The Rise and Fall of Lies the Cat

Not many people know about Rittiner Drive’s cat problem. The reason: one of them is that everyone on Rittiner Drive seems to own a cat. The other, is that the Rittiner cat problem resides in one ancient, single, feline soul: Lies, the Cat.
Many Rittiner residents speculate on the origin of Lies, and some call him by different names: F*cker, Crack Cat, Why Does He Pee On All My Stuff, Fake Baby, The Talented Mr. Kitley, and Stank. The neighborhood, confused by his survival despite the fact that NO ONE feeds him (everyone has been surveyed), is left to dig up the dried, grass-covered nuggets of Lies’ mysterious past.
But all they’ve come up with is what they have witnessed: Lies’ survival. In the space of the last two weeks, I personally have seen Lies close to death via being attached by a dog—we all thought it was going to happen—and then, he was fine. No explanation.
Then, he got hit by a car, and again, everyone thought he was a goner. But he was, of course, fine. Again, no reason he should have survived it.
Lies has never been to a Veterinarian, he’s never gotten shots or been neutered. He's never been weighed or otherwise accounted for. He's especially never been carbon-dated.
Because I’ve never lived on Rittiner Drive, I have a unique and unbiased history of this mysterious creature. I have done the research—the answers materialized from months of wearing cat ears and peeing on stuff. Sorry, friends and family, but it was a worthy cause. I did not find the exact origin of Rittiner’s favorite feline asshole, but I know it dates back more than 144 million years.
Long ago, in the Cretaceous Period, Lies terrorized the hearts and minds of the Muttaburrasaurus and the Rhinosaurs by sneaking into their dinosaur houses and peeing on all of their stuff. When the First Great Extinction/meteor/God-bomb/alien invasion took place, Lies survived by extracting the tears of dying dinosaurs with a pure copper rod he fashioned out of pain, with help from his razor-sharp tail. He stored the tears in large clay pots underground.
He then peed in the pots, and because of that fateful act, Lies taught his lanky, stupid body to subsist entirely from pee and sadness. As a side effect of this survival tactic, Lies invented the first battery! (see Baghdad Battery.)
Was it an accident, or was it intentional? No one knows.
Because Lies’ bones were morphed into Adamantium because of the aliens, the meteor/Zeus’s lighting bolts/Cthulu’s tentacles did not affect him. As the rest of Earth’s creatures were melting and starving to death, Lies was stealing their tears and peeing on all of their stuff. That’s what Lies does; that is how he rolls.
So how did Lies end up on Rittiner Drive? No one knows for sure, but I knew several folks on the block who had things to say. Maybe they don’t talk to their neighbors enough, but it became very apparent to me after talking to only a few residents.
Lies has no home, nor does he want one. His sustenance is solely based around sadness molecules and pee atoms. There’s one quality of Lies I haven’t yet mentioned, and this quality is the reason he earned his nickname: he can look like any cat on Rittiner Drive. And there are many, many pet cats on Rittiner Drive.
Example: one former resident recalls Lies sneaking into her home on certain occasions, when many visitors were on her porch. Lies happened to be shaded and colored identically to her cat, Baby. The visitors, not knowing the subtle differences between Baby and the immortal catdroid, let Lies in. He proceeded to pee on everything she held dear, and tears were shed—which Lies later collected, though there are no witnesses to that. One can only assume, since he feeds on sadness and his own pee.
The only thing that bothers me about Lies’ current state is that he’s been diminished to it. He had some glory days, you know? Hanging out with dinosaurs? Making the first battery ever known? It must really suck to have to hang out on Rittiner Drive instead of going to the next-best thing (I think it will be the second coming of our soon-to-be alien overlords). But rest assured, dear public: when our civilization blows itself up, Lies will rise again. It’s all he knows; all he can do. He is the bridge between entire epochs of history; he is eternal.
Until then, he’s probably going to hang out on Rittiner Drive, imitating your cats and peeing on your stuff. Hey, at least he’s predictable.

Cement

Generally I saw my life in days, stretched out between two poles, end to end like a mosh pit full of privileged douche-bags, making up reasons to be pissed off enough to draw blood and make an enemy or two.

There is nothing general about it now. The days aren't days, they are hours, minutes, seconds. And in between each of them is some unidentifiable lust for all things alive; a deep need to run into every open door available to me, because this time I live in is unique. There will be no other like it. These doors don't stay open for long, and I have to try to understand what's behind each one before they fill with cement--I have to get in there to push, push, push, and then draw it out of its hole lest it remain there forever. It is not exhausting.

No, I've not taken acid recently. I think it's just spring. Don't mind me, I'll just be filling all the empty rooms with cement, because their space is no longer necessary.

Cosmic Plinko

Taking someone for granted is rooted in believing that we can ever completely know someone,
and I don't think we can. Every person is a universe unto themselves, they have different experiences that guide their decisions and reactions, and no matter how long you know someone or live with someone or date someone, you will never, ever, fully understand their way of doing things. The trouble arises when you think you do.

However, bouncing things off of another in conversation is essential to understanding the universe within yourself--your way of doing things, your reactions to the small stuff, the stuff you sweat when you know you shouldn't.

Anyone remember Plinko on The Price Is Right? You're that ball, and everyone else is those pegs. We need each other to get where we're going.

A Year

Too tired

...but never so much that I don't spend the rest of my energy wishing I were there, and not here. There's always just enough to drive me that much further west.

The more I look at my situation, the less I pity myself.