(moved from previous blog)
I haven’t posted any blogs lately because I’ve spent the last four days in Chicago. I plan to move there soon, and so I went to hunt for jobs and places to live. My goal was to peruse the city in perfectly tailored business attire to better blend in with Chicago’s professional crowd, so my sister took me shopping to help me find a few outfits. I have a terrible time choosing outfits for myself, which is why most of my friends seriously question my sense of style. In my opinion, looking put-together means pairing a clean t-shirt with a crisp pair of yoga pants. In fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find me in anything other than yogas, as I make an effort to incorporate a pair into every ensemble.
For me, finding acceptable business attire proves to be very troublesome indeed. Although I’m 22 years old, I tend to look more like a prepubescent 7th grader, and so I look absolutely ridiculous in business clothes. I will never wear them while holding a tri-fold poster board for fear of being escorted directly to the nearest Science Fair.
So, I came to the city armed with several copies of my resume, a few reference sheets and a pair of freshly ironed pants, courtesy of my mom. I returned home as unemployed as ever, but I am not disheartened; I found something even better, which can only mean that I found the Holy Grail of fat cats.
I couldn’t believe my luck when I stumbled upon her; she was sprawled out on a bed, sitting so still that I initially thought she was a Pillow Pet. I assumed mirages only happened in deserts, but since I was slightly dehydrated from the road trip and perhaps a tad delirious with excitement, I reached out my hand to make sure her fur was indeed real. When she slowly rolled over onto on her back, I was taken aback by the full force of her midriff and immediately began plotting how I was going to get her into a crop-top.
I think my obsession must have overwhelmed her, because she didn’t take to me as well as I would have liked. I tried to play it cool, but the manic gleam of desire in my eyes gave me away. For the first 10 minutes, I followed her everywhere, crawling on the floor beside her to snap pictures with her at every angle. I couldn’t find one flaw; she was 12+ lbs of full-figured perfection.
After several photo shoots, she started to avoid me. I grew tired of this juvenile game of hard-to-get and thus devised a plan to lure her back into my lap. I found a bag of cat treats and began to make a trail. Never one to turn down a delicious snack, she fell directly into my trap. For this, I will call her Gretel.
I knew the real reason we went to Chicago was to explore the city, but I couldn’t fathom leaving Gretel alone in the house while we were gone. I cursed myself for not bringing my LL Bean backpack; it would have made an excellent tote. I can see it now: me, navigating the streets of Chicago, resume folder in hand, Gretel on my back. I’d zip her in with an opening just wide enough for her disproportionately small head to poke through the top.
We’d be unstoppable.
In the end, it’s probably best that I didn’t bring her downtown with us. Chicago’s a big city with many opportunities, and I’m certain she would have been discovered and landed a gig as the face of a new Fancy Feast portion control snack line. While I have no doubt in my mind that she would have enjoyed the fame, fortune and lavish lifestyle, I fear she’d crack under the constant media scrutiny and spiral out of control towards a life of self-destructive partying and late-night drug scandals.