Life has Been Busy in Jane's Domain

Life has been hectic in recent weeks and I’ve spent very little time in front of the computer. 

Well, okay, that’s not exactly true.  I have spent time on the computer handling things like bill paying and junk e-mail deleting. 

But by the time I’ve balanced our accounts, deleted my way through my inbox and spent a moment or two perusing Facebook, I’m tired of sitting in front of the computer and I move on to something else. 

Needless to say, I’ve been lagging on the blog-writing lately.  I’ve thought about it, sure, but have I done it?  Noooo.

So I’m tryin to dash off a quick blog today – just to get back in the habit, you know.

My alternative is to clear cat hair off the second floor stairs landing where Jinx has taken up residence lately.  Or I could continue trying to clean up the coffee stain on the carpet where I knocked over an entire cup of coffee yesterday morning.

But just thinking about handling those chores makes me weary. 

First of all, I suspect I could build another cat with all the fur that is on the carpet because it’s normally white.  The carpet, that is.  Jinx-the-cat is mostly black.  And now the carpet is more greyish/blackish than it is white.  That, my friends, is a LOT of cat hair.

And I’ve already spent a lot of time on my knees in front of that big, ugly coffee stain.  Scrubbing, mostly, but I may have even thrown in a prayer or two while I was at it.  But I’m not sure anyone is listening as there is still a big Hazelnut coffee stain on the carpet that is simply not coming out.  And we just had the carpets professionally cleaned a little while ago.  Guess it’s time to move the loveseat a little to the left, eh?! 

Either that, or I’ll just have to blog on.

So, let’s see. What can I tell you about?  Hmmm.

Well, in recent weeks Vince and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary and I celebrated turning yet another year older.

And we just returned from our one and only vacation this year in Carolina Beach, North Carolina.  We had a great time visiting friends and spending time with Vince’s son, who is stationed at Camp LeJeune.

No sooner did we return from that trip then I hopped back in the car for a little five hour jaunt to get my parents’ signatures on some official documents that needed to be notarized. So we spent some time in a local bank in Alliance, Ohio. 

I’m telling you, I wasn’t sure I could stand all the excitement.

But I was able to help out my parents – and we recently had the closing on the little cottage in Parkwood Beach.  Yes, we sold it.  And, yes, it sometimes still makes me a little sad.  But, on the whole, I’ve come to terms with letting the family cottage go.  I mean, we just knew that we wouldn’t make use of it like my grandparents did or my parents did.  So it was time.

And the new owner is thrilled to have the place.  Our realtor said he’s already taken up the carpeting and is waxing poetic about the hardwood floors underneath. 

During the past month I spent quite a bit of time pulling all the family photos, slides and negatives that we had taken through the years of our vacations at the cottage and put together a big Shutterfly book.  My parents and siblings and I all got copies of it so that when we get nostalgic or want to relieve old memories, we’ll have something to remember the place by.

So that’s what I’ve spent my time doing in recent weeks.  Well, that – plus the mountain of dirty laundry I’ve done and the mountain of dishes I’ve cleaned and the mountain of cat hair…

…Oops.  I guess I haven’t quite finished that last mountainous chore.

Guess I’d better go scrape up some black kitty fur.  Clearly, that chore is not going to handle itself.

Meanwhile, I hope you’ve all had a happy summer.  And are looking forward to a happier fall. 

I’ll write again soon.  (Hopefully!)

Squeaking Jinx = Pet Me. Now.

For the past month or so, our mostly black fraidy-cat, Jinx, has developed a new little morning ritual. As soon as I turn off the water and step out of the shower stall, she enters the bathroom and squeaks at me. Vehemently. 

Jinx evidently missed Kitten 101 where kittens were taught how to meow.  So Jinx squeaks.

But I know what she’s saying to me.  It is Jinx-speak for, “Pet me. Pet me NOW.”

And then she jumps onto the edge of the tub and flops over. If I don’t immediately go to her and start petting her furry little head, she squeaks at me even louder.

I comply, of course. Partly because she so rarely seeks our attention and partly because I’m afraid her squeaking will wake up Vince who is still wringing out those last few minutes of shut-eye before his busy day begins.

I call Jinx our ghost-cat – not because she’s white like Casper the Friendly Ghost – but because she can vanish in an instant.  Jinx doesn’t like strangers and I am convinced she enters the Witness Protection Program every time the doorbell rings. 

Sometimes she gets skittish for no apparent reason and considers even me a stranger.

Those are the times she’ll magically disappear like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.  Well, except that Jinx doesn’t leave behind a big ghostly grin. No amount of cajoling on my part will get her out from her hiding place, although shaking the Treats tin may persuade her if she hasn’t had a treat in a while, like, say, five minutes or so.

Nevertheless, you get my point that Jinx is not an overly friendly cat.  Twinklebelle, on the other hand, is our Greeter. If someone new arrives, she meets them at the door and sniffs their shoes to find out if they are cat or dog people. Then she

Not our actual cat as we can't capture her in this cute pose on film.

promptly flops on her back to let them know she’ll forgive them for being dog people as long as they give her a gentle belly rub.

If Jinx ever did this, I would be forced to conclude that her body had been taken over by alien felines who had come to dominate Planet Earth. Probably they’d be completely indifferent to humans, force us to feed and water them on demand, clean their litter boxes, and thank them whenever they yakked up a hairball on the white carpet. 

Oh…wait… Wait just a doggone minute here! They already have us doing this.  Was our planet taken over by alien cats and that little detail escaped our attention?  Egad!

Regardless, I am powerless against a squeaky Jinx. I pet her and she purrs loudly and I think she might actually love me for half a second. 

As a matter of fact, I risked life and limb – or at least toe – the other week when she squeaked at me and I hurried over to pet her. This is when I bashed my toe on the bathroom scale and ended up squeaking myself. In significant pain. Only my squeaks were accompanied by real tears and absolutely no purrs.

But I guess I was happy that Jinx had forgiven us for going on vacation and was thrilled that she remembered her morning ritual.  I didn’t think cats had much capacity for long term memory, but maybe I’m wrong.

All I know is that if this becomes a permanent habit, I will need to get up ten minutes earlier and add “Jinx-petting” to my morning schedule. I think I’d have a hard time explaining my tardiness to my boss every morning, “Well. You see…it’s like this. I have this ghost cat…”

But getting up earlier would be worth it.  I love hearing Jinx purr. 

Even if she IS an alien cat.

Zzzzzzz

I’m sitting here trying to think of a subject to write about – but I’m so sleepy I could pretty much nod off at will. I’ve yawned so much my eyes are watering and I’m wondering how I’m going to make it through the day without a nap.  In retrospect, staying up late the past few nights was probably not such a great idea.

Neither, apparently, was my recent decision to stop drinking Diet Coke.

I’ve spent the last couple lunch breaks reading a library book. Except that I’m not really reading. I’m doing that head bobbing thing where my eyelids get heavier and heavier making it harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

And then, just before I fall into a deep sleep, my subconscious yells, “YOU CAN’T FALL ASLEEP NOW; YOU HAVE TO BE BACK AT WORK IN TEN MINUTES!”  And then my head jerks up and my eyes pop open and I realize that (a) I’m giving myself whiplash, and (b) I have absolutely no clue what the book I’m reading is about.

Sigh.

I’d impose an 8:30 bedtime on myself, but that probably wouldn't work because I'd be wide awake sometime during the middle of the night. Or I could take a nap when I get home, but it seems like there is always some chore that needs to be done. By the time I finally settle down to relax, Vince arrives home and we want to spend some quality time together.

And by the time we finally decide to call it a night and start our teeth brushing, face washing and head-to-toe moisturizing routine, it’s after midnight. 

What’s that you say?  Since it takes so long to moisturize our old, dry, cracked, lizard-like skin, we should probably start that process immediately upon arriving home for the evening?

Hey, that’s not very nice.  “Lizard-like”?  Really?

Actually, I think the problem is that we’ve developed some bad sleeping patterns lately. Like waking up multiple times throughout the night.  I’d blame Vince – but he reads this blog and he can easily point out the many times I wake him up throughout the night with my restlessness.

Don’t ask me when that happened. I used to sleep like a rock and wouldn’t stir until the alarm went off in the morning. And even then I didn’t always wake up. Hey, give a girl only one good ear to hear out of and she can very conveniently ignore things like alarm clocks.

Lately, though, our rambunctious felines have added to our sleeplessness.  They seem to have forgotten every household rule they’ve ever been taught.  Like, for instance, Jinx has decided that the lower right quadrant of the bed is the perfect place to snooze.  This is precisely where my feet go.  And if I move my feet, she pounces on them. So then I move them more. And she pounces more. While she may think it’s marvelous fun, it’s a game that I don’t enjoy all that much because it keeps me from sleeping.

I’ve also noticed that the cats believe their morning feeding time has changed to five o’clock.  In. The. Morning.  Are they nuts?!  To convince me it would simply be easier to get up and feed them, they take turns launching themselves onto the bed and bumping their heads into my face.  This, as you might imagine, startles me awake.  And then I get annoyed.  Plus, then I have cat fur in my mouth and I have to worry about things like fur balls. Ick.

But the cats don’t recognize “annoyance” and they truly believe that I’m going to drag myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to dump food in their bowls. 

I’d do it to get them out of my face, but I can’t give in to them. Otherwise, they’d be waking me up every three hours throughout the night like a couple of newborns.   

And we all know that’s not happening.

We could shut the four-legged creatures out of the room completely by closing the bedroom door. Except that inevitably one of the two-legged creatures in the household has to take a middle-of-the-night potty break. And I can see it now. We’ll forget that the door is closed and we’ll smack into it face first. Since  it's hard to accessorize the black eye-and-swollen-nose look, closing the door is not an option.

Hey, I’ve got it!  Perhaps we could feed the felines kitty tranquilizers. If they sleep through the night, maybe we will, too. 

Or maybe not. Because, as Vince will be happy to tell you, my feet are not moving only because Jinx is pouncing on them.  Hunh. Forget the kitty tranquilizers. Maybe we need some Jane tranquilizers?  

Yeah, that idea has merit.  It might not solve all our problems, but maybe we could get a decent night’s sleep. 

It’s either that – or I’m going to bypass the Diet Coke and head straight for the Red Bull.  Whiplash ain’t all that much fun.

Besides, my library book is due back at the library in a few days. It’d be nice to get the chance to actually read it.

Better go.  It’s time for a...cat nap.  (Ooh. Sorry.) 

Darn Karma

Today has been one of “those” days.  You know the ones where nothing seems to go right?  Yeah, that’s apparently been scheduled for today.

For me it started around 5 o’clock this morning when Jinx, our mirage cat, jumped up on the bed demanding my attention.  Other than Vince, no one has ever seen Jinx in real life since she scurries under the bed and hides whenever she even thinks someone might be approaching the front door.  To prove we have a second cat, we have to show evidence, which is either photo documentation – or her vet bills.

Nevertheless, at 5 o’clock in the morning, she’s pretty bold.  I think she really wanted me to get out of bed to feed her, but she has been around the block a time or two and knew that wouldn’t be happening.  So she was willing to settle for a little petting.  Problem is, at 5 o’clock in the morning, I’m not functional.  No amount of bumping her head against my hand or purring loudly into my one good ear was going to work on me.  So eventually she gave up and curled up at the bottom of the bed to catch a few winks herself.

It was at this precise moment I turned over, kicked off the covers and unintentionally punted Jinx off the bed.  I felt so bad I couldn’t fall back asleep – for about 2.3 seconds, anyway.

Karma got me back a short time later, though.  I managed to get up on time, get showered without slipping on the tiles and I even applied my makeup without spilling foundation down the front of my jacket or poking myself in the eye with my mascara wand. 

No, it was the hairspray that did me in.  Since it was not a scheduled hair-washing day, hairspray application  is mandatory.  Only I evidently hadn’t cleaned the sprayer of the bottle thoroughly the last time I cleaned it.  Because instead of a fine mist settling softly all over my hair, I got a direct spritz of spray precisely in the middle of my left eye.  Believe me when I say don’t try this at home, kids; hairspray in your eye stings!

Sigh. 

Fortunately, the rest of the morning seemed to flow smoothly without any further mishaps, so I figured that I was paid back in full. Take that, karma!

Yeah. Right.  Not so fast there, Skippy.

So did you know that karma payback is transferable?  Seems to be.  There I was sitting in my office at lunchtime when my coworker walked in the door asking me if I’d seen what she had done.  Alas, I hadn’t.  She was walking into the building, talking on her cell phone with her purse slung over one shoulder, holding an open glass bottle of some fancy juice in the other hand.  She was also trying to open the door to enter the office.  In the midst of all this, her sunglasses start slipping off the top of her head – and she didn’t  want to stop her conversation or alert the person she was talking to that she can’t walk and chew gum at the same time (as it were), so she reaches up to grab her sunglasses with her other hand.  The one holding the open bottle of juice.  Which she then proceeds to dump all over her head, sunglasses, necklace and dress.

As I’m retelling this story, I’m SO regretting that I didn’t look out the window so I could’ve actually witnessed this spectacle.  Darn.

Anyway, I tried not to laugh – but it was a little tough looking at her with her sticky orange-flavored hair and the big juice splotch on her shoulder.  She cleaned herself off the best she could and went upstairs to her office to continue her afternoon. 

Shortly thereafter, however, she came back downstairs toting her big purse, the bigger-than-she-is backpack she carries every day and, because that’s evidently not enough storage for all her stuff, a third bag.  The bottle of juice was mysteriously absent.  She was rushing out the door on her way to collect her youngest son from school who either fell or was playing in a big mud puddle.  She needed to hose him off and put him in fresh clothes before bringing him back to school.

As she walked out the door, karma apparently figured she’d had enough, so it leapt back onto me. 

Right about then I decided I needed to hydrate myself and walked into our copy room where our water machine is.  Naturally, the bottle was empty as the last person to fill up their glass hadn’t replaced it.

(Um, that last person may or may not have been me.  But I'm not admitting to it since you can't prove it.)

Sighing in frustration, (um, mostly because no one else had felt the need to hydrate themselves and replace the bottle of water), I put down my cup and started to pull the empty bottle off the base.  Only it was stuck.  So I tried twisting it with one hand while holding the top piece of plastic down on top of the machine.  I was trying to be slow and methodical so as not to lose control of the bottle, but sure enough, the bottle suddenly popped free of the machine and smacked me right in the nose!  

I dropped the empty bottle and stood there in stunned silence for a moment as my nose started throbbing and my eyes started watering.  Fortunately, no blood was spurting out of my schnoz, so I determined that a trip to the emergency room was not warranted.

Even more fortunately, no one had witnessed this embarrassing little event, so that was a relief and I figured I was in the clear.  Of course, writing about it makes it public  knowledge, but whatever.  It’s one thing to talk about your embarrassing moments.  It’s quite another when those acts are witnessed by others who then get to spin the tale into something even more monumentally embarrassing.

Several hours have passed since the nose-bopping incident and nothing else has happened.  Maybe karma has moved on?  Knock on wood.  But, hey, I think I’ve learned my lesson.  Sorry, Jinky-Jinx.  Didn’t mean to punt you off the bed this morning.

And tomorrow morning when Jinx tries to jump on the bed for a little attention?  Yeah, she’s not gonna get that far since I’m planning to close the bedroom door tonight.

Take that, karma!

Fleece Jackets + Cats = Yuck

I’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes removing white kitty fur from my black fleece jacket and I’ve learned two valuable lessons: (1) my life has been needlessly shortened by fifteen minutes, and (2) if one owns a cat, one should never own fleece.

Lest you think this was accumulated kitty hair build-up on my fleece jacket, I will dispel that notion by assuring you that I just took the jacket out of the dryer. And when I first inspected it, it was kitty-hair-free.

The error of my ways occurred when I laid the jacket on the bed for approximately 2.3 seconds while I donned a turtleneck to wear under the jacket. The whisper of the fleece as it landed on the bed was evidently loud enough for Twinks to hear three rooms and a set of stairs away – and she immediately materialized on top of my jacket. She’s like a veritable homing pigeon. She comes home to roost on whatever article of clothing is laid on the bed, no matter how briefly.

Sometimes this is cute. Like when I’ve taken the clothes from the dryer and have laid them on the bed to start folding them. Twinks will pounce on top of the clothes and try to wrestle me for Vince’s socks. I always win, of course. But it’s kind of funny to pull, say, a pillowcase out from under her because she does a kitty flip that falls just short of an actual somersault. And then she immediately pounces upon the next article of clothing on the bed as if daring me to try to take it, too.

Jinx, our mostly black cat, on the other hand, does not seem to have this same clothes fetish. Which is sort of a shame – because if she landed on my black fleece jacket, her fur would not be quite as noticeable as Twinks more white-than-black fur.

But I have to admit, I get kind of grossed out when I see people with pet fur all over their clothes. Okay, so it’s nice in a way because it tells me they have pets whom they must love to collect all that pet fur – but, c’mon – it’s also pretty yucky. Lint brushes were invented for this very reason. (Besides removing actual, uh, lint.)

I’m already at a disadvantage because I tend to wear black a lot and, like a dog, I tend to shed the hair on my head a lot. I’ve even been known to do that chasing-my-tail dog maneuver to try to remove the long blond hairs from the back of my jacket. Sure, sure, I could try removing the jacket first and then simply collecting the stray hairs, but I know that I’m at least entertaining, if nothing else.

Perhaps I should switch my wardrobe to a more Jane-hair- and Twinks-fur-friendly white or beige color, but I’m sort of attached to my black wardrobe. For one thing, white is too hard to keep pristinely white. And for another, beige is too hard to match up. You’ve got your beige, and your bisque and your ecru, among about a billion other variations. Plus, you then have too many color choices to make with tops and bottoms and legwear and shoe wear and purses and belts. It’d take me forever to get ready in the morning.

As it is, I throw on a pair of black slacks and something coordinating on top. Done. I only buy purses that are black or will coordinate with black. And most of my zillion pairs of shoes are black. Other than my click-my-heels-three-times-red patent Dorothy shoes.

So I guess if I’m sticking to my black wardrobe, my only recourse will be to carry a lint brush with me wherever I go. Either that or get rid of the fleece. Or Twinks. No, no…the fleece. (But it’s cold out there…)

Ah, okay...I’ve got it. If I’m not going to get rid of either the fleece or the cat, I’ll just have to remember to never put my fleece jacket on the bed again. Ever. Even if it’s only for approximately 2.3 seconds.

Problem solved.

Murphy's Law Monday

I had a “Murphy’s Law” sort of day yesterday. Not that anything really major happened that had me cowering under the comforter by day's end, but just a lot of little things that went wrong one right after the next. Sort of made me wish I had stayed under the comforter all day.

I should’ve known how my day was going to progress as soon as I woke up and realized I’d forgotten to set the “Hair Washing Wake-up Alarm.” Instead, it was on the “Woohoo! I Get to Sleep In Another 20 Minutes Alarm” setting for those days where I pretty much only need to brush my hair and spritz a little spray on it and I’m good to go.

So I immediately knew without even glancing in the mirror that it was going to be a bad hair day. But I couldn’t pull it up in a ponytail – because that would’ve exposed way too much of my face.

In addition to Murphy’s Law Monday, yesterday was also apparently “Relive Your Adolescence Day” because I awoke to a cheek full of acne. I swear, if it weren’t for the wrinkles, dark circles and bags under my eyes, you could’ve mistaken me for a 14-year-old.

After carefully applying an extra layer of cover-up (that covered up absolutely nothing), I threw on a tank top and a lightweight corduroy jacket because I knew it was a chilly morning, but assumed it would warm up at some point during the day. It wasn’t until I arrived at the office later that I noticed the big splotch dead center in the middle of the shirt that didn’t come out in the laundry. “Shout it Out,” my foot.

Prior to my reaching the office, however, other little mishaps continued to dog me. Like, for instance, when I walked downstairs and tripped over Jinx-the-cat who was doing her morning weave-and-bob thing of trying to get me into the kitchen quicker to show me that her food bowl was – alas – empty. Like either of the felines in the household would ever allow me to leave without fulfilling my morning chore of refilling their food bowls.

Kitty logic must not extend to the understanding that if you trip your human and she breaks an ankle, it won’t be conducive to a full belly.

My morning commute has been brutal in recent weeks due to road construction, which is closing an ever-increasing number of routes and exits in downtown Columbus. I might as well get used to it since this construction project is going to last three YEARS. Ugh. So I’ve dealt with the delays by leaving earlier each morning, but most of the time it’s hit or miss whether or not I’ll arrive at the office on time.

Yesterday was not one of those on-time kinds of mornings.

My first hurdle was when I reached the double set of train tracks near our home. I’ve gotten used to the train schedule and knew that no trains were scheduled for another, oh, six point seven minutes (or thereabouts), but as I approached the tracks, I noticed that the lights were flashing and the safety arms were down. However, cars coming from the opposite direction were crossing the tracks.

Now, crossing train tracks when the lights are flashing and the safety arms are down is not something I want to attempt any morning, let alone on a Murphy’s Law Monday morning. I figured the other cars would be the Road Runners in this scenario and I’d end up being Wile E. Coyote. Only when the train comes barreling out of nowhere and squashes me flat, I won’t be able to pop back up like the cartoon character.

So I sat there debating what to do as more cars from the opposite direction continued to cross over. Finally, I inched up to the tracks and looked carefully in both directions – and then blasted across like I was shot out of an ACME cannon.

As soon as I crossed the tracks (after I crossed myself, of course), I noticed a police cruiser idling by the side of the tracks. Did I assume that the officer was there to see to the safety of the drivers due to the malfunctioning lights at the train crossing? No, of course not. I assumed the officer was there to arrest me for illegally crossing the train tracks.

I didn’t stop to ask the guy if he wanted to cuff me and bring me in, though. I kept right on going and hoping for green at the next traffic light all the while looking in my rearview mirror for flashing lights. Fortunately, none appeared and I continued on my way.

By the time I finally reached the office, I had a pounding headache. Opening my desk drawer to reach for my ever-present bottle of Excedrin proved fruitless as I’d used up the last two tablets on Friday. Had I remembered over the weekend to pick up another bottle? Of course not.

So I went to CVS on my lunch break to buy another bottle. I dug through my purse for the 20% off coupon – only to discover that it had expired the day before. Figures. I hate paying retail. Well, actually, it’s Vince who hates paying retail. For anything. Doesn’t matter if there are no deals or coupons or bargains for the product – he just wants to deal. That’s a car guy for you.

But I hate paying retail when I can get something for less with a coupon. It just doesn’t make sense to me that one day I can buy something for $1.99 less than I have to pay for it the next day all because of an arbitrary expiration date.

Of course, headache trumps a buck ninety-nine in savings, so I bought the Excedrin at full price.

After numerous other little glitches in my workday, 5 o’clock arrived and I gratefully shut down my computer. I had originally planned to make a couple stops, but then decided I didn’t feel like being sociable – even if it was only to answer “Yes” to the “Plastic okay” question.

So I headed toward home, but realized that my gas tank was nearing “E” and with the way my day had gone, I figured my car would somehow suck up those last few precious drops of fuel and leave me stranded on the side of the road. So, even though I really just wanted to go home and climb into my PJs, I drove toward the gas station...where I shivered in my tank top and lightweight corduroy jacket while filling up the gas tank. Had the temperature outside ever warmed up yesterday? Of course not.

Since I was already out and numerous strangers had already had the opportunity to stare at my acne-covered, stringy-haired, splotched-shirted self, I figured what was one more stop? So I went to the grocery store to pick up a few essentials to get us through the week...

...where, naturally, I ran straight into my old college roommate, whom I’ve seen exactly once in the last twenty-seven years. Sheesh. I stood there under the bright fluorescent lights of the grocery store chatting with her, but inside I was totally rolling my eyes. I mean, couldn’t I have bumped into her when my hair was looking decent? Or my face was red bump-less? Or I had on stain-free clothing? Did I really have to see her when all three problems were going on simultaneously? Of course.

She nicely refrained from bringing up any of my fashion faux pas, although she did look rather pointedly down at the laundry and stain removal aisle. (No, I’m just kidding. She didn’t really do that.)

Anyway, like I said, it was just one of those days. But I was grateful that (a) Jinky-Jinx didn’t cause me to break an ankle, (b) I didn’t get squashed like Wile E. Coyote by an oncoming train, (c) I wasn’t issued any citations by an officer of the law, (d) my headache went away, (e) I wasn’t stranded on the side of the road and (f) my old college roommate didn’t run shrieking in the opposite direction after taking a single look at me.

So it wasn’t really all that bad a day. But, still. I was very grateful to arrive home safely, climb into my PJs and bid goodbye to Murphy’s Law Monday.

And this morning? I remembered to set the “Hair Washing Wake-up Alarm.” And it’s Tuesday.

Life is good.

Being a Kitty Mommy…

We had to give the kittens deworming medicine last night. Yuck. It’s a good thing I’m not in the medical profession. I can’t stand giving medication to anyone but myself. And even then, I’m not very good at taking it. But at least I don’t spew it all out over my clothes like Twinks did to me last night.

And the stuff is a thick, bright yellow liquid that has to be given orally. Sheesh. I hope I can Shout® the stuff out of my black slacks and sweater. More importantly, I hope Twinks managed to swallow enough of it so we aren’t deworming her for the next 12 years. The whole “kittens have worms” thing is pretty gross.

Fortunately, Vince took over the reigns when it came to giving Jinx her dosage. He calmly held her by the scruff of her neck (as the vet recommended) and tipped her little head back and injected the medicine down her throat. And she calmly swallowed it.

Yikes. I need remedial kitten medicine-dispensing training. I can’t even hold them by the scruff of the neck because it seems mean, even if it is how their mothers hold them. Whatever. I have opposable thumbs – I don’t think I should have to hold an animal by the scruff of its neck.

Other than that, we’re settling into being kitten caregivers. It’s a little like being mommy to a 2-year-old, except kittens move a lot faster and can jump a lot higher than little kids, so we’re constantly chasing them around and pulling them off the tops of tables and the backs of chairs, which they seem determined to claw to death.

Of course, we can squirt them with a little water when they do something we don’t want them to do, like jumping up on the dining room table, and we can put them in their cages when it’s time to settle down to go to sleep. Neither of which you can do with a 2-year-old child…so, believe me, I’m not saying being a kitty mommy is harder than being a kid mommy.

And, even though kitty-litter cleaning is not exactly a favorite chore of mine, I’m still guessing it’s a lot easier than changing diapers all day long. Especially the explosive-type ones.

Oh, and they’re perfectly happy getting the same kitten chow morning and night – unlike a finicky 2-year-old toddler. Well, maybe a finicky 2-year-old might like the same thing morning and night, but I don’t imagine it’s healthy to feed a 2-year-old a constant diet of Fruit Loops.

Twinks and Jinx act like I’m the BEST HUMAN EVER when I measure out their food and put it in their bowls. Plus, they behave as if they’ve never EVER seen food before and haven’t eaten in a week, so they practically dive into their bowls face first.

All in all, it’s pretty fun having them in our lives. You’d think it would get old watching them run around in circles trying to catch their own tails, but it doesn’t. Of course, I have to wonder at their IQ’s – but it’s not like they will eventually go to school and will have to compete for a job with someone smarter than they. There will be no SAT scores. No spelling tests. No math homework. So I’m okay watching them chase their own tails and laughing at their antics.

And, at the end of the day when they curl up on my chest and purr…well, that’s the best thing about being a kitty mommy.

Now, if I could just train them to use the potty so I could eliminate the whole kitty-litter cleaning chore…

Nah…never mind. I don’t think I want to wait in line to use the restroom until the kittens are finished.