OK, so now that you know one of my secret strategic coping methods for being dumped, I feel I can carry on with the Google saga (for those who missed it, it’s drink tea).
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Google looked me up on the Pink Sofa username ‘search’ and sent me a quirky message about fig trees and Pride Fairs. Still can’t ascertain the connection but I appreciated the creativity.
Within 7 days she had managed to acquire part-time work at the cafe I was working in. And within 14 days of that she had acquired the spare room in my house. I am most definitely a sucker for idiosyncratic strays. I hadn’t been life stalked since my first domestic relationship 14 years prior. I managed a fabulous impersonation of a river pebble as she arranged her life to synch in with mine.
All went well for a few days, until she tried to remove my cat from the bed one night. Any bona fide crazy cat lady will warn you this is an unspeakable faux pas. I love my cat, damn I was pissed. I know that isn’t particularly sexy but sex usually isn’t on my mind when the cat is in. (Upon reflection, I am amazed that the kitty removal attempt disturbed me more than her moving herself in or working at my cafe).
So anyway. From then on the cat treated her with ruthless apathy. If Google was in the room, kitty would politely offer her his backside or deliberately heavy-step over her on his course to a more important lap, his tail ensuring to dust her nose along the way. Cats are clever like that, passive-aggressive and sluggish to forgive.
And to this day I am not sure if it was me or the cat that broke her (she refused to fill in my exit survey) because, shortly after, Google packed her bags and returned to her hometown.
Quite right too! Damned rude, moving a woman's cat! Good riddance google eyes!
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