Picking Up Strays

In the 11 months that I've been living here at the ole' Larchwood estate, I must admit that our bathroom has never been cleaned. Aside from the occasional once-over on the sink, the third floor washroom has been left essentially untouched. Seemingly an ordinary bathroom when we first moved in, closer inspection revealed that it was a bit of a dirty place, with stains, cracks, missing tiles, and the fearsome hairs of the unmentionable behind the toilet. Cleaning it was a long time coming, so me and Jay finally sucked it up and went at it. Nothing glorious, just your basic cleaning tools and chemicals with a bit of elbow grease. I'm telling you this not to gross you out, but because of what I found as a result of it.

After changing bathroom rugs, I went downstairs to throw away the old one. I opened the front door, and out of the corner of my eye, I see some dark creature move towards my leg. Of course this startles the shit out of me, and when I look down to see a big black cat, thoughts of rabies or an unfortunate spotlight on "When Animals Attack" runs through my mind. I was about to kick the damn thing when I realized it was rubbing up against my leg, showing no aggression whatsoever. When I turned to head back inside, it was looking up at me and acting as friendly as possible. Even when I tried to use my foot to keep him from running into the house, he rolled over on the ground in hopes of a belly rub. I got a kick out of the whole thing, told some of the roommates, felt bad about leaving it out in the cold (literally), and went about my business.

Then I see John and Jason outside, struggling to get back in the house. Apparently, the cat had made the decision that he wanted in, no matter what. Phil suggested kicking the damn thing, but that would be rude in my book, especially considering the impeccable manners of the kick-ee. No matter what we did, it kept rubbing up against legs, rolling over for belly rubs, playfully reaching up at hands, and all the while not letting us get a foot in the door without darting right after us. I can't even properly communicate to you how charming this fucking cat was. And all I kept thinking was "THIS SUCKS!" Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact that one of our roommates is deathly allergic to cats, we probably would've caved and let the damn thing in, named it Leeroy Jenkins, and called it a night.

Now look, I don't even like cats that much; I've always viewed them as arrogant pricks who wouldn't give you the time of day even if they could tell time. The only cat I've ever liked (Ace) had a great personality and contributed to the household (killing rodents and birds counts in my book as pulling your damn weight, which I respect). Maybe it's no coincidence that Ace was a hard-luck stray from the streets taken in by my Dad's family before a big storm moved through the area. To this day, I'm positive that Ace was smart enough to realize the favor that my family did for him, giving him a place to call home, that he made it his life mission to be the most legit cat in the world, and no one, NO ONE, will convince me otherwise.

The point is, you take in the stray, especially one with character. It's what humans do. When a family member from far away comes to visit, you try to show them a good time. When the new kid moves to town, you act polite and see what you have in common. And on the first day for a new coworker, you invite them out to lunch and introduce them to the guys.

Maybe that's why this guy at work has pissed me off so much, probably without him even knowing. When I started back in September, I found out quickly that I was working with a small group of people and that I wasn't going to come into contact with many others in the plant. One of the few I would work with was this guy Jeff, who turned out to be only a year older and a recent graduate of Widener. "Ok, cool" I thought, here's someone my own age, a part of college life, I'm sure me and this guy will have a lot in common. That day, we all went out to lunch and everything was starting as I'd expect it to. The next day, I found out that Jeff was friends with a couple of the "younger" people in the building, most of them semi-attractive women, and that they often went out to lunch during the week.

But he never asked me if I wanted to go out to lunch with them.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

In fact, after working there for four months, I've been asked to go to lunch exactly zero times.

Now here's the thing: the guy is a dork; he doesn't like sports or follows football; his hair looks straight out of Leave It To Beaver; he's awkward and out of shape. Basically, he's no spring chicken. And from what I can tell, his buddies are considered by others as pretty dorky. In fact, his situation perfectly fits the little sister theory, which states that women already in relationships will quickly accept a guy friend who is utterly non-sexually-threatening and can be looked upon as a little "sister". All in all, I shouldn't want to go to lunch with these people. Frankly, I'm almost certain that Jeff is afraid I'll steal his thunder with his lady friends. But it still annoys me, to this day, because if the roles were reversed, I'd invite the guy out, listen to his jokes and his stories, see what my friends thought and move on from there.

It's just something I'd expect a normal person to do. In my book, you don't leave the stray out in the cold.