Last October and November I had a long-term houseguest. I took a break from blogging during that time period, not wanting to censor myself in describing what I thought about having someone else in my house for that long or having a record that might make my dear friend read, cringe, and feel less than welcome.
I remember the first couple weeks feeling awkward. After all, there was someone always there. After years of no one ever being there, it threw me off to come home and have conversation that wasn’t one-sided (ahem, with Hambone). However, we settled into a decent way of living that worked.
Having him around that much, your secret single behaviors are fully brought to light. After dancing around the formalities for a bit, for fear that your friend will realize just how friggin’ insane you actually are, there comes a point where you’re just you, and that’s that.
I talk with Hambone a lot. As soon as I walk in the door, there’s a “Who’s my favorite kitty?!” thrown out. It’s immediately followed up with a belly rub and me saying, “Oh bay-beeeee cat!” Crazy cat lady tendencies be damned, I can’t stop it from coming out of my mouth.
I also randomly bust out into a hip-hop song’s verse and insert my own words to apply to the Hambone-related situation:
I wear them Applebottom jeans
Hambone’s got some fur
The whole condo is
Lookin’ at her
Vacuum the floor
Next thing you know
The fur is no no no no no no no more
In the weeks spent with me, eventually my house guest just joined in the madness. He might not be singing made-up songs (that takes a special talent that can only be honed over years of living alone and adoring that live-in feline), but he does pay gratuitous attention to Hambone in similar ways.
He knows the places to scratch Hambone that get the best reactions. He coos his own terms of endearment. He knows what “by the face”, “taming the lion”, and “going on safari” are. He even made up a hat game that will entertain the three of us for an untold number of minutes.
Eleven years of friendship gets your pretty close to knowing a person in and out, but seven weeks of living together really hammers it in.
Travel safely, friend. You’re my “buuuuuudddddddyyyyyyyyyy”.