husband detritus, cat effluvia, and cosmic tests

So I went to Las Vegas last week. Whoo-hoo. Pardon my overexcitement. Not that it was a bad experience, just that I've already 'done' Vegas a few times, and although I actually don't hate the place, when one is on tradeshow booth duty in un-sexy khakis and polyester and forced to abide by a cruel and unusual schedule (every day 7 a.m. start. As IF anybody in Vegas is gonna show up for that.), Sin City loses it's luster just a wee bit.

I was able to spend some quality time with a girlfriend I don't see often, so that definitely was a positive to balance out the negatives. But while I was gone (about 6 days total), an amazing thing happened back in our house. While the Other Half was busy working in the daytime, painting living room walls on the weekend, every single cat we have (4 at last count) was horking hairballs on every available flat surface, and somebody must have been sanding the world's largest drywall patch or something, because I arrived home (late, tired, and cranky) to a wonderland of more dust than I remember leaving, and a veritable gauntlet of petrified cat barf to run through and dodge on my way to the bedroom.

What happened? Did the cats get sick from the paint fumes? Did my husband forget that they have no opposable thumbs and therefore aren't so great with paper towels? Or did that mysterious layer of dust show up and coat everything just enough that he didn't notice it? Granted, this house is dusty on a good day, thanks to the never-ending various construction projects. But still. I wonder if it's some kind of married-man detritus; everything he can't (and by "can't", I mean "chooses not to") deal with on his own just turns to dust and smothers everything in my absence.

*Sigh*.

Anyway, so that was strange and disheartening to come home to. I left this place in pretty good shape, considering. And the cats really weren't barfing all that much when I was here. Maybe it's his cooking?

If that wasn't weird enough, the next evening, I was sitting in bed, plugging away on a custom demo for the following day, and somebody knocked on my door at 2 a.m. Two a.m.!!! My heart rate immediately shot up and adrenaline started coursing through my body. No knock at the door at 2 a.m. has ever signified anything good. (I guess I'm overlooking the obvious 'booty call' here, but that's not really ever been a part of my reality and therefore I can omit it. My midnite knocks and phone calls are always bad, bad bad. Death or break-up bad.) We also have some neighbors that we're fond of, and I thought maybe they were having an emergency of some sort.

So, heart racing, I pad softly to the door and flick on the outside light to see an ordinary-looking woman standing there in a coat, sniffling into a tissue with a phone in her hand. Thinking, "ok, she needs to call a tow or the cops, etc.", I opened the door.

I was wrong. What she needed was GAS MONEY from ME at 2 a.m. to go see her dying "Nanny" in Lake City, about an hour away from here. Are you kidding me?!! I was so shaken from the knock at the door at such an unexpected hour, that even after hearing her tale of woe, I was equal parts angry, pitying, and bewildered. And my hands were shaking from the adrenaline hangover.

Why me? Well, apparently I live in the house next to the house where someone she once knew used to live. Did you follow that? And although she was getting paid the very next day, she didn't have enough money for gas to get her to see her dying nanny, and they were about to pull out the tubes and shut off life support for whatever reason. She thrust her cell phone (pink, old, display not working quite properly) at me to show me pictures of nanny with tubes in her nose, ear, throat, etc.

What's a person to do? Let me rephrase that: what was *I* to do? Because the answer all depends on the person, I guess. My husband would have slammed the door right in her face. Period. And gone back to sleep to dream the dreams of the innocent. I, however, am not that person. I told her several times (as I was trying to corral my ever-escaping felines) that this was extremely inappropriate and that she really gave me a good scare. She wept that people keep slamming doors in her face (go figure) and she just needed that money to go see nanny.

Wanting to be rid of her, but not wanting to encourage this type of behavior, I compromised and gave her 6 bucks. I had more, but didn't want her to think she could knock on my door at 2 am and get whatever the hell she felt like demanding that day. Who knows if Nanny is real? Maybe this woman was a crackhead! Or a nutjob! But trying to be a decent human being, I couldn't take that chance that she wasn't for real, and I had an opportunity to help someone that wouldn't take much effort. I actually felt guilty for a while that I hadn't given her $10. Of course, only because when I handed her the $6, she disappointedly told me that she needed $10 to get there. Had I relented and given her more, I fear my other half might have locked me out of the house for the night just for being a gullible twit.

That whole experience left me feeling very odd. Pitying, to be sure. Only a little bit angry. But I couldn't help feeling like maybe that was some kind of cosmic kindness test. And the amount of money she ended up with wasn't the point, it was my reaction to her that was the point. (My brain is pointing out to me, "see how easy that was to turn around and make it all about YOU?" Thanks, brain. Point taken.) Regardless, I think I did the only thing I could do, and still live with a clear conscience.

She said she'd pay me back. I hope she doesn't. I fear another encounter will just leave me feeling oogy (my word for that combination of discomfort, paranoia, pity, anxiety, anger, and any other general ickyness you want to throw in there) again.