Holy crap, I am in awe of your dishes and laundry policy. You are awesome. In so many ways. Our au pair left at the beginning of March and since I’m supposed to be working…like a lot…I am surrounded by Clutter. So much so that I had to capitalize it. or Capitalize it. Clutter on my dresser. And the bathroom counter. And the desk. And the kitchen island. And the coffee table. And even the freaking ottoman in our bedroom. I keep saying to myself, during the 18 hours that my children are in school (let’s give it 18 minus the time it takes me to get to/from home and I have about 15.5 hours a week “free”), “Today you will stop working on your computer and you will clean. You will do it for 2 hours. 1 hour. 30 minutes. Just get up and do 15 minutes of cleaning. Okay, it will take only 6 minutes to clean off your dresser. Do it. Do it now! Crap, you have to go pick up the girls. Stop working!” And so it goes…
Your cat sounds so much like a cat. If you’ve never read about cats on The Oatmeal, you should check it out because it’s hysterical: http://theoatmeal.com/tag/cats, like this one: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/cat_vs_internet. This is super funny and you might relate to it too: http://www.booksofadam.com/2011/03/more-stupid-cat.html, or this one: http://www.booksofadam.com/2010/11/poor-stupid-cat.html. Cats are such entertaining furry people.
My dog, Marley, is dying. She is something like 14 and I’ve had her for 12 years. She’s my first pet, really. We had goldfish growing up and evidently there was a cat in our house until I was about 2, but I must not have interacted with her very much. (She was also Siamese and loud–they are known for their vocal nature.) Marley’s legs are giving out on her, her whole back half, really, but she’s still very much here, wanting to be with our family all the time. Just in the past week she stopped going upstairs almost completely. It wasn’t until last year that I realized she wasn’t just going to go off and die someday. I foolishly thought that like, I would come home and she wouldn’t meet me at the door and she would have just passed away on her own. It took David’s grandfather’s death last summer to make me realize the truth. Grandpa’s body just shut down on him, even though his mind was so present, so witty and “there.” He made the choice and I have to do the same for Marley sometime soon. Last weekend, before we went to my sister-in-law’s wedding, Marley was not doing well and I was a wreck. She stopped eating her dry food. So now we’ve upgraded to really expensive canned food. The kind that has grade A meats, peas, potatoes, flax seed, kale and delicious array or organic vegetables. But she’s eating, so I won’t question. I’m hoping she’ll tell me when it’s time, but I might just have to make a decision. Which sucks.
I always thought of myself as a cat person. I always felt like more of a cat myself–they are more independent. They are easier. But two things happened. One: I didn’t want to be single cat lady. It’s awful, but true. It was such an unpleasant thought of being the woman who came home to sit around with her cat, reading a book and sharing a can of tuna or something. I was living in Washington DC and wanted to be girl about town. When I moved to Boulder to be my more preferred girl about mountains, it sort of secured the dog ownership for me. I did a project at the Humane Society and when I met Marley, she peed on my shoes (claiming me for her own). I became a dog owner. The big upswing with a dog is you are forced to take said canine outside. So the summer after she chose me, I hiked almost every day. I walked a lot. And I looked really tan and thinking back, pretty darn fit. The cat walking doesn’t really serve as a personal trainer quite as well.
I’ve been reading Jane Green–more British chick lit. I’m too tired to describe it, but it’s a nice read. Off to bed. Aiming to sleep as much as possible. With a two year old who likes to wake up and sleep on/around/attached to me. Still.
C. U. B. U.