SAYING HELLO (AND GOODBYE) TO SHANDY…

…was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time. Let me rewind and start from the beginning.

I’ve always been a cat lover. As mentioned in a previous post, I had planned to get a kitten the moment I got an apartment of my own. The emptiness and loneliness of living by myself made me even more sure of the decision to invest in a living, breathing companion. And from the time I laid eyes on Shandy (or Manhattan as he was originally called), I was hooked. He had sunk his little nails into my heart and was holding on tight.

I remember the excitement of driving him home. Of setting up his litter box. Of making him a toy out of pipe cleaners. When he fell asleep in my lap the first night, I thought it would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

But I soon realized that Shandy meowed incessantly. I’ve been around quite a few cats before (and many kittens), and I’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without setting off a fit of cries. I fell asleep to meows and awoke to them, too. I thought surely he would lose his voice sooner or later. Surely he would adjust to his new home.

But no such respite came. I thought perhaps he would settle in over the weekend, as I was home for more extended periods of time. But no, no such luck. I called the shelter to ask if this was normal behavior of a new kitten getting adopted (I didn’t remember going through it with my childhood cat, Abbey). They told me to bring him in so they could check to make sure there wasn’t a health reason for his crying.

I waited a couple days (every time I got his carrier out to take him, he did something cute, gave me that look, and I didn’t stand a chance.). But finally I couldn’t take his meowing any longer. I had broken down to tears myself and knew that the situation wasn’t a good one for either of us.

As I drove him back to the shelter, I could barely look at him. I started crying the minute I walked through the door and struggled to catch my breath as I explained the problem. The veterinarian there took a look at him and told me that he looked healthy. She said he probably needs to be in a home with other cats because he’s been around them all his life (I really wish they would have told me that before I adopted him – before I welcomed him into my home and my heart. But in their defense, they might not have known how he would react.).

They gave me a couple minutes to think over my decision, but I knew what I had to do. I filled out the paper work releasing my ownership of him. Although they offered to let me take a different kitten home, I couldn’t bear the thought of it. All I could think about was Shandy and how terrible I felt having to return him to the shelter.

I sobbed all the way home. My tears fell into his litter box as I cleaned it up and put it into a closet. I kept his food and litter in case I decide to adopt another kitten. But for now, I will mourn the loss of a friend – a sweet baby boy with soft, golden fur and gentle eyes. I pray that he finds a loving home that makes him happy. I’ll never forget him.

SO HERE I AM IN MY NEW APARTMENT…

…In a big city, they just dropped me off (thanks T-Swift for the situation-appropriate lyrics). I should note that I’m not exactly in a big city – more like suburbia – but nevertheless, I finally have a place to myself. And it sure feels good.

Last weekend was a blur of moving boxes, packing tape and questions from my parents along the lines of “Why do you have so much stuff?” and “Are you sure your employer is taking you back?” and “How can you stand to live in this filth?” Then of course there was the lease signing and the utility calling and the renter’s insurance decision. Then the roommate goodbyes and the dreaded drive away from campus (I might have had a few tears in my eyes). Then the Walmart trips, the grocery shopping, the unpacking, the organizing, the cleaning. And the list goes on.

But I’m relieved to say I’m FINALLY settled (Huge thanks go out to my parents, especially my dad who drove a U-Haul eight hours from my hometown. A thank you is also in order for my cousin who was so hungover while helping me move that he could barely keep his eyes open.)

So far, I couldn’t be happier with my new place. Name a store or restaurant, and I can guarantee you there’s one within three miles. I live close enough to work that I can come home for lunch (which I do because I have no friends at work now that the other interns are back at school…sad face). My gym (which I’ll discuss in a future post) is five minutes away. There are really only two downsides at the moment (well three actually).

1) My apartment décor could be described as half grandma, half college student. Because my grandma recently moved from independent to assistant living, I got many of her old things. Good timing, sad situation. Let’s just say there’s a lot I’d like to do to spruce the place up when I have the money to do it. I WAS, however, pretty satisfied with my bookshelf-organizing skills. Then again what do I know. I’m no interior designer. So if anyone out there with street cred wants to critique my setup (at right), fire away.

2) I’m lonely (cue violins). I thought I’d love living by myself but I realize I miss having people around when I get home (even if they leave dirty dishes in the sink and practice musical instruments in the middle of the night…if any of my old roommates are reading this, I’m sorry. I love you.). Being the only one here has brought out the anal, borderline OCD me. I mean seriously, I caught myself straightening the remote on my coffee table. I need help. Or meds. Or a cat (which brings me to my third point).

3) I don’t have a cat. I’ve always loved cats and grew up with a gray tabby. I wanted one all through college but told myself I’d wait until I had an apartment of my own. Bam, here I am. Of course, I’ve had to endure endless “crazy cat lady” jokes from my friends. My rational boyfriend thinks I should wait a couple weeks to make sure I’ve thought it through completely (aka come to my senses and realize I shouldn't get one). My parents want me to wait until I have a full-time position lined up. But I went to the animal shelter today (oops) and I met the most PRECIOUS, most ADORABLE orange tabby kitten. I applied. They’re calling tomorrow. Oh boy.

IF LIFE IS A HIGHWAY...

…I just took a high-speed U-turn. For those of you who wish to try this at home, I offer the following warning. WARNING: Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, shortness of breath and difficulty sleeping.

As I reached the final weeks of my summer internship, I entered “panic mode.” For three months, I had worked my dress-slacks-covered-booty off. I had learned how to clear paper jams in seconds (They should make it an Olympic sport. Seriously…I’d bring home the gold.). I had copy/pasted for days at finger-numbing speed. I even begged to attend meetings so I could arrive early, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from chugging two cups of coffee in my cubicle. Still, I couldn’t manage to secure that oh-so-elusive full-time position.  

(Here I must stop to point out the frustrating reality that most – if not all – full-time positions require at least two to three years of experience in the field. It’s quite the predicament. In fact, I’ve toyed with the idea of becoming a farmer just so I can say, “Yup, I have two years of experience in the field.” A moment of desperation at its finest.)

So as “panic mode” took over my 20-something body, I became a cover-letter-crafting, resume-primping machine. I e-mailed professors who probably couldn’t pick me out in a lineup (thanks to 400-person lectures). I spent more time searching job sites than Facebook stalking (gasp). I even scattered copies of my resume on downtown sidewalks and park benches. Just kidding about that last one. 

Well I ended up getting a few interviews (even a few second interviews), but none of them seemed like a good fit (i.e., they all rejected me or – as they so warmly stated in their automated rejection e-mails – they “decided to move forward with other candidates at this time”).

Then one night, as I lay in bed listening to the sound of corn hole and beer-guzzling out my window, I decided to apply to an AmeriCorps program. The idea seemed to come out of nowhere, and suddenly it wasn’t my upstairs neighbors playing “Satellite” by Guster on repeat that was keeping me awake. I became obsessed with the idea of breaking free from Land O’Cubicles and diving into something new and exciting.

It seemed to offer all I was looking for – a Holy Grail of a position, if you will. A cause I was passionate about? Check. The chance to live in the same city as my boyfriend? Check. Another year before I had to sell my soul to the monotony of a 9-to-5 workday? Check, check and check. I spent a weekend exploring the city and picturing my life there. I’d dedicate myself to a noble cause. I’d end hunger and poverty. I’d change the world, etc., etc.

But a couple days after my first interview, I started having second thoughts. So what did I do (other than go on a fervent cleaning spree, scream into my pillow, and chug a beer)? I tuned into Bachelor Pad to assure myself that my life could be worse.

Then I turned to my trusty pen and paper and to the one tool that helped me pick a college, decide on a major, and determine whether I preferred crunchy or creamy peanut butter (ha, kidding). Drum roll please…The Pro/Con List.

Ah The Pro/Con List. So simple yet so effective. Over time, The Pro/Con List and I have developed a love/hate relationship. Sometimes, like that chimerical angel propped on my shoulder, it tells me what I don’t want to hear. In this case, I compared the AmeriCorps program to returning to the company I interned for. And surprise, surprise, it told me what I didn’t want to hear.

(Here I should note that although the company I interned with didn’t offer me a full-time position, they offered me an extension until the end of the year. In my “panic mode” whirlwind of job apps and interviews, I had blown over this option. I was quick to turn away from it in search of a fast track, a more scenic route, something other than the slow, monotonous climb up what looked like a never-ending slope.)

But suddenly, I saw things in a new way – a more practical, logical, adult, boring (call it what you want) way. I realized that the best path to my long-term goal was to return to the company I interned for. I saw my goals scrawled on a piece of recycled printer paper, staring me in the face, daring me to return to the challenges of the office and work my way up.

I felt so certain of my decision that I turned down a second interview with AmeriCorps (yeah, I got an earful from my angel on that one). But I realized that choosing to pursue a career didn’t mean I had to cut out service altogether. In fact, I hope to make it a big part of my life.

I e-mailed my old supervisors to tell them I can start next week and began searching for a new apartment. So here I am. The road I’ve chosen is familiar (for now) but steep. I can’t see the top and I’m not even certain where it leads. There may be detours along the way and I know there will be pit stops (I have a bladder the size of a pea). But I’m ready to step on the gas and enjoy the ride. Man, I wish my car had a sunroof (Christmas present…hint hint).