Colfax the Miracle Cat
Face adopted a cat yesterday, and he seems to be emotionally and mentally gifted. The first night he spent here, Colfax was hopping from lap to lap, scratching his rope post and napping on Face’s stomach. He also has blossoming computer skills. Last night I was trying to organize some photos on the computer, and he pounced on the keyboard. He created a new folder on the desktop, labeled, “…Oooop.” I know it’s not a word, but it’s close to a word, and for a 1-year-old, that’s pretty good. Tomorrow we learn html.
Also, the pet shelter gave us this wheat-based organic litter. It’s really weird, I mean I wouldn’t shit in it if I were a cat. So tonight he really had to go, you could tell. He was walking around the house for about 15 minutes, mewing and looking confused. Finally, he went inside the cardboard crate the shelter gave us to transport him home. Poor guy. He had to go, but he didn’t understand the wheat, so he looked around and around until he could find the most appropriate place he could think of. He was sniffing around corners, crouching in the bathtub, trying to pick his spot. Then he couldn’t wait any longer and picked his own crate. Face and I have been trying to decide if it’s a form of revenge against his travel crate, or if he’s so fond of his new home that he picked something from his days at the shelter to shit on, out of respect. Tomorrow we get some sand. He’s also about the cutest thing around. Prepare for a flood of photos. Oh, and he’s also drawn my blood four or five times now.
Face lives in a beautiful condo in a fourplex less than a mile from central downtown Denver. Wood floors, exposed brick walls. His housemates are very cool; it’s like a dorm, but with people in their late 20s/early30s. I can hear them walking around upstairs, but I’ve gotten used to it. Unless they’re playing Dance! Dance! Revolution!, the Playstation dancing game. I’ve built Nest2.o, and while not as creative as the Tucson nest, it maintains the spirit. Our neighborhood is great, near a real hip part of town. Like Portland, you never know what to expect within a block of houses in Denver. Our street’s houses are old and gorgeous, like out of a fairytale. Three doors down is a mental patients’ halfway house. We see the crazy people wandering the streets on their way to Starbucks, but they’re all pretty well medicated, so it’s not really an issue. A few doors down from that is federally subsidized housing, where primarily black residents sit on the porch in the evenings and blare George Clinton.
I’m trying to get a job for the few weeks I’m here. Running low on cash, and I’d like to not cash any more savings if necessary. Aside from that, my role here is all about reading and entertaining Colfax. Which is just fine by me, considering he’s The Miracle Cat. This weekend we go hiking to some glacier, where I may be coerced into skiing as a novelty. Denver has been pretty great thus far. Thunderstorms, gay city parks, great mediocre pizza, the Mint, and so on. Still, leaving Tucson, as with any place you call home with those you care about, is always so much more difficult than getting in the car and driving. It’s been pretty rough. Being behind the wheel for so long alone means a lot of hours with nothing but your own thoughts. Not always pleasant, or easy. I guess that’s what this trip is all about though, being alone with my thoughts. Still, it’s not a walk in the gay park.