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I blame the Oat Squares. If it wasn’t for them, the Cosmic Cat wouldn’t have noticed me.

My life is been puttering along fairly quietly for a while, with only the standard irritants and minor catastrophes that happens in lives, but July didn’t feel that was good enough. July decided to set off enough calamities that my apartment and immediate neighborhood should be reclassified as a disaster zone. Naturally, this has led me to the conclusion that the Cosmic Feline has found me again. You remember the Cosmic Cat, don’t you? This is the theory I once developed to explain those times – days, weeks, sometimes months – where there is no let up. No matter where you turn, catastrophes assail you. It is only when you roll over and beg for mercy that the Cat might deign to leave you alone. Because it’s no fun when you’re not resisting.

On July 14, I cracked a tooth eating Oat Squares, an event that led to the most expensive half-hour I’ve ever spent in the dentist chair and more or less weekly dentist appointment since to prepare for a crown. Based on the bill, I’m surprised the bleedin’ thing isn’t made of diamonds and emeralds like the ones you can plop on your head. Luckily, my dentist is open to the idea of a payment plan. They know where I live. They can send an individual with back hair and heavy gold chains to break my kneecaps if I don’t pay up.

A couple of weeks after the Oat Square incident, I noticed that my wheelchair batteries started to go down a bit quicker than normal. It’s been about three years, so I’m about due for a replacement, but given the cost of these things, did it have to happen now? Of course it did. On July 28, I got new batteries and although this made me bang into the limit on my credit card, it was nice to know that I could now go several days without charging them, as well as not needing to worry about that for another 2-3 years.

On Friday July 29, at approximately 3:30 PM, I was rushing down the street towards home, having run an errand just before the August long weekend. My brain was busy and I wasn’t paying exact attention, but when my wheelchair came to a sudden stop complete with the sound of screeching metal, my focus narrowed quite immediately and effectively. I sighed, trying to calm my racing heart, turned off the chair and turned it on again, remembering past moments of possession – leading to naming my chair Regan – and it worked again. I called Dave the Wonder Repair Guy and he theorized my motors needed recalibrating. I booked a time for Tuesday morning, crossed my fingers and limped quietly through the weekend. Tuesday morning, motors got recalibrated and we were all set. I told myself not to worry about things anymore, that I trust my chair and went about my life.

A couple of days later, another technological issue cropped up. I’m in the process of editing The Book, it’s a large document and for some odd reason, using Dragon and Word in a large document causes my computer to seize up, use all available power, leaving only the option of turning it off on the power bar. Following that, I turn it on again, reload Word, recover my document and squint at it with crossed fingers and a whispered prayer, hoping that I don’t have to re-create that last really good paragraph I wrote when everything went to pot. Repeatedly. I therefore spent last weekend doing a lot of typing. My shoulders aren’t happy.

Next moment on this particular timeline of calamity is Sunday evening as little after 8 PM. I’m getting my tea out of the microwave and try to move my chair back in preparation to go into the living room. Despite being on, the chair doesn’t move. I whimper, turn it off, then on and it’s working again. Deposit my tea on the dining room table, turn around to head towards grabbing a remote so I can watch TV when the damn thing stops moving. No amount of turning off and on, begging or promising extra WD-40 and recalibrating will change anything. Emergency repair guy thinks moisture got between the connectors and the chair will either be fine when it dries out or maybe I fried my controller. Two hours later when he comes to my house, the chair is fine. It seems to be a reasonable conclusion that it was indeed moisture in the connectors that has now dried out. Dude tells me to go to the shop to get things sealed up again as quickly as possible, but as long as it doesn’t rain again, I should be good for a few days.

Monday morning. Arrangements made to go into the shop Tuesday morning, I debate whether to leave the house at all. After biting off what remains of my fingernails, I decide to get back on the horse that threw me and pop to the grocery store before breakfast – I can’t be frightened of this, right? That’s no way to live, so face your fear and go for it. Right? Sometimes, trust is a decision. Right?

Can you see where this is going?

On my way home, my chair comes to a screeching halt on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store. I call a friend who agrees to come get me and remind myself that at least it isn’t raining. While I wait for her to get there, I make a number of phone calls and I’m very lucky that the shop can fit me in right away and so can the accessible taxi company. To make this long and tortured story somewhat shorter, I get there, hold my breath through a good 45 min. of a very puzzled looking technician – the other Dave the Wonder Repair Guy – and he finds the problem. A loose connection in the left motor cable and he tells me the replacement of the cable will solve the problem. I made him tell me three times. Been thinking of checking if he’ll email me with daily reassurances for a while.

And then, last night when my attendant plugged in my chair to charge it, there was no connection between the charger and the chair. So today will be spent at the shop again. I might move in. At least new batteries are new and shouldn’t run out before… no, wait. Not going there. Not making actual suggestions as to how the Cosmic Cat could next mess with my life.

So, Grand Poobahs of Kitty Cats? Might you consider letting up now?