When I found my cell phone in the refrigerator, it occurred to me that I might be sick. I have been bragging about my genetically superior immune system for the better part of a year (I've subjected it to a battery of tests including, but not limited to: mistreating it with a questionable amount of alcohol, holding onto subway hand railings for greater than three seconds, and violating my self-imposed mandatory five-foot distance from all children). Naturally it came as a shock to me when I finally succumbed to some terrible malady which has had me voluntarily housebound for upwards of one day. I am certain the severity of my affliction lies somewhere between a common cold and a deadly combination of malaria, dengue virus, and whooping cough. This week I have had the good fortune of being confined to a very nice condominium, watching over the cats of a lovely vacationing couple. As I have only left the house twice in two days, I am virtually an invalid. It may seem nice, but it is not all it's cracked up to be.
For example, I am not very good at directions and I keep getting lost. I will be searching for the spare bedroom one night, only to wake up the next morning in the second floor bathroom, having mistaken the bathtub for my bed. Secondly and perhaps most importantly, my back is starting to ache from all of the soft, comfortable furniture. I keep falling asleep when sitting anywhere from the sheer comfort - it's become impossible to get anything done let alone finish an entire sandwich, without dozing off. I attempted to count the number of threads in the bed sheets, to see what I was dealing with and what I'd have to overcome, and lost count somewhere after 20,000.
Another drawback has to do with the cats themselves. Cats are so needy! I have not spent this much time openly talking about one's feelings since my senior year high school retreat (and I'm pretty sure everyone was making things up so we could go to lunch already). By now I feel as though they are just fishing for compliments.
They have also taken to rifling through and investigating the contents of my belongings. It wouldn't bother me so much but some scarves and balls of yarn have gone missing. My last qualm with the (many) cats is that they keep trying to read my personal journal as I write in it, and I am a very private person. I've tried redirecting them to my blog, to no avail.
Of course there is always the predicament of where to find entertainment when you have been quarantined, and since there is (surprisingly) no Internet (or I just can't find it), I've had to substitute with alternate, baser forms of entertainment such as reading, feeding the cats catnip, and watching Hannibal re-run on television (alone ... I am going to regret this very soon). So far I have had a perfectly adequate time amusing myself, but suspect I will be in trouble once I run out of snack mix.