StIr CrAzY kItTy!

When I made the moved to New York, I took my cat, Angel, with me. She went from a 3-bedroom home with a yard to a tiny 2-bedroom apartment in Spanish Harlem. I started noticing sporadic bursts of manic energy. Every few days Angel would run up the small hallway, stretch out on the wall or hug a doorframe, look back at me then wildly run back and forth until exhaustion. It’s only now I can appreciate her coping mechanism in adjusting to her new world.

Early last week, I found myself laid up with a broken toe, well, maybe a sprained toe (it was all kinds of colors and looked like a mini hotdog!), a casualty of my efforts in trying to be more domestic. I was making the bed and hit the corner of the bookcase with my little toe. Up until then, everything had been going smoothly. Joe treated me like a princess for my birthday the week prior & surprised me with occasional gifts “just because”. We celebrated Valentines Day comfortably with dinner and a movie at the Champs Elyses. I was finally adjusted to the time change and started feeling productive and getting a sense for my surroundings. My toe incident seemed like a minor set back.

Only two days later, I started to feel noticeably edgy. I had too much idol time on my hands. Like my cat, I had sudden bursts of manic energy. I wanted to do everything at once but couldn’t decide what to do first or how to finish. All the while, Joe sat patiently watching me hobble around the room like some cartoon character OR, well…a stir crazy cat! He calmly reminded me of my obvious momentary limitations as I anxiously limped from one corner of the room to the other. I whined about frustrations of my limited independence. I was coming close to a melt down. Joe soon decided I needed to leave the apartment. He took me on a drive around Paris. He showed me monuments and mile markers that I could use to get a better sense of direction while walking around. It’s amazing how a drive through Paris at night can soothe the soul. By this point, I felt almost catatonic, but incredibly thankful to be out of the apartment.

Living in New York City can be a stressful task. Though I had a very physical job bartending, I found that working out was necessary for my sanity. Dealing with the strains of everyday life like crazy people in the subways, obnoxious customers & annoying taxi drivers was all the more manageable. Joe knew this and decided he would take me to his gym in Paris whenever possible. My toe was healing thanks to my bed rest and a magical, French topical gel Joe rubbed on everyday, so we made our way to the gym on Saturday morning. I agreed to do Joe’s weight lifting workout routine. I lifted, pushed, grunted & scrunched more than I ever had in hopes of relieving the past week’s pent up anxiety. Walking out of the gym, I felt like my legs were detached from my body. After a hardy lunch, my brain felt vacant. I had to take a catnap to recover. The next morning as I lay in bed, my body was in shock. Every muscle in existence ached. I felt like a mummy trying to get out of bed. The entire day, I moved like an old lady, slowly walking up & down stairs and painfully sitting & getting up from chairs, etc... Though I cursed Joe, I really could only blame myself. My body is still recovering, BUT my mind is as content as a house cat! :)

This week Joe is making the bed.