Rufus Roswell Rubey: Naked Weirdo Alien Cat

"No. We ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY will NOT get a cat." ~My Hubby

The new KittyBoy's name is Rufus Roswell Rubey and he is a naked little sphynx prince. The name Rufus is mostly from Rufus the Naked Mole Rat on the exemplary Kim Possible cartoon. But also, I had a Great Uncle named Rufus who was decidedly awesome. My maternal grandpa and his brothers were a treasure trove of the best old man names: Leonard, Rufus, Claude and Perry. But Perry is a platypus (Phineas and Ferb), Claude sounds like clod, and Leonard is a lactose intolerant nerd (Big Bang Theory), so Rufus it is. His middle name, Roswell, is because he looks like a wrinkly alien boy.

Rufus is a tremendous flirt and either very brave or has no sense of self preservation, because he taunts Emmie like she's a happy fun ball. (Shout out to all my 1970's peeps who got that ancient SNL reference).

Hubby still pretends like he doesn't like Rufus but Rufus knows better. He loooooves to snuggle with his Cat Daddy. And his Emmie. And his Kid. And my brother, and basically everyone who comes into our house or makes eye contact with him anywhere, ever.

Re-retirement

I already retired once, in 2019. I had a retirement party and a crown and a sash that says, The Queen Has Retired," and everything. Very officially retired. But somehow I went from retiring -- so that I could chase my dream of being an artist, writer, and Fuckabout -- to working a full-time+ job as the Hubby's personal assistant, marketing director and hiring manager for his company. It's been fun. Occasionally. But lately I just keep hearing the line from Clerks in my head: "I'm not even supposed to BE here!" and I realized I need to go back to doing MY thing, not my husband's thing. So I'm re-retiring at the end of February 2025.

The 2025 Project -- but not THAT 2025 Project

Re-retiring is quite scary, now that I've told the other key members of the company and I'm telling you. What if I muck it all up again? What if I put off my writing and art dream with a new excuse? My plan is to keep myself focused and consistently creating by doing what my dear friend (we've never met) the funny and vivacious Jenny Lawson has done; she has consistently posted a drawing every week for a year. Just a simple drawing, and usually a quick paragraph or two about the inspiration behind it, no pressure to make it perfect. Sounds a bit daunting but she made it look easy so I am stealing that idea and making mine a weekly Rufus and Emmie photos/stories post instead. I'm way too slow and obsessive an artist to produce a sketch every week because it takes me way longer than that to start, erase, start again, spin out, be consumed by that one tiny detail I can't get right, toss the whole thing, start over fresh, rinse, repeat. But I can (and incessantly do) snap pics of my ludicrous critters weekly, and I only spend about five or ten minutes photoshopping and overthinking captions for those, so that's not bad. Okay, maybe thirty minutes, but still. Doable.

Wait. Should I start today instead of procrastinating for five months?

Maybe I can trick myself into not procrastinating, overanalyzing and second guessing my posts if I do a soft start. Like a pretend start because that feels less confining. Okay, IF I were starting the weekly posts right now, which I'm totally not, this is purely hypothetical, I would tell you what the Great Dane did last week. I would (hypothetically) tell you the story of how I rushed home from King Soopers, late for a Zoom meeting, and didn't have time to put away all the groceries, so I stuck the cold stuff in the fridge, shoved everything else into the pantry and made a beeline for my desk. The everything else that went into the pantry included a bag of pita chips, a loaf of Dave's Killer Bread, and a jar of Bee's Knees peanut butter, which is objectively the best peanut butter ever created. After the Zoom meeting, the Kid showed up to borrow something or other and we got to chatting about how we'd like to live in the town where they film Resident Alien, yada yada ... About 20 minutes into our chat, Emmie Specklepants comes prancing into the room, tail wagging, and proudly settles herself on the sofa with her fabulous new toy: an empty, mangled jar of Bee's Knees peanut butter.

Me: Drop that!! That's not yours!

Emmie: (shocked, dismayed and then incensed) Are you trying to tell me you didn't buy this expressly for me to snack on? You know how much I love peanut butter! Besides, YOU LEFT THE PANTRY DOOR OPEN FOR ME.

Me: Oh my God, what else did you eat?! (running upstairs to check the pantry)

Emmie: Nothing else (righteous indignation). Just my peanut butter.  I'm a GOOD dog.

Me: You're a menace. And you're about to spend the next six hours shitting your little doggy brains out.

Emmie: (shrugs) I like to poop.

Emmie's remarks are imagined but nevertheless 100% accurate.