Somewhere in Canada, a couple of lactose intolerant cats may have been in peril

(Disclosure: This entry has been in draft form for ages, so this actually happened considerably longer ago than just last Thursday. I'm drowning in work at the moment, so posting this is just a reason to procrastinate. I clearly shouldn't, because it's totally erratic and all over the place, but well... that doesn't usually prohibit me from doing something, does it?)

I've been mistakenly identified.

Or actually, to be more accurate: I was correctly identified blog name-wise, but then it quickly became quite evident that I was not the Red the person thought I was.

Confused? Yes, don't worry. So was I. (Then again, what's new? I'm always confused, because... well... it doesn't take much, does it?)

Okay, this whole mistaken identity business happened via e-mail. And wow, have I ever had a few strange e-mails these last (Update: not so recent anymore) few days! I've been solicited (for writing... but in a WEIRD way) AND I've been mistakenly identified. By someone in Canada.

But the e-mails haven't been all bad: I've also been notified via e-mail that I've won a novel - autographed by the author!!! - in a contest hosted by a local magazine. So now I've some snail mail and more reading to look forward to again. (Update: I've since received it, hurrah! And ha ha, in a strange coincidence, the author in question is Canadian too!)

The case of mistaken identity arrived in my in-box last (update: although not last anymore) Thursday.

The subject was a friendly 'hi' with absolutely no indication of the chilly domestic dispute that I was about to be confronted with in the body of the e-mail. Also, the sender has the same first name as a good, "real life" friend of mine who also lives in Canada. She is a writer too, so she is usually a bit more vigilant about capitalising the first letters in her 'hi's' - even her casual ones - but still, I was not alarmed yet, because my friend has two young daughters, and sometimes kids that you are in charge of (even when they're your own flesh and blood) can make you do strange things, such as letting your finger slip from the Shift key while you're in the process of typing e-mails.

In the body of the e-mail, I was "Hi'd" again. This time with the necessary capitalisation, so I still thought it was from my friend to me.

Then I (but clearly NOT me, it became clear soon enough) was informed that the writer was going away for a long  weekend and would be back on Sunday. Of course, I still didn't realise that it wasn't ME who was supposed to be told all this just yet, so I enthusiastically read on.

I was told that I was not expected to look after the cats - which at this point made me raise my eyebrows just a bit, because, for obvious reasons, my real-life friend, who happens to HAVE cats, won't ever ask me to cat sit due to the whole 'being on opposite side of the world from her and her cats' technicality. (And not necessarily because I'm a Dog Person who won't even BEGIN to know how to skin a cat, and apparently there are many ways to do that. Proverbially, of course. I know that you're not REALLY supposed to do that when you cat sit. Or at any other time. Anyway, it's not even an issue, because I can't even peel potatoes either.)

Also though, aren't cat owners always bragging that cats are so high and mighty and superior that they can practically take care of themselves? Which HA! She then smugly proceeded to allude to, because she said that she'll leave them enough food and water. (Water? I thought cats drink milk. Or has the unfriendly Canadian climate made the cats over there lactose intolerant?) However, despite her smugness, it became apparent during the very next sentence that not even felines can be trusted to entirely fend for themselves, because then she said she hopes that I - but not quite me, as I'd figured out by this time -  would please send her a text message if something serious were to befall the kitties.

Cat care/self-sufficiency out of the way, she then addressed another issue - in a completely non-catty way. She said that she didn't know how I (but not me) felt about everything (perhaps she should've narrowed that down, I thought, because 'everything' is well... a bit broad, isn't it? Surely no one knows how anyone else feels about EVERYTHING?), but that she thought it was awful how we were both being with each other.

"You never call. You never write..."  Okay, okay. She didn't really write that.

But she did call me an adult. (Awww. And also, the definitive clue that she was clearly NOT talking to/about me, then.) She then said some other things that made me suspect that the real Not Me is a dude.

Then she said we (meaning her and Not Me) only need to be cordial until she moved out. As proof of this impending move, she said that she would be packing in the next few weeks and be out by the 1st (of September), the date Not Me apparently requested. GASP! Not Me is throwing her out?!? In autumn? In Canada? That's just cruel. Even more cruel than Canadian cats not being allowed to have milk. (See? Even as a Dog Person I'm disturbed by this.) 

Oh, how do I know she is from Canada, you ask? Because she said 'eh at the end of every sentence and 'aboot' instead of 'about' a lot. Okay, not really. Because she was e-mailing from her work account, which had her employer's name and address listed. In Canada.

I e-mailed her back immediately. Explained that I am not Not Me. And told her that she needed to actually call Not Me to tell him about the cats. Since, you know, she clearly has the wrong e-mail address for him (due to all that not talking that they've been doing) and that he clearly needs to know that they could possibly have a catastrophe on their hands if, for example, he also decided to go on a long weekend? Possibly with the other woman. Who he's probably going to allow to move in with him as soon as this one is out of there.

I never heard back from her. (Even though I said nothing about the imaginary other woman I had conjured up. I also did not use the word catastrophe, honestly. Even though I was a bit tempted to.) Then again, perhaps she thought I WAS Not Me merely pretending not to be Not Me? And thought that Not Me was playing immature games with her? Which hopefully made her more furious and less sad about being thrown out by Not Me? In the Canadian autumn? 

Anyway, I wonder if she did end up moving out on time? And whether the cats survived their long weekend home alone with (or without?) a callous and careless, and possibly cheating, Not Me?

And if so, who will now get catstody??

I hate it when a case of mistaken identity leaves so many unanswered questions...