responsibility
So... I just had one of those moments where writing something out revealed what I was really thinking about. In every aspect of my life right now, I'm frustrated by the problem of responsibility. I have any number of positions (both work-related and personal) in which I am given no responsibility (i.e. no actual power to change things) but plenty of work. Either because I'm young, or inexperienced, or generally untrustworthy, people seem to encourage me to offer all that I can, and refuse to take their hands off and let me actually /do/ anything. My impulse is always to try everything I can. I hate it when people won't let me take any kind of action. I hate being forced to be lazy. Yes, maybe this is just a massive guilt complex, and I should revel in lack of responsibility and stop being such a stress-case about useless things. Nevertheless...
anyway, here it is (from an e-mail to my best friend):
Last night? We're at band practice, right? and Doug and Bo are working something out so Jeannene and I run across the street to feed the cats. Well, I forgot to feed them yesterday morning, so they're all pissed off and hungry and like eighteen of them come running when I come towards the front door jangling my keys. Of course, this sets Cow off REOWR MREOAW WRMEAOOOOWN and Jeannene starts to get worried. "It's Cow," I tell her. "He's up a tree." "Uh?!" "Don't worry about it."
So we feed the cats. They're pissed. But they're hungry. They shut up.
While I'm feeding them, Jeannene is gazing wistfully out towards the backyard and up into the hillside. She's clearly worried. "Forget it," I tell her. "He'll come down." And she quotes Ani Difranco to me ("just like every kitten / figures out how to get down / whether or not you ever show up"). "Exactly."
We go across the street the other way, to feed Marmalade, and there's a note stuck to the front door of your dad's house with packing tape. It appears to be from the same mean neighbor who wrote the note about the leaky oil and the Chapman family making the neighborhood look like an oil pit or something--totally unsigned and written in non-descript all-caps block lettering in permanent marker. It's (this is my favorite part) on a cute little piece of stationery that says "A personal note" in some scripty font at the top. And the note says:
COW IS CAUGHT IN A RACCOON TRAP AND HE'S BEEN THERE FOR TWO DAYS
(I think it goes on, but that's the important part)
Of course, I'm outraged. What the f@..$? Who the hell keeps leaving these mean notes? And whatddyou mean making wild accusations about how we (I'm lumping myself in with your dad here, like that?) are incapable of taking care of our animals. I mean, there are a lot of them. But it's not like we're breeding alley cats on the sly and abandoning the babies in cardboard boxes. And did you actually go up there and look? 'Cause who would be putting raccoon traps on the hillside behind my house? And, you know, Bill told me he's in a tree. He probably went and looked, right? I mean, he's just up a tree.
And Jeannene is outraged too. "He's in a raccoon trap?! Oh my god! We have to save him!!!!"
Ahhhh! I'm over it. The cat is in a f@..$ing tree. What am I going to do, call the local fire department? And no, I'm not climbing up the moldy hillside in the middle of the night while it's tossing down that mild Seattle rain to make sure that yep, the cat is indeed stuck in a tree, and yes, it's too far for me to climb, especially since the moss on those trees is worse than the scum on the showers at the community pool.
Jeannene is worried, I'm annoyed as hell, Bo and Doug are no help at all. ("Yeah, I had this obnoxious neighbor once" or "well, he's a cat, right? he'll be fine".) I /know/! Don't tell me this like it's not what I've been saying for the last half-hour (though yes, I know, you didn't hear that part).
Well, hopefully it's over. I don't want to figure out who the neighbor is, even if it would be fun to TP their house or something. (Or better, get Cow down and shove him in their front window, since I'm sure they only wrote the note 'cause they're sick of hearing him yowl, and not out of any kind of actual concern.) But of course, this is Montlake.
I'm waiting around after band practice while Bo takes Doug home in my car. Jeannene and I are sitting on the couch with a little Maker's having a heart-to-heart about all the nonsense I've been sobbing about for the last few days and suddenly there is SCREAMING (practically) outside my window in that little acoustic pocket under the streetlight where every little whisper gets trapped and amplified all over the neighborhood (I'm convinced somebody installed some kind of boom mic on that telephone pole Will used to climb) and it's "Well /somebody/'s home" and "No, dear, I think they're out of town" and "There are /lights/ on" and "Can't you /do/ something" and blah blah blah (whiney brat) until finally I open the front door and say, "Hey Danny, what's goin' on?"
Yes, sleazy-D's girlfriend is PISSED OFF that the cat is up in the backyard (probably ruining her beauty rest) and no one's DOing anything about it and can't you DO something and why aren't you DOing anything?! Well, Danny apparently went up into the yard with some kind of huge flashlight and located the cat who is (yes) at the /top/ of one of those huge trees (though, he claims he found the cat, but still thought it was Marmalade and not Cow) and yes, Danny, I know, and yes, Bill told me, but yes, he's out of town, and no, I'm not going up there, and certainly not now. Danny informs me that if he's up there much longer, I should call the Humane Society, though I should first call the Parks Department to authorize the Humane Society to bring their huge trucks up through the park, because he's really far up there, and they're going to have to get some pretty big trucks with extension ladders or cherry-pickers or something on them to rescue the /poor/ /poor/ kitty who's still up the tree yowling his little lungs out and all I want to do is close the door, let the greasy man down off my porch and sit down with a lukewarm glass of whiskey and not deal with /any/ of this.
Bo's clear on one thing: "Bill told you he's up there? Well, you're off the hook, doll. If he was there when Bill left, you're not responsible." Thank you. It's so nice to know that I have to field all of these obnoxious requests from all kinds of crazy f-ing neighbors and feel bad about the kitty and end up climbing up there myself and getting mauled by the scrawny beast while I slide, splintery, down the old-growth must and microorganisms but you know, it's ok because I'm not actually /responsible/ for any of it. No, you're right. I didn't put the cat in the tree. And I probably won't be fired for leaving him there.
love,
Katie
