The Chronicles of Moseley

12 Sep


Prior to beginning my doctoral program, I had numerous ideas about what graduate school should be like. Many of them centered around heeled oxfords, high-waisted skirts, and a Dr. Spencer Reid-esque brown leather satchel. A few involved dropping out before my qualifiers, running away and starting a farm. All of them included adopting a cat. In terms of transferring these ideas to reality, the cat is as far as I’ve gotten.

I’ve always been a dog person (even before I had dogs) but I knew that the time commitment as well as housing regulations wouldn’t allow for me to fulfill my canine desires. I spent all summer compulsively monitoring the Petfinder for St. Louis, watching cats come and go, picking out names and imagining the life I would share with them. I knew precisely what I wanted in my feline: playful, affectionate, and just a little needy. Essentially, I wanted a cat that acted like a dog. What I got was Moseley.

There is an idiom that is particularly applicable in this case: Be careful what you wish for, lest it came true. Moseley was the first cat we visited with in the shelter, and he was a complete lover from the start—giving kisses and purring non-stop. When he rolled over to have his belly scratched I was sold.

Moseley hasn’t changed one bit since I took him home. If anything he’s gotten more affectionate, which unfortunately includes “love bites”, ambushing me from around every corner, and swiping at me from anything he can perch himself on that is shoulder height (or higher). And I do mean anything. Moseley is like a dog that can jump ridiculously high and had amazing balance. Nothing is safe or sacred. He jumps into the pantry, climbs into the fridge, and knocks everything off the shelves.

He must also have my undivided attention at all times. My dogs were content to lay down on my legs while I used the computer, but not Moseley. He is not content unless he is laying on top of my keyboard and I am scratching him with both hands as he bites not-so-gently on my nose and cheeks. I also cannot use a pencil because those are cat toys, and I cannot write in a notebook because that is a cat bed. Sometimes I feel like a prisoner to his bizarre cat-whims, albeit one with an incredibly acute case of Stockholm syndrome. I love my cat, and I’m pretty sure he loves me too. Or at the very least, loves messing with me.

Salted White Chocolate Cranberry Oatmeal Cookies


I had my first presentation in my research group’s weekly meeting on Thursday. I decided to bake cookies as a means of distracting them/keeping them from asking questions. I used this recipe, with the minor addition of cranberries. I’m fairly certain that they are the greatest cookies I’ve ever made (and I’ve made more than I am at liberty to say). I’m not going to include a recipe since I made them the exact same way. I just added 4 oz of white chocolate instead of six and 1/3 cup of dried cranberries.

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One Response to “The Chronicles of Moseley”

  1. BellaBallestra October 24, 2010 at 9:12 am #

    Last night Ripley slept on my face…

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