Who me...trouble?

This is Little Sister.  Sister is one of our two cats and she's been a bit of a troublemaker lately.  Beginning a couple weeks before our trip to Europe, she started peeing outside her litter box.  On the couch.  On our bed.  In the plant.  It happened just a few times, it wasn't a regular thing.  It didn't seem like she couldn't help herself, like there was a physical reason she was doing this, so we figured she was trying to tell us something, but we couldn't figure out what that something was.  She needed more love?  We gave her more love.  Maybe she's decided that after 8 years of sharing with her brother, Bear, she wants her own space?  We got a second litter box.  Things got better and she seemed just fine in the days before we left.

While we were gone - nothing.  For two weeks.  Our friends stopped by twice a day to feed the cats and give them a little petting and love and there was never anything amiss.  

Neither kitty gave us too much of the cold shoulder upon our return.  We got back, things went right back to normal.  The pre-peeing normal.  At first.  And then it began.  In the kitchen. On the couch. In the kitchen. On the bed.  On my husband in the bed.  In the kitchen.  On me on the bed.  On our favorite armchair.  In all other respects, she was acting normally, her disposition hadn't changed.  We were giving her a bit of extra time and love, assuming she wanted or needed more attention.  But it didn't stop.  

Forgetting for a moment the fact that she had done this well before we went on vacation, we assumed she was telling us she was peeved about our leaving.  That made sense.  But it went on for more than a week.  I woke up every morning, afraid of what I'd find.  I had a bottle of special cleaner at the ready.  It seemed to be related to when she wanted to eat.  If I didn't get up fast enough and feed her, well, she let me know how she felt about it.  One time she didn't even let me get out of bed, just started to tell me how she was feeling in this new special way of hers while I was still lying there!

We took her to the vet last week.  She is as healthy as she can be.  No infections, perfect little bladder.  There is absolutely nothing physically wrong with her.  Brought her home from the vet and -poof- just like that, it stopped.  We brought her in on a Tuesday.  Starting Wednesday, everything was magically back to normal - hurrah!  Maybe she just needed the extra attention.  Maybe we scared it out of her by taking her to the vet.  Who knows why, but we were once again a happy, pee-free family.  

The honeymoon was short-lived.  It has started again!  After a week in the pee-free zone, she's done it again.  Just once that I can tell (and, really, you can't hide cat pee anywhere), yesterday.  On the favorite armchair again. AAARGH!

What is she trying to tell us?  Does anyone out there speak kitty?  I could use a translator.  Ah, I need the Kitty Whisperer, that's what I need.  

P.S.  I just had an image of my husband and I trying to piece together enough German to explain the situation to a vet in Vienna, should we ever have to.  It's a funny visual - single words, hand gestures.  We may have to resort to drawing pictures if our vocabulary isn't up to the task.  Should be fun.

Am I my stuff?

Minor freak out yesterday morning.  I'm all dressed for work and looking for my brown purse.  I can't find it.  It's the only brown purse I own and my outfit definitely called for it.  I don't use the purse often, since I don't wear earth tones very often, but since it does happen occasionally, I own one fabulous slouchy, brown leather purse.  Or, at least, I thought I did.

As I was rummaging through my bedroom closet, the coat closet, the back office closet and time was running out before I HAD TO leave the house, I kept saying to myself, "I can't believe I would have gotten rid of it.  I just can't believe I'd do that."  But it wasn't there.

A few months ago, I made a first pass at weeding my wardrobe to prep for an eventual move to Vienna.  Who wants to cart boxes and boxes of clothes and stuff across the ocean!?  I went through my closet,  drawers, shelves - clothes, shoes, handbags....everything.   I was feeling pretty focused and intent on making a dent; I followed the Use Rule (how often do you wear/use it) and I was pretty ruthless.  And I made some pretty good decisions - since the Big Clean, I haven't reached into the closet to find something, only to realize it is no longer a part of my life.  Until yesterday.

Strictly following the Use Rule, the purse wouldn't have made the cut, so I can see myself putting it in the To Go pile.  But it is the ONLY brown purse I own.  As much as I hate to admit it, I am a matchy-matchy girl.  My shoes and purse must match my outfit or I feel off all day.  I just couldn't imagine that I'd have let the drive for minimalism trump the need to have one brown purse for those non-black-wearing days, few as they may be.

Lo and behold, just in the nick of Gotta-Get-Outta-Here time, I found it.  On the closet floor, underneath shoe boxes and various other items.  Of course I didn't get rid of it.  A sigh of relief and a huge smile.  I felt such joy!   

And then I felt a little silly, feeling such happiness about a purse.  I spent the day pondering the idea of the things we own, the things we each choose to put an emphasis on, and how we use them to define ourselves - to ourself and to others.  In light of moving and wanting to pare down to basics, what it would mean to not have some of these things?  Would I feel like myself in Vienna if I got there and didn't have all my *stuff*?  I'm not a very sentimental person.  I don't hold on to objects, trinkets, or knick-knacks much.  A few family items, but mostly books and clothes.  That's me, that's my stuff.

A friend recently asked me and my husband what we were planning to take with us to Vienna.  "Just a few suitcases?" he asked.  My husband nodded, yes.  I shook my head, vehemently, No! I probably also had a look of utter disbelief and horror on my face - a couple suitcases!?

I do have every desire to pare down to the basics and I understand the need to do so in planning an international move, but the basics for me is a totally different thing than the basics for my husband.  The question is...is it actually necessary to own three pair of black pants?  Really?  I keep telling myself - no, it's not, you can do better, get by with less (and there is a sense of accomplishment and pride in being minimalist, I do feel it), but, while they may all be black, these pants are all different styles, they create different looks and reflect different moods.

Since the time I could put my own outfits together, I've felt that the way I dress is my personal means of artistic, creative expression (Much to my mother's chagrin at times.  But in my defense, I came of age in the 1980s - think Madonna, Flashdance, big hair, jelly bracelets - what was a girl to do?).  I have grown into my own style since those high school, testing-the-self-expression-waters days.  Sometimes classic, sometimes quirky, always a little different and always very Me (whatever that really means).  To be Me, I need these three pair of black pants and a brown purse that I only use once every few months.

It's not a matter of being owned by my stuff, being a slave to consumerism and trends.  Most of what I own, I've had for years.  I do shop, but I only buy what I really need and want now and I keep and wear things for a long time.  My wardrobe is my history, my story, in a way.  To trim it to what would fit in a couple suitcases would be like cutting off an arm.  Oh the drama!  But it's true!  Am I crazy?  Am I my stuff?  Or is my stuff a part of me?