Chex Mix

On the days that I don’t have extracurricular activities that my parents think will make me a well-rounded young lady regardless of how much I hate the activity and how much the people there hate me for some unknown reason, I walk home. Both my parents have your so-called 9-to-5 jobs and they can’t pick me up or drop me off at school, so I walk. I do have my driver’s license, but my parents won’t get me a car because they want me to pay for it myself. But then at the same time they won’t let me get a job because it would require them to drive me there and they think that I should concentrate on my studies. Furthermore, I ain’t got no ride, bitch. Which kinda sucks because I can’t do hardly anything unless I want to walk or bike there.

Major suckage on aisle two.

But walking isn’t so bad as long as there isn’t a snow storm (which by the way, I still have to walk to and from school in). It seems that when I’m alone and walking home, everything is in perfect order. My legs can pump, my arms can swing… I work just fine. My mind’s a little iffy. But, hey, what can you do?

Anyway, the best part about just clearing my mind, or mulling over something tricky as I walk is that I’m calm and content when I go through the front door. My day is behind me and I’m home and nothing truly damaging happened. And if anything is still on my mind, I’ve got a cat who’s a really good listener.

I had to walk home today and it was nice because the weather held a sort of promising warmth—like, a ‘hang in there, spring will come eventually’ warmth. And now I’m through the front door yelling, “Sanchez!” Sanchez is my kitty. Her previous owners named her Sanchez because they thought she was a boy and they also thought Dirty Sanchez would be a good name for cat. And here we are. “Meow, meow!” I call, sliding my backpack off my shoulder and onto the floor next to the door.

I hear a sort of shuffling from upstairs and little footprints softly pounding down the carpeted stairs. “Hi, kitty!” I coo, slipping off my shoes. Sanchez mrows back and pads over to me so she can rub against my leg as I make my way to the kitchen to grab a jar of peanut butter, a spoon, a gigantor glass of milk, and some kitty treats. And then we make our way downstairs with the snacks and my backpack to do homework. My parents have insisted for years that I do my homework before anything else. No ‘if’s, ‘and’s, or ‘but’s. Absolutely none. A zombie’s coming through your window—calculus first! It’s great. It’s a fun time. Just awesome.

Anyway, I take breaks though because they can’t enforce the law since they’re not actually home.

But since I’m a ‘good egg’, I start in on an essay that’s not due for a few weeks and then mull over some math problems, wiggling a peanut butter covered spoon around in my mouth. And then Sanchez goes nose to nose with me, stepping on top of my math book. “Meow,” she says.

“Hello,” I reply.

“Meow meow meow,” she complains.

I stare at her big kitty eyes for a minute. “Okay, okay.” I scoop her up in one arm and shut my calc book with the other. “What do you wanna do, kitty?”

“Mrow.”

“You’re so specific,” I mumble and plop her down on the floor again after dislodging her claws from my shirt sleeve. “Hm…” I look around my room, turning in a tight circle. “I dunno. Any ideas?” I look back at where I had set Sanchez down, but she’s no longer there. “Meow?” I ask.

And then all of a sudden there’s blaring music. Super loud, super obnoxious, super catchy. I turn my head over to where my underused stereo sits, Sanchez sitting on top of it proudly.

I tilt my head to the side. “You wanna dance, kitty?” I take a few careful steps towards her and she gives me a cautious look, twitching her tail. I swoop her into my arms and start to step in some sort of really fast waltz to the music.

“MROOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!” Sanchez goes.

Ten minutes later:

“I like you so much better when you’re naked!” I shout.

Did I scare you there?

I bet I did.

But that’s how the song goes. Really. Believe me.

“But I won’t mind, if you take me home—come on take me home—“

Jump to the left, jump to the right.

“MROOOOOOOOW!”

“I won’t mind, if you take off all your clothes—come on, take ‘em—“

Right, left, right, left.

“MEOW! MROW! HISSSSS!”

Pirouette into a Michael Jackson—

Silence.

Complete, utter, pin drop silence.

“Ananda, what are you doing to the cat?”

“Uh…”

I’d like to introduce you to my mom.

I turn around, a pained look on my face. I drop Sanchez onto the floor. “Hey. You’re home early.”

She’s not taking the bait. Not even a little bit. “Why aren’t you doing your homework?”

This is not going to turn out well. Not at all. What could I say to explain this? Taking breaks is bad in her world—work now, party never. Unless of course this is work. What if—

“I’m practicing for cheerleading tryouts,” I fib.

“Oh… Oh! How wonderful! Y’know, I was a cheerleader once.”

And we’re off the hook.