PSM called me last night.
Mostly to offer his condolences on my cat dying.
I know. I don’t seem like the kind of person who would be a pet owner, but even someone as sassy as the Sassy Spinster has a soft spot. And that’s what my cat was: my soft soft. The S.S. Meowmers.
But she’s gone now.
And PSM called to make sure I was okay after seeing my facebook post about her passing.
Lots of friends wished their condolences on facebook, but let’s count the friends who picked up the phone and called, shall we? One. PSM.
Yeah, the one person who bothered to call to see how I was holding up because my BFF—my best feline friend—had died is the same man who says we are “just friends,” that somehow doesn’t care deeply enough about me for us to be more than that. Right.
Because there’s nothing that says “I don’t have feelings for you” like “I want to make sure you’re okay after the death of a pet.”
Does anyone else see how this behavior is confusing?
Not that I mentioned any of this to him, of course.
As I mentioned before, if he says it’s “friends,” friends it is. I am not pressuring or hoping anything different until, well, until he figures out he’s full of shit and that he’s lying—to me, to himself, to both. And that you don’t just call people about a dead cat unless you really, really care, because you really understand how much that little cat meant.
Crossed off the list? Yup. Still crossed off—outwardly, anyway. Until he gets his shit together.