done, and we only leave our things scattered about the apartment for five days, on average (some get moved around, put away, promptly...while others remain, sometimes, admittedly, for weeks). And as a fact, (mom, this goes with out saying, but I´m sure you are nervously wondering anyway) we always thoroughly clean before having guests.

So why was it, and has it been, particularly "guaro" (spanish lesson: filthy) of late? I´ll tell you why--a one obese, incredibly affectionate, outrageously high-maintence cat who goes by the name of Curro. And Kratos--don´t think you´re getting out of this one. You may be reminiscent of a young, painfully metrosexual man in terms of your hygeine habits--but that doesn´t mean it doesn´t come with a price (and a very high one, if i might add...).

Anyway, I´ll be blunt: Curro still has his "huveos" (´nother lesson: slang for testicles). Poor guy. He´s more hormonal than my 13 year old cousin--and she´s got it bad.

It all started with a cow. A small, stuffed-animal cow, the only lover Curro has known since his three week run away last year, when he stealthily lived in and around the plaza a few blocks over (sometimes I see who I think are his children roaming the streets...). During the month of March, the cow was subject to every natural urge that came upon Curro, these urges often times lasting hours on end and frequently occurring several times in one day. He would drag it around the apartment with a slightly urgent trot, letting out muffled cries until he found an appropriate area to stop and attempt to make sweet love with the unfortunate young heifer (or perhaps bull?).

Despite the fact that they spent nearly all their time together (after making love, they would spoon for hours, probably because neither of them had any other committments), there were moments when we caught Curro without the cow. In which case, there was no other option than to pick it up (with the index finger and thumb, in tweezer-position) and throw it across the living room, just to see Curro go flying and crying after the thing. It was so romantic.

But suddenly the cow was gone. This is when things got sour. Since she left (no one knows where she went--it must have been a bad break up) he can´t stop marking his territory. Luckily carpet doesn´t exist in this country, because then we´d really be screwed. This constant marking of territory has been going on for several weeks now (and I mean constant--only 30 minutes after I mopped this afternoon, he took a nice piss in the bathroom, and not in the toilet). It´s unbearable.

And the most horrible part about this situation: we are used to it. I am sure our apartment reeks to all visiting nostrils, but I hardly notice when I walk in the door.

And Kratos is just as bad. Luckily, he has no huevos, because he is already pretty crazy as it is. But, like I said before, he is very serious about self-maintenance. So serious that he gives himself a manicure on a weekly basis. If you happen to be in the vicinity during one of these routines, a shiver will crawl up your spine as you hear him pulling at his claws with his teeth. I had never seen a cat do this, and thus had never been subject to the noise it makes. I am at a loss as to how to describe it, but I´ll say this...he does NOT do his nails in my presence.

And here´s the clencher: it is common to find "shells" of Kratos´ claws floating around the apartment, much like you might find a snake´s shedded layer of skin if one were to be slithering about freely in your home. Many would agree that cat piss is one of the most foul-smelling, and thus abhorrent, things that exist in the world, but I have to say that Kratos´ claws, in my book, are worse.

I share all this because we are moving out of our apartment this summer, and the landlord called today, on extremely short notice, to tell us that he would be bringing some people to see the place this afternoon. Not only was the cat situation never discussed with him, but, like I said above, the apartment was an obscene wreck. I came running home from school, and frantically washed and scrubbed for my life.

I now calmly sit on the balcony while strangers come and go, hoping that the three times I mopped will leave them oblivious to our shamefully filthy, cat co-op existence.