My cat, Olive, doesn’t like people. Well, she likes me. Thankfully. But she doesn’t like anyone else. “Doesn’t like” is an understatement. She HATES everyone else. She’s a pandemic pet. Which means that for over a year, she didn’t encounter any other human other than myself. So I suppose in her little cat world, hate = fear, but regardless, whenever another human being besides yours truly comes within a foot of her paw, she transforms into the feline version of the devil child “The Exorcist.” She groans, she screams, she projectile poops.
This, as you can imagine, makes life, and my social life, just a little stressful.
Case in point: Olive scared the bejesus out of my in-home massage therapist last month who then told me “spiritually speaking” that I should consider the idea of my cat being the divine embodiment of why I’m single and alone.
“If my cat was like this, and you can’t have people in your home, maybe the Universe is trying to tell you something,” she basically said.
Let’s just say, I don’t think I will be seeing her again.
Anyway. Recently, my little devil cat scratched herself to the point of bleeding, and required medical attention and a trip to the vet. All pets hate the vet, but Olive takes it to another level of insanity. She groans, she screams, she projectile poops. I’ve watched videos on animal cruelty before, and she sounds even WORSE than the screams I’ve heard coming from slaughterhouses. She’s so unruly she now needs to be sedated in order to receive care. Knowing that she is in such anguish in the best of times, like when it’s just my in-home judgmental masseuse paying me a visit, is already anxiety-inducing for me. But seeing my baby devil cat sedated and bloodied was HEAVY. And, of course, being single and not having a partner around to hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be okay, was an extra dollop, or should I say, wallop, of stress.
Sure, I called my mom and she did the best she could to alleviate my worries. But still. She’s in PEI, I’m in Vancouver, and I’m alone, dealing with my devil cat.
Then, of course, there’s the bill. The exorbitant price of loving an animal is almost criminal. Veterinarians are amazing people, and I know it’s a stressful job, but my god, why does “poop clean up” cost $7?
I’ve been thinking a lot about finances lately, specifically as a single woman, and how straining it can be to live on a single income, especially during these times, and especially in a city as pricey as Vancouver.
I’m not gonna lie - it’s a lot. I’m not saying I’d want to partner up with someone just to split the cost of rent, bills, and Netflix, but I’m also NOT saying that it’s something I think about. Heck, isn’t that why most couples shack up within a matter of months — and probably sooner than the relationship warrants? In order to split rent and groceries? Don’t give me the “I’m here all the time anyway, so we might as well live together?” line. The monetary benefits are RICH, my friend, in coupledom.
But anyway, the money struggle is real for everyone, but particularly for single people. So many of us are in debt of some type — myself included — and when it comes to saving for long-term goals, like home ownership or taking a fancy vacation, sometimes those dreams seem out of reach on one income. Also, since we are a debt-riddled culture, there is the question of, “Am I still valuable/lovable to a potential partner if I’m someone with debt?” We live in a far more financially-savvy world. People want to talk about money in the dating stages. Is debt a turn-off? Is debt stopping people from dating?
I’m genuinely curious about these questions, so if you have some thoughts, please leave a comment below or feel free to reply to this newsletter. I talk about this subject a little more in depth with money coach Lisa Chastain on on the latest episode of my podcast, Seriously Single, including how to not feel like $hit when in debt and how being in debt isn’t always a bad thing, and why budgeting sucks. You can listen to the episode below.
Speaking of money and spending, I really wanted to buy a pair of camo pants. I know I’m 41, but they look cool, OK? Anyway, my mom and I like to share links to the clothes we’re eyeing, and I shared the camo pants with her. She vetoed them, saying I would look like a man. A few days later, she saw this picture of Bradley Cooper wearing a pair of camo pants, and suddenly she changed her mind. “You should buy the pants,” she said.
I’m confused.
After spending nearly a grand on my cat, I was hesitant about spending $50 on camo pants that may or may not make me look like Bradley Cooper. But in comparison to the $800 I tearfully paid the vet, maybe coughing up another $100+ (because let’s be honest, we never buy just one item while online shopping) isn’t so bad. I mean, it’s just a little debt, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
Let’s not answer that. I have an appointment with Lisa on Tuesday.