Here Kitty, Kitty

I don't think of myself as being terribly disciplined.  I can't last more than a day on a diet and I've never been one to stick to any kind of routine - be it sleeping, skin-care or exercise - no matter how beneficial some expert says it might be.


But I do have a few shreds of common sense lurking around in my head... enough to get me out of bed at 5 a.m. so I can get a seat on the early train instead of standing for 20 minutes if I stay in bed  that little bit longer.  It may not seem like a necessity but having to stand the whole journey to work just doesn't make for a good start to the day.  So early mornings are a must if I don't want to spend the day growling at my colleagues.

And I guess it is that common sense that had me panicking when I realised that the warm, fuzzy feeling that I got from Damien wasn't just a reaction to the cups of tea he brought me.  Each time he said the word 'girlfriend', I found myself seething.  I knew it was completely ridiculous but that didn't stop me from hating the very thought of her - whoever she was.

Hoping it would pass, I tried to carry on as normal.  But Damien wasn't helping.  Besides the tea, he brought me lunch when my days were too manic to stop for even the shortest break.  And then there were little gifts of chocolates left in my desk when he came back from trips to our continental offices.  But the text on New Year's Eve was possibly what threw me most - why was he thinking of me at midnight?

I don't think I have ever been so confused in all my life.  I know that I am pretty clueless when it comes to men and rarely get things right.  I don't often see the things that are blatantly obvious to everyone else and I often jump to the wrong conclusions thinking something is there when it isn't or the complete opposite.  Convinced that this was another of Cate's Classic Fuck-ups in the making, I told myself it was nothing and swore that I would not spend another millisecond pondering the pleasures of Damien.

And then one morning my attempts to act cool about everything fell apart.  As we sat in the staff canteen eating breakfast, Damien brought up the girlfriend again and started to discussing some of her less-appealing traits.  Determined to keep as far away from the subject as possible, I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth and focused on the plate of rubber eggs in front of me.  I was so lost in my own little world that I almost didn't hear my colleague say, 'Hey Cate, what's with women and cats?'  

Having been on another planet, I didn't really think about what I was about to say and just blurted out that women adopt cats when they can't seem to succeed with men.  My colleague laughed and this got me going on my theory that women turn to furry friends for a warm cuddle when they can't find a man or they've managed to scare them all away.  How else do you explain the little old ladies who live with twenty cats?

In retrospect, I am amazed that I even remember the conversation.  It was pretty harmless now that I think about it.  But as I preached about women who get weirder with age and even weirder with the more cats they adopt, I realised I was digging a bit of a hole as all eyes were on Damien.  Whilst I had been pondering whether the cook had intentionally tried to sculpt Mount Rushmore with my scrambled eggs, I'd completely blocked out Damien's confession that his girlfriend was a little quirky about her three cats.

So there I was confirming that in all likelihood she will only get worse with time, especially if she adopts more cats.  The rest of the table continued to laugh while I kept on blabbing away about the feline-female phenomenon.  But as I continued, I silently prayed for an earthquake under my seat that would conveniently swallow me up.  I could tell by the look on Damien's face that he was not nearly as amused as the rest of our team.  Sadly, England is not known for dramatic seismic events so I just continued to ramble in my flustered state.

Thankfully the subject changed or maybe it was time to get to a meeting - I don't really remember how it ended.  I just know that I felt horrible for what I had said and how Damien glared at me in return.  But, worst of all, was the nagging fear that maybe my colleagues detected the jealousy that I was trying so hard to hide.

After breakfast, I tried to convince myself that things hadn't changed between us, but they definitely had.  And to make matters worse, an office re-shuffle meant that we were no longer sitting together.  I couldn't repair the damage by being extra-generous with the tea.

So I resolved to end it, there and then.  A clean break.  Fresh start.  Damien who? 

But after a year of trying, I can't say I've succeeded.  As I mentioned at the start I lack the will power to stop doing things no matter how much I know it's for my own good.  So whilst I would manage to go for a few days, or even weeks, having nothing to do with him, eventually I would fail and I'd find myself wandering down the dangerous path of 'what if?'.  I can't blame myself entirely.  Damien had the uncanny ability of saying 'hello' via the office message system usually on the very day that I had been congratulating myself for having avoiding him so well.

The whole thing was making me rather insane.  I was seriously concerned that I was going to lose my mind if I didn't find a way to free myself of my Damien obsession.




I now have two cats.

Cate xxx