“Toddocondriacism” (Todd – o – condriac ism)

I hope you all enjoyed the brief reprieve last week when Judy was my guest columnist. The fun is all over here for sure because I'm back. However, I am going to refrain from pounding out a column of a political nature this week in order to address a most pressing issue. This is more important than Hillary versus Trump, Bernie or Bust and/or voting third party due to the hideousness of it all.

OK go back in your personal vaults in which you preserve every copy of Rants and Raves. (I realize you cling to all of them since they will be worth millions one day when I depart this space and this earth. A slight digression as I'm trying to get back in the swing after my short vacation.)

If you recall, in one of the sections in which I put headlines from non-corporate media, I also headlined something like, “Todd the cat now allowed to roam freely off harness.” Well, directly after penning that news of the day, Perpetual (life thorn) took away his born free privileges. It lasted about 3 days so Todd the Cat (note, he turned 1 recently so he is no longer Todd the Kitten) is back in bondage.

Here is the thing with Perpetual as it relates to Todd and I'm going to be super kind and delicate here. He is absolutely INSANE in terms of this cat and it's driving me to the brink of extinction.

I think that P has some condition similar to being a hypochondriac but in this peculiar case, he projects supposed illnesses on to Todd the Cat (TTC). I shall call this “Toddocondriacism” for purposes of this column and just for purposes of life as we know it.

The man is absolutely CONVINCED that there is always something “terribly wrong” with TTC. I can't tell you the number of times I've been summoned from my perch here in the bedroom/office/storage area to study TTC doing X, Y and/or Z.

As you realize, I love to illustrate in play form so here goes... P: (In a super loud tone coming from kitchen) “LISA!! Come see this!!!” (Lisa springs from the bed and darts madly to the kitchen because when P says her actual name and not “hon,” she knows there is trouble. He might have cut his hand whilst preparing his own meal after working a 12 hour day in the heat.) “What is it hon?”

P: (In a harsh and firm tone) “Well, you missed it again. He was walking funny. Something's terribly wrong with him.” (This is said with slow head shaking and a bit of pacing.)

Now the above mentioned scenario literally (and you know I only use that word in its literal form) unfolded at least 3 nights in a row, maybe more. As was mentioned, when I hear my actual name from this man I either think I've done something horribly wrong or there is an urgent situation at hand.

One time I made it out right after one of Todd's “episodes” only to find P frozen in a helpless sort of way. It's very hard to explain this in print but it's almost as if when he summons me and I arrive, it's up to me to take over the situation.

For instance, on a few occasions I landed on the scene in time to see TTC exiting the kitchen. P followed along but he couldn't formulate a sentence. He appeared to be on the brink of some sort of breakdown. It's like I am supposed to be the one in control as he totally loses all concepts of reality when Todd is in “distress.” I hope that illustrated it but I'm not so sure. Oh, this might be better. It seems like P turns into a puddle of downtrodden humanity over Todd and he has no clue how to move forward.

I honestly NEVER saw any of this so called “odd” behavior on the part of TTC. When I pretended to note his awkward way of moving, I simply blamed the harness. Now that I ponder, it was that very method that led to his being able to roam harness free for approximately 3.5 hours.

Moving along, this whole “Toddocondriacism” is getting out of hand. According to P, the poor kitty cat has had the following ailments in his short life on earth: Spinal misalignment, nasal drip, inner ear infection, bruised footie pad, crooked tail and depression. (Those are just a few examples.)

“There's something wrong—he isn't himself,” should perhaps be carved on P's tombstone eventually. Actually that's kind of funny now that I read it back. Get it? Like clearly there would be something wrong with the person in the grave? OK, fine. I thought it was sort of cute. Then again, I'm suffering from sleep deprivation.

Todd has kept us up at night as of late because P wants to monitor his walking patterns and his level of anxiety. This has led to my lack of sleep because every other minute I hear “LISA” streaming live from the kitchen region. I'm in the market for either a shot gun, earplugs or a strong sedative. Any help would be most appreciated.