Superficial Thoughts on Cats, Irony, and Truth

I think that life, if nothing else, is at its very core ironic. I was pondering irony today while considering how absurd it is that of all my friends, Jess and I harbour the greatest resentment towards cats, and yet we’re the official cat-sitters of MacKay, malicious-cat extraordinaire. MacKay is the dreadful pet of my mom’s very un-dreadful friend Judy, and since Jess and I have proven to be capable of keeping MacKay alive, we’re her semiannual caretakers. Typical activities on a visit to MacKay include managing her cat litter, feeding her the three kinds of food that she must have in order to continue living and attempting to kill people, playing games so that MacKay is sufficiently entertained, vacuuming up all the hair that she has shed around the house, brushing her so that there is not quite so much hair to vacuum up, and evading perceived MacKay-attacks. Forunately, Jess has done essentially all of the MacKay caretaking thus far, and I must not face the horror of being with the beastly feline. The dismay that we experience at having to care for this creature (perhaps beast would be a more apt term) is, I suspect, partially genetic; my Grandma Toller is incredibly phobic when it comes to cats, and through heredity and observational learning, it appears that Jess and I have acquired a similarly unenthusiastic attitude towards cats. In truth, I do not feel that my lack of love for cats is at all problematic. In fact, I enjoy pondering cats’ disposition as a measure of my own current egotism, as cats sincerely do seem to embody nearly every vile human quality to the fullest extent. No other animal is quite so selfish in their behaviour, and has quite the air of condescension that cats clearly do, and yet we must cat-sit this foul animal because some people keep cats as pets for seemingly inexplicable reasons.

I was discussing my loathing of cats with Jess (no relation to Jess; there is a “work Jess” and a “my Jess”) at work today, and she defended her two pets of the subspecies Felis silvestris catus by arguing that cats demand respect, rather than rolling around on the ground as some animals of the canine variety do. However, cats seem to care very little about my feelings towards them, so long as I pet them, feed them, and don’t give into the temptation to eradicate the world of them. To further my belief that the creatures which I hold very little deference for are indeed unpleasant and reprehensible, Jess continued our conversation on snooty pets by explaining what a snob her pet rabbit was, and if you’ve ever witnessed a Cait-tirade about Balcony Bunny, you will understand that rabbits are hardly my favourite pet. I do enjoy the bunnies that hop around campus and McKernan Park, and staged protests in elementary when boys would chase them maliciously, but when creatures reside in, near, or under my house, I am unable to have any appreciation for them, or their role in the food chain. While not all animals I deride are pompous dopes (the complete list reads: cats, bunnies who dwell under my balcony, flies, moths, cockroaches, beetles, raccoons, rats, ravens, crows, magpies, and Pleuronectiforme fish that have two eyes on one side of their head), my least favourite kind of animals, including humans in the definition of animals, are those that are selfish and arrogant. The fact that my name is so frequently mistaken for the word “cat” causes me nearly as much distress as the fact that my initials are the element symbol for chlorine, to which I am enormously allergic. Indeed, the Cait Sidhe or Cait Sith is a Celtic fairy creature that resembles a wicked black cat; I would rather resemble something pink and frilly than a cat, not to mention a black cat that is so terrible that they are difficult to see at night and often cavort around in front of our car at night without the driver detecting them until the brakes must be applied in an exceedingly abrupt manner.

So, from the meandering paragraphs above, you will have gathered that cats are not at all creatures that I would wish to care for whilst their owners are on vacation, but the irony of life leaves Jess and I to visit MacKay and ensure that she survives Judy’s time away, and enjoys that time to some degree. Nearly every profound thing in my life has some sense of irony, illogicality, or injustice to it, which is not to say that these seemingly contradictory things are all cheerless; they’re simply counterintuitive and poignant. Most prominent and momentous of all these paradoxes is God’s grace, which is, of course, inherently paradoxical. The sinful Cait is saved from death because the perfect Jesus died for her sins. That’s amazingly illogical. Far too often, the nice guy does finish last, and doing the right thing doesn’t always reap rewards or help one’s “karma” (I’m not using the term “nice guys finish last” in the sense of nice guys never getting the girl, because this makes little sense to me). Some of the most wonderful moments in my life were things that I never really thought could be so beautiful and delightful, while some things that I put so much stock in end up disappointing expectations. Humans tend to take things for granted until they’re no longer obtainable, at which point those things become salient and desirable, which is greatly ironic. Life is full of the unexpected, nonsensical, and unjust.

I’ve always loved irony in literature, plays, movies, music, and conversation, partially because recognition of the irony in life often results from the recognition of the truth of life. One of my favourite things of all of Shakespeare’s writing is his use of irony, whether cosmic, situational, verbal, or tragic, particularly since it rings so true. To present life’s course, relationships, and situations as predictable, fair, or rational would be deceitful. Perhaps there’s even irony in the fact that I find ironic things so pleasing, because at times the ironic things that please me are innately displeasing. I find art that recognizes unattractiveness beautiful because life itself is unattractive at times, and there’s beauty in accepting reality. Any art that conveys life as picture perfect isn’t entirely accurate or genuine. I heard Bono say in an interview that art is about making life beautiful, and I think art most effectively achieves this end when it embraces the good, the bad, and the ugly and finds the pulchritude in it all. I love driving in the area where my old acting classes were, and re-discovering the entirely hideous and dilapidated buildings that are somehow truly beautiful with the unsystematic chipping of paint in random spots, outdated placards, aged shingles, and strikingly muted colours. My recreational-photographer uncle’s most stunning photographs are of life-weary people with scars, asymmetries, peculiar features, not because these people exemplify the human body in its highest form, but because this is how people authentically are.

















We’re rough around the edges, and don’t have the flawless skin tone and bone structure of magazine cover models. Our physical “imperfections” denote our distinctiveness, and hardships and struggles we’ve faced, along with the gaining of wisdom and experience of life. I love my grandparents’ wrinkles and sun spots, which have developed over years of laughing, spending time in the sun (you must all be proud that I’m refraining from a tirade about tanning), grinning, furrowing brows, and making faces. On Saturday night, Jess and I checked out the dance performance of A Love Story (a first draft) at the Catalyst Theatre, and it was really cool to see the two elder of the three characters (both much older than 40) wearing spandex attire despite the cellulose, sags, and creases that they’d accrued over the years, and they were entirely comfortable in their own skin. Besides the fact that I think spandex is essentially the coolest fabric ever created, and therefore Richard Simmons is the coolest person ever, it was lovely to see two people advanced in years and wholly at ease with their bodies that might not fit a societal ideal of beauty and flawlessness. Although Jess was entirely creeped out by the sight of Brian Webb in a speedo dancing with Tania Alvarado (this was rather amusing to me), it was quite a delightful sight, for totally uncreepy reasons, of course. Though at times performers’ acceptance of their bodies can go too far, I suppose; last night on the drive home from Peter Pan Caitlin and I discussed the gratuitous bare-butt appearance in every season of plays at the Citadel (thankfully, the appearance this season did not take place in Peter Pan, or many children would have been traumatized). It’s wonderful if actors love their butts, but their exhibitionism need not be indulged in their performance, and it’s not really necessary (at all) for a play to be effective. Theatre’s nude-butt syndrome never fails to disturb me at least a little bit, and I once spent an entire paragraph in a play review discussing the horror of a play concluding with an unclothed actor. Perhaps it’s healthy to accept oneself internally, but not always display that acceptance externally, whether this external self-love comes in the form of partial nudity, boasting, or self-centredness.

Back to the issue of irony, and my enjoyment of recognition of the at-times ugly truth, I feel that humans have a natural desire to seek the truth, even if it is not-so-pretty some of the time. My Learning and Behaviour class, which I had great problems with at times because I feel that the behaviourist wing of psychology is quite simplistic in its analysis of behaviour, would argue that we do everything to ensure our survival and contentment. My prof believes that nearly all that we do as humans is either reflexive or conditioned, as we exist to avoid aversives and obtain rewards. While there is clearly an inherent hedonism in humans, it seems to me that God also endowed us with an innate curiousity and drive for knowledge, regardless of if they satisfy our hedonistic aims or not. We have a proclivity to know things even when they undoubtedly won’t bring us happiness, whether it is to learn what terrible things people have gossiped about us, knowing the details of a horrific murder, or gaining an awareness of our failings and inadequacies. Researchers will put huge amounts of effort into attempts to discover the facts, and often put themselves in great danger in hopes of learning more about the world that we live in. Throughout human existence, advanced societies have sought to improve their understanding of the things that surround them, and this heightened understanding has tended to bring a greater appreciation (in the enjoyment sense of the word, not just the comprehension sense of it) of those surroundings. Whenever I learn something about the intricacies of human behaviour, science of the solar system, inner workings of my digestive system, or complexity of a writer’s words, I’m able to find more joy in them because they’re just that much more cool. Naturally, I think God created this inquisitiveness in each of us because it motivates us to search for Him and His work in our lives.

My favourite kind of happy state is the kind that comes from knowing the truth, and being contented with it. It’s relatively easy to have that fun happiness from dancing, being silly, or eating delicious food, but the deep happiness of knowing that I’m loved, that life is beautiful and intricate, that the few things that really really matter in life are taken care of, and that I’m just a tiny speck in all of the madness and fabulousness going on around me gives me a smile no matter how tough, boring, or baffling everything is. This is the kind of joy that I tend to experience after or whilst watching an indie movie or thought provoking play, going for a nice long walk, praying, reading something profound, checking out some art whether in a book or gallery, crying or laughing deeply, having a good talk or rant with a friend, enjoying nature, listening to music, or having a thinking session. Coming to some realization or acknowledging something I already knew but hadn’t yet accepted gives me that contented happiness that few other things do, and although many of the things I ponder are pretty trivial and of little real-life consequence, there’s certainly something extraordinarily delightful about pondering the facts of life.

Sadly, one truth that I’ve struggled to accept in the past few days is that of the Oilers seeming inferiority. The San Jose Sharks have been rather dominant in our series with them so far, and I’m starting to believe that no more Whyte Ave fun will be had in this season of the NHL. I may put my hopes in Team Canada in the world hockey championship, as they seem far more likely to win some games, plus the championship is taking place in Latvia, which is unquestionably one of the most fantabulous Eastern European nations of all the undeniably cool Eastern European nations. There are only 24 more periods of 24 hours before the Eskies season (or at least pre-season) is up and running, and my dear Eskimos will surely make up for any hockey disappointments with the thrillingness of Nanook and Punter, Danny Maciocia, the combination of the names of Coleman and Gass (Jess and I have an unlimited supply of jokes about their names), all clothing items coloured green and gold, short-short sporting Eskies fans on the LRT, raucous cheering and chanting, bitterness towards Riders fans, and ridiculous levels of junk food consumption. For now, I’ll bide the time in my life allotted to sports fandom to cheering for hockey teams, watching tennis, and continuing on the never ending Cait search to find an Eskies scarf. I sincerely hope that you all will experience some of the greatness of CFL football this summer, and if not, that you’ll at least experience some of the silliness of my family’s enjoyment of it. I will also add that if any of you become Alouettes or Riders fans in the near future, or already are and I don’t know it, I will be forced to disown you as my friend. Or at the very minimum, I’ll throw a mini Eskies football at you. I hope you’re all enjoying the green outside! When the green is joined by the gold in a few weeks, it will all be even more enjoyable, which I know is difficult to imagine, but it’s very true. And you know that I like the truth very much.

















Recent Jess Quotes that Won’t Sound Funny Unless You’re Me or Jess
“We’ll need to increase the cheese.”
“Don’t be beautiful. Be seductive.”
“I think I just broke your pen. Oh, wrong pen.”

Things to Be Happy About from Today
- Edmonton’s hard-working art scene
- walking arm in arm
- chatting about Anchorman and Talladega Nights with my parents
- half-hour showers to clean coffee grime off
- the way my beloved “half-hour shower” rhymes
- my new vintage clothes’ smell
- discovering that Nicole and I can stay with the nuns in NYC
- lovely Whyte Ave employees
- clean laundry
- music recommendations from friends
- Jess’ capacity to make me laugh
- cool bosses and coworkers
- new earrings
- Caitlin’s description of her professors and Thai friend
- the smell and feel of rain
- cuddling under an umbrella
- poignant moments in plays
- numbing medicine for my canker sore that makes me talk strangely
- sweats and hoodies
- red toenails
- finding out Neko Case is coming to Edmonton in August
- CBC radio
- The National
- my Whistler tobogganing finger injury is now half way through the healing process, more than two months after the fact
- pillows and blankets
- allergy medicine
- ancient pictures of my grandparents and my mom, aunt, and uncles
- digital photos with Jess
- confetti
- nights when I know the next day is free of work
- watching Pride and Prejudice on Gimli the iBook
- my dad assisting me in restoring my iTunes
- shrimp
- fairy shoes
- Emily of New Moon acting in Peter Pan
- customers with accents
- good music

















Recent Excellent Materialistic Purchases
- cube earrings by Kari Woo
- red blouse from the (I think) 1960s
- beige satin bomber jacket from the 1980s
- blue cardigan from who knows what decade
- volleyball t-shirt from Nokomis
- M&Ms
- marshmallows
- cinnamon bun from work
- chai latté from Steeps
- more numbing medication for my reprehensible canker sore (it hurts to smile, and I refuse to not smile because of a vile canker sore)
- lunch at the ever-satisfying Great Canadian Bagel

Workin' 5:30 to 1, What a Way to Make a Livin'

The periodicity of rain in Alberta makes me rather happy. Every once in a while, it’s a true pleasure to indulge in the delights of drinking hot chocolate on a couch while reading and enjoying the sounds of rain on my roof and Norah Jones, watching the deluge of raindrops arrive in puddles, guessing what path a water droplet will take when traveling down a window pane, flicking the water off grass while walking through it, staring up at the sky and letting the raindrops come into focus as they approach the ground, dancing outside in puddles with rainboots, and skipping around with my big red umbrella. Because we get rain so infrequently in Edmonton, it’s easy to romanticize rainy days, I suspect mainly because a reprieve from the norm is always welcome and because some of the most tender moments in movies tend to occur when characters are drenched from the rain. My favourite moment in Garden State takes place as Large, Sam, and Mark take in the view of the Abyss as the rain pours down on them. There’s a sense of the water’s ability to cleanse, give new life, remove the façade of makeup, and bring out the truth. In film, scenes with rain showers generally signal a fresh beginning or state of vulnerability. I love the fact that in rainy weather, all of the dirt-covered sidewalks and cars parked along the road are cleaned off, and everything seems a bit more pure and genuine, untainted by the grime that accumulates over time (unintentional rhyming!). In weather like this, Edmontonians are almost as united in experiencing the rain as they are in celebrating making it into the next round of the playoffs, and there are few things that I like more than people sharing common experiences and developing an understanding of what others experience. Psych studies have failed to demonstrate that people experiencing difficulty together brings true understanding of each other, but some have suggested that Canadians’ friendliness and cooperative spirit has evolved in part from our shared familiarity with the at-times trying weather, which often compels us to shovel someone else’s sidewalk, lament the weather to one another, or push a neighbour’s car out of a rut.
















Customers are particularly garrulous on days like these, when small talk about weather leads to lengthy conversations about gardening season, Hurricane Katrina, and vacation plans that will allow for an escape from Alberta weather. It’s days like these that working inside the café is quite agreeable, as I can down white hot chocolates and play cards with Kristi during the oddly slow spells whilst watching the rain and snow fall down from the view provided by the ginormous windows. I’ve been back at work as a full-fledged barista for two entire days now, and it’s been both splendid fun and wearying. My café is one of my favourite places, and my job affords me with the opportunity to hang out all day with friends, make lattés, enjoy the absurdity of Whyte Ave, and earn a paycheque. However, we don’t take breaks at all on shifts at work, so eight hours of standing, running around, getting burned, being covered in a film of coffee, and being gracious to everyone we interact with always requires some energy. At any given moment in the café, I’m thinking about several things at one time, which makes a shift go by at the speeed of light (c=299, 792, 458 m/s), but keeps my adrenaline at ridiculously high levels. For example, at 6:30 this morning, here are the things I needed to do in the next five minutes: restock the muffins, make Allison’s double americano, put more ice in the water pitcher, put the red chiller bucket in the dishwasher and run the dishwasher, run the next four shots of espresso through the machine for backup chiller, turn off the icing machine because it’s making noises, have a bite of my veggie roll to satisfy my hunger, check the coffee levels to make sure we have enough of each roast, exchange a toonie for a roll of nickels from the cash box for the left till, place the Globe & Mail on the table by the condiment stand on the newspaper rake, tidy up the syrup pumps, wipe down the counter by the bean drawer, brew a pot of Cinnamon Hazelnut, set up a pot of Colombian Decaf to be brewed before the decaf customers arrive, sanitize my hands, serve any customers who needed service, and perhaps a few other things that I can’t remember. While I’m incredibly grateful for the fact that there’s never a shift that doesn’t fly by, sometimes I do wish I was working in a record shop filing CDs and telling customers what artist to check out if they’re an Elvis Costello fan, or could wear ballet flats and bubble skirts in an office. My fantabulous boss Michelle has verbalized her concern that the the girls who work at the café (and Darcy, I suppose) will become jaded with our coffee jobs, but I suspect that I'd miss the community and fun of the café if I ever left before my undergrad is completed. Besides its flavour, I feel that coffee’s best quality is its ability to bring people together, whether those people are friends, coworkers, or strangers. I’ve met so many super cool people through barista-ing, and reminding myself of these people always makes a rough day at the café (more rhyming!) worth it.

















In addition to the increased presence of work in my life, summer brings along a boatload of opportunities for outdoor fun. In the last couple of days, I’ve enjoyed the excellence of biking through the wonderful university area and river valley, having tennis fun, reading on my lawn/balcony, doing rain skipping-dances on my way to work, and walking around at night with Jess. I’ve so missed the freedom of living most of the day outside in the past few months, and am savouring the ability to spend much of my time breathing in the fresh air. Obviously, God had real vision when he created all the little things that make up the outdoors; there’s nothing like time spent outdoors to feel closer to God. Not only does nature reflect God’s beauty, and His love for us, but it also mirrors God’s character. I love the sky’s presence no matter where I am, and its constant exquisiteness. My grandpa’s fondness for astronomy and oddly sophisticated telescopes never ceases to remind me of the stars’ power to guide us, take our breath away, and give just a glimmer of God’s splendour. Pondering the reality that each one of the tiny stars is really a colossal ball of intensely hot plasma amazes me, and signifies to me that while I may not always see how huge God is, He is just that huge. In searching the night sky for constellations, I’m looking for God’s hand in the loveliness of the sky, and I’m prompted to look for His hand in my life. I really love the sky more than words can say, so I'll stave off on an explanation of the beauty and serenity of clouds, blue skies, and sunrises/sunsets. But watch out; I may delve into further examinations of my love for the sky in a future entry. Moving on to another aspect of nature that is overwhelmingly magnificent, I would consider the mountains, which I've grown up hiking up, driving through, picnicking in, and skiing on and beneath. Whenever I’m in B.C. with my family, the mountains represent to me God’s unwavering steadfastness, immutability, strength, and majesty. Although their rocky faces may be daunting, they’re truly approachable and welcoming, providing refuge and comfort to flora and fauna alike.

















The waterfalls housed in those mountains are one of my favourite things in nature. I love that the stream of life-giving water they deliver is ostensibly inexhaustible, and that the glistening, cleansing water acts as such a foil to the dusty rock face that it courses down, just as God’s perfection is such a stark contrast with my imperfection. One aspect of creation that I can’t quite enjoy in the midst of summer is the ice, which many have cited as evidence of God’s Being, since much of the life that we’re able to enjoy would not exist were it not for the unique properties of water, and the unlikelihood of a compound’s solid phase being less dense than it’s liquid phase is said by many to point to intervention in creation. Ice’s frictionless surface, especially when it’s frozen flawlessly, is an image of perfection, with no bumps or cracks. When we were in Whistler, the ice, albeit quite cracked, was exceedingly pristine and flawlessly smooth, and it was a sight to take in. The surface was unmarred, and again, I was reminded in moments lying down on the ice in Whistler of God’s perfection. I was all too aware of my bumbling inadequacy as I fell repeatedly and was vulnerable on the slick surface, and pondered how I'd slipped in my walk with God. I'm so marred by my selfish tendencies and ways of this world that, despite prayerfully considering my sins daily, it sometimes takes the juxtaposition of the flawless ice and my flawed self to fully grasp the beauty of His love for me and the relationship I have with Him. It’s so comforting that God, who is truly perfect, omniscient, and good loves me unconditionally, in spite of all my faults and failures. His love is perfect, and quite unlike the human tendency to love conditionally and preferentially. As humans, we’re quite prone to being driven by a need for acceptance and affection from others, when this at times can be futile; living in God’s love brings ultimate life, free of the need for pretense and fakery. I was considering God’s love today while grinding coffee beans, wondering how I can strive to love that fully, and tried to imagine what kind of dad Jesus might have been. Since He is perfect, and loves perfectly, would He love other children just as much as His own? I really will have to ponder this, because I imagine Him spending more time with His own children, but can’t imagine Him loving anyone less than completely. Thankfully, He never had kids, and this isn’t something tricky that I actually have to consider, just something I'm curious to think about. Just as infinity is difficult and very fun to ponder, perfection is an equally fascinating concept. Is perfection at some point at the end of a spectrum, or an ideal at the point of infinity? If I am at a certain level of spiritual maturity, and yet am so far from perfect communion with God, am I fractionally nowhere on that spectrum since it goes on to perfection? I suspect that this last paragraph has made little sense to anyone besides me since it’s difficult to relate one’s perceptions of infinity and perfection, but I really do love to mull over how vast God is, His perfection, and the grace that He’s extended to me that offers me forgiveness for my small-heartedness and flaws.


















I’d best wrap this up now, with devotions needing to be done before getting up bright and early tomorrow for work, and the dreaded Shaw cable acting up even more than usual. As always, I’ll read into things, and take Shaw’s finicky temperament as a sign to get off the computer before this computer follows in the footsteps of cable internet and goes completely caput. But I must nag you all to cheer for the Flames tomorrow night, since I’m immensely thrilled at the possibility of an all-Albertan playoff series. Jess and I had a blast while parading down Whyte last night after the Oilers’ monumental win, and I hope to have several more nights with fake Stanley Cups, inebriated fans, a stream of high-fives, exuberant cheering, and unity with hundreds of fellow Whyte Ave pedestrians and car passengers. I’m sure that this excitement will only be amplified by a series against the Flames, so I’m quite hopeful that we’ll be able to experience a Battle of Alberta of epic proportions. Hope you all enjoy the greatness of the outdoors in the next while, whether in snow, rain, or sunshine, and that all my fellow work-returnees aren’t working too hard and are making the most of their autonomy from the world of academia!
















Things that I’m Obsessed With at Work
- veggie rolls for breakfast, lunch, and supper
- wiping counters down
- dusting the grinds out of the grind area
- doing cash outs meticulously
- listening to radio station #10 (the best one by a mile)
- avoiding wearing my apron
- eating cinnamon hearts
- white hot chocolates
- wearing really destroyed Chuck Taylors
- smiling
- complaining about the ugliness of Second Cup products

Good Things About Living at Home
- talks about God, politics, music, art, film, football, etcetera with my family
- Jess’ delectable cookies (the gingersnaps tonight were spectacular Jay Jay!)
- reading my parents’ magazines
- getting hugs
- talking to Jess whenever I’m elated, sad, irritated, or lethargic
- uploading my parents’ CDs and pictures
- borrowing books from my dad
- not having to ever answer the phone
- benefiting from my dad’s actual knowledge of computers (as opposed to my complete ignorance)
- supper conversation and silliness
- having people who sincerely enjoy playing board games and cards (unlike many of my silly friends)
- being encouraged, challenged, and told the truth by people who know me seemingly better than I know myself
- watching indie movies in the family room with some Orville Redenbacher and blankets
- playing tennis and bocce
- laughing hysterically about things that only my odd family would find droll
- being instructed in the ways of driving
- always having a shoulder to lean on
















Songs I’ve Liked to Today
- “Belle” by Jack Johnson
- “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes
- “Rise” by Azure Ray
- “Bethlehem Girl” by Taylor Sorenson
- “Me and Julio” by Paul Simon
- “Where You Lead” by Carol King
- “Drowning Slowly” by Ben Folds
- “Our Love is Here to Stay” by Ella Fitzgerald
- “I Am Always the One Who Calls” by Pedro the Lion
- “Wig in a Box” by Polyphonic Spree
- “Secret Heart” by Feist
- “Gentle Rain” by Diana Krall
- “Seven Years” by Norah Jones
- “Heysatan” by Sigur Rós
- “One Minute” by The Album Leaf

Reasons I’m Sad
- my iTunes is entirely decimated (discussing details will only make me really sad, so I’m accepting this misfortune)