Yet another installment in making sense out of losing my job. Feel free to click to the next post.
Two months ago I had to resign from my job. If anyone would get a random Gwyneth Paltrow reference from 10 years ago I would say that we “consciously uncoupled,” but the truth is that they abruptly put me on administrative leave and then forced me to resign.
I’m sure they had very good reason for doing so; they certainly managed to come up with quite the list after an extensive review of my email history (rookie mistakes—30, to be exact– on my part). But the most comforting thing I can tell myself is that I pretty much have a dog like personality and they decided after 2 years that they prefer cats.
It must be like when you meet someone and they have a dog but you’re really not into dogs. But you love the person and they come with a dog so, fine. You deal with the hair and you take it for walks and fine it wedges it furry self between you and your beloved at night. And you wander around high on Benedryl because you’re a little allergic. But you love your person. Until one day maybe you go on vacation and you get to have a clear head and the bed to yourself for the first time in a long time and you suddenly realize there’s a whole ‘nother way to live.
One would hope you wouldn’t just irrationally get rid of your partner without some healthy discussion, but I guess they supposed that I was just so entrenched in my dogness that, were they to give an ultimatum, “it’s us or the dog,” I would have chosen the dog. (I would have). So they cut their losses early to save themselves the pain.
I’ve learned a lot about myself the past few years and have come to the conclusion that I have the personality of a Golden Retriever. A golden doodle, even, as they are purportedly hypoallergenic and probably therefore the perfect dog. I guess truly I am a dog who curses instead of barks which is probably shocking at first but most folks seem to get used to it. It turns out that I am really good at connecting with people and honestly likeable. Even the HR director who fired me said that I was really employable, just, you know, not at my current job. Like a dog I am friendly and incredibly loyal. If you need someone to rest their chin on your leg and look up at you adoringly I’m your gal. If you need some (hypoallergenic) fur to soak up your tears, here I am. I will bring back tennis balls, woof at strangers, whatever you need, I’m here for it.
But in spite of all that, the kindness, the loyalty, the approachability, it wasn’t enough to keep my fuckin, job. Maybe it’s because of all the other dog stuff that’s kind of annoying: maybe I was too inattentive and swept some valuable stuff off the table with my tail. Maybe I got too enthusiastic and jumped on folks, leaving muddy paw prints on their fancy work clothes, maybe I ran my mouth too much (see above woofing and swearing) and, they really thought they could live with the dog but it turns out they were cat people all along.
Cats don’t really care at all whether folks like them, as long as they’re getting fed. So, while they’re loyal, they’re MOST loyal to the hand that feeds them. They’re aloof, they won’t be too enthusiastic, they’ll likely be quiet (unless they get too hungry). They’re observant and if they knock stuff off the table you can bet they meant to do so, and it was probably for your own good.
And what do you know, they picked a cat to fill my position. But not just a stray cat from off the street. They didn’t go to the ASPCA either. They truly think a lot of themselves at my last job and they need a special cat (see: hypoallergenic dog). They got themselves the Fancy Feast Cat. Wet cat food in a crystal goblet. Ting ting ting! Fluffy white cat comes slinking along, sniffs suspiciously at said food, eats in dainty little bites. Loooonnnngggg bath after dinner. It won’t do to have dribbles of gravy on one’s snowy white chin.
It’s not like Fancy Feast Cat will be better at the job, although she might. She’ll just be different. Professional, and better dressed. And while it hurts that my former employers aren’t dog people after all, it’s wishful thinking that I could change myself from a happy-go-lucky dog to a put-together cat.
So, if someone has a forever (furever) home for a senior-ish dog who is good with people and children, please, give me a call.
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