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My mom’s closet smells like cat piss again....

by Jorie Jaden 3 months ago in humanity

Metaphoric writing about moving back into the home I lived in with my (now deceased)mother

There was a point in my life where I had 7 cats at once. my mom had bought herself a crazy cat lady sign. No my moms personality didn’t match the stereotype but fuck she ran with that title. One of the cats (ironically named mama) got pregnant by another. She birthed 6 kittens. 7 turns to 13... The cats were all in door / outdoor but when inside they lived in my mom’s closet. To be fair the closet is the size of a child’s bedroom so it wasn’t completely insane that that’s where my mom kept their food, & water, & litter, & toys, & beds, & i don’t know 7 cats along with 6 kittens. They loved it. The closet was full of clothes, high-selves, hiding spots. Cat heaven for sure. Mama kitty even choose a corner of it as her birth spot. Cats are VERY particular so that’s saying a lot. We kept it clean & everything but Despite it being cat heaven my mom‘s closet smelt like cat piss. Every piece of clothes was covered in hair. I’d take baths in my moms bathtub, get out, dry off. Because we kept the towels near by, my wet sticky body would be covered in cat hair. it would itch me so bad I’d be up all night. We sold all but 2 of the kittens and the cats were outside more and more, some of them even disappeared including mama kitty. Things started to settle down... we started to clean that closet as they started to stay outside and the garage became their new shelter. When my mom died and I moved out we once again REALLY cleaned the fuck out of that closet. My grandpa hired carpet cleaners. The bad parts of the carpet were actually completely replaced. When I’d go visit the house me and my mom used to live in the closet no longer smelt like cat piss. Of course I love cats, however the cat closet point in history was the lowest part of my life. Worse than getting raped. Worse than watching my mother get beat. I was miserable. I was sick. This was the same period of time where I was dating My abusive ex and my mother hated me. there was a lot of drugs, gambling addiction, screaming, and abuse. I didn’t go one day without a panic attack ending in me threatening suicide with full intent to follow through. I’m now living back in this house. I’m back in the house where all of this happened. back in the house I shared with my mom. I was experiencing a really high point of happiness but the past week maybe longer the High Point lost it’s genuineness. I now see the inside of the bathroom I used to stand outside the door of and bang screaming for my mom to come out and just talk to me. I walk into the room I used to walk into and smell the smell of burnt blow dryers, associated the smell with drugs & cry cause how could I be sober and happy when my moms in her room doing meth. I walk into the kitchen i used to run into my mom in during the middle of the night. We’d eat popsicles and go back to sleep. But I don’t really like Popsicles anymore and no matter how many times I walk in and out of that fucking hallway when I turn the corner to the kitchen my mom won’t be there. I’m going to the garage to smoke a cigarette. my mom isn’t sitting there offering me her lighter and yelling at me for stealing the smoke out of her pack. The difference is it’s now my room, my kitchen, my garage, my house. I used to hear the sounds of darts hitting the wall while I was trying to sleep or guitar hero in the living room, and if it wasn’t that it was Iration being blasted in the backyard. Most nights since I’ve been here I’ve gone to bed in silence. nobody knows how to play darts. nobody knows how to play guitar hero. We don’t even own a will. And fuck Im the only one that listens to a iration. Every drawer I open I find something I forgot it existed that’s somehow has a fucking memory whether it’s a literal zip tie or A lighter with her name carved into it. I’m not going to my moms room to bug her and say goodnight anymore. I’m going to bed. I’m not driving with her anymore I’m driving telling stories about her. She no longer tells me to turn the gas off because the utility bill. I turn the gas off because the utility bill. The bowls in the cabinet aren’t the special bowls that she’s had for years anymore, they’re my bowls. At least I know she likes my new house... at least I know she’s like my new room. Everything in it is hers. the house is hers, the room is hers, the bed is hers, the furniture is hers, the bowls are hers, the trash is hers, the junk is hers, the tools are hers, the carpet is hers, the TV, the Keurig, the fridge, the magnets on the fucking fridge, the ashtrays in the backyard, the cigarette butts I find in cracks specifically camel crush with pink lipstick, the dartboard, the darts, the scoreboard for the darts, the crystals above the TV, the guitars, the keyboard, the crystals in the kitchen, the crystals in her room, the stars on the ceiling, the ugly pirate sign above the bar I always hated in the backyard, the random giant P in the laundry room that once represented Paula (her name), the fucking paintings in every room, the journals I find everywhere, the broken lighters, The locks with missing keys, The books, The hot tub I never got to go with her in, The bed that I sleep on and call my own. Everything. At least I know if she likes her house. Her room. Did I mention my whole closet full of her clothes? However there’s no more cats in the closet. Out of the 13 there’s only 2 of her cats left. And the one that I brought. When I first moved in that was the only thing different about my mothers home. However my kitten pipin the one that I brought... loves that fucking closet already. I was getting dressed today... I was already triggered. I felt the way I used to feel that type of sadness, that type of stress, that type of anger, I don’t even know what the fuck the emotion is I just felt it. I was looking through the closet for a dress. no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find it. I sat on the floor I started to panic and my mom‘s closet smelled like cat piss again.

humanity
Jorie Jaden
Jorie Jaden
Read next: Calling All Wannabe Pet Owners
Jorie Jaden

teen mom, lesbian, recovering drug addict, orphan, you bet I something to write about <3

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