I got cute beans.
Back-story: One of my cats – I have four – is ridiculously adorable. I mean, they all are, of course. One is neurotic, needy and affectionate. One is shy, nervous and spends most of the day hiding from carpet lint. One is adventurous, athletic and bossy. And then there is Siris.
Siris is … well, adorable. Soft little belly, big pouty eyes, dark markings on his mouth that make you wonder if he found some kitty-sized lipstick somewhere and is looking into cross-dressing. He does have a shoe fetish. We’ve never determined exactly what it is about this cat that makes him so adorable. True, he is physically cuter than many a cat. We frequently remind him that there are a score of dreadfully ugly felines out in the world because he stole all the cute. He just says “meow”. Is it his cute ‘fun-sized’ stature that makes him so adorable? He’s never really sprouted into a cat size; still walks around sporting a kitten suit. Is it this petite frame that makes him so endearing? Or the fact that he snores when he’s asleep? I mean, serious snoring, like your old favorite grandparent on the Lazy Boy Sunday afternoon. Or could it be all the funny adventures Siris has gotten himself into, and we just automatically believe he is charming because of his hilarious past? The burrito eating contest. The spontaneous cast he made for his arm. His random art projects. Regardless of the reason, he is just freakishly delightful.
And he knows this. In the ten years that we have had Siris, the only days he hasn’t been told he’s cute are days that we were off with family for the holidays; or traveling through Bellinzona, Italy; or landed in jail for indecent exposure in a public place. Hey come on. I thought there was something called Freedom of Religion? Cult rites should be included in that, especially if they involve nudity, honey and shocked onlookers. But back to the topic at hand; me.
Reality is, no matter what the reason, this cat is damn cute. It can’t be denied, ignored, or refuted. And according to my sister, I’m cute too.
It’s a frequent occurrence in my house, the mentioning of “cute”. And it often is attached to me somehow. Throughout the course of the day, I apparently do things that are funny, endearing, stupid, silly or bizarre. I say things that are equally goofy, ridiculous or hilarious, and apparently these silly things create a feeling of affection on the end of others. Or at least this is true with my sister because she is constantly saying how cute I am. Forever now I’ve been responding back to this comment with “why?” or “what did I do?” I want to understand what thing I did that was weird or silly or particularly funny. It’s not like I’ve done anything interesting or humorous in my eyes. I’m just being me. So what on earth is making her smile and shake her head? What did I do?
The other day – after mentioning my cuteness and appropriately being drilled as to the reason of said cuteness – my sister simply said “It’s just in your being”.
“My beans?” I said, jokingly, an old family tradition of purposely mishearing someone’s comments. “I got cute beans?”
She smiled, shaking her head.
And finally it made sense to me. I’m like my cat. And now I no longer need to question the authority or accuracy of my sister’s statements. Because some of us are just innately created to be wacky, weird, wonderful creatures that make others pick on you, laugh at you, and shake their head in wonder. So why fight it? Why question it? I got cute beans.