Yesterday morning I noticed that my cat was blue. No, I’m not about to crack a joke about the cold weather because a) the cold is not funny, we hates it and b) for reals, my cat is totally blue. Well, not the entire cat. There’s just a chunk of bright blue fur in the middle of the ever present patch of white on her shoulder.
I didn’t write about it yesterday when I first noticed it because a) I’d already written something else and b) I didn’t know where the blue came from. I figured I was already on PETA’s shit list with the whole Deer Debacle and I figured telling the Interwebz that my pet neglect had resulted in a blue cat was ill advised. It would be almost as ill advised as Tiger teaming up with Jessica Simpson to design wedding rings.
It’s not like I was super worried about the situation because a) I’ve dyed my fair share of ferrets and b) I know that stuff comes off eventually with no ill effect other than a colorful tongue. (By the by, Fair Share of Ferrets would be a fantastic band name.) I just found the Conundrum of the Colorful Cat distracting. Seriously, cats don’t just turn blue on their own, right?
It took me all day to figure out where that blue came from because a) I don’t like to point fingers and b) I was having a bad day. After pouring an entire bowl of hot soup into the microwave, down my arms, and into the burners of the stove somehow extinguishing the pilot light, I then managed to kill Webster, break the CD tray on the computer, crash my website, and corrupt my external hard drive. In retrospect, it’s possible I didn’t see Lucy much as I spent the majority of the day screaming and cursing (but not in the fun way – like at Happy Hour).
When I was paying attention to the cat and wondering why she was blue, I made little progress in solving the mystery. My deductive powers were somewhat lacking because a) hello, chemo brain – it happens and b) I’d shot my entire mental load trying to figure out why everything electronic was hemorrhaging. My logic was horrifying. For a moment I thought Lucy might have gotten into my paint somehow and rubbed her shoulder into some blue. That sounded somewhat reasonable and I had a mental margarita in celebration. It only took me about two hours to remember the piece I’m working on has absolutely no blue in it. Maybe Robert Downey Jr can someday portray my mad deductive skillz, too.
Then suddenly I remembered that a) my little brother had been over the night before and b) he’d been surprisingly fascinated by a blue sharpie on the coffee table. He’d also been unusually affectionate towards Lucy. I vividly remember thinking I’d never heard him make cooing noises before.
Which leads me to the conclusion that a) my brother is a dick and b) my cat is stupid.