CAT-tastrophe

Well. This has been quite an interesting week.

Boeing has become obsessed with the toilet. Every 5 seconds he says, "Wan pee pee!"

He NEVER pees. He just enjoys running around commando and getting lifted ON to potty. OFF the potty. ON the potty. OFF the potty. As fun as this was for ME, I decided it could NOT go on. I went to my shed and drug out the little tot pot and, after convincing Brighton that he is TOO big to pee on the tiny potty, told Boeing to "wan pee pee" on THAT!

So NOW, instead of going TOOO the tot pot when he wants to play "go potty," he drags the toilet to ME and wants me to take his diaper off.

Its horrendous. That potty chair crossing over a tiled floor sounds like a scene out of Saving Private Ryan. Especially when I'm sleeping cozy in my bed at 6 a.m. and Boeing decides to take the pot on a test drive, racing it back and forth across my bathroom floor.

Luckily the morning this happened, after I realized we weren't under some missile attack, I was relieved. It was just Boeing running his potty through the pee he'd squeaked out OVER his diaper, his little fire hose still kinked between his diaper and pot-belly. It was a proud day. First tee-tee in the bathroom. Never mind that it didn't occur anywhere near the toilet.

Today, he decided he HAD to have his diaper and ALL clothing off. And he was going to rip his diaper off or die trying. I finally gave in, despite the fact I had COMPANY, and put him in his birthday suite. He scampered off to the bathroom. I excused myself, as politely as one can with a barking, nude one year old making war sounds in the bathroom.

He told me, very insistently that he wanted a bath.

"Why?" It was rhetorical. One year olds never have reasons why. They just have auto- repeat. "I wan bath. I wan bath. I wan bath."

Finally, frustrated with me, he pointed to his foot and said, "Gots ew. Yuck."

And it certainly did. On closer examination of my bathroom I saw that he'd terded right in front of his potty. 

I was met with a mental dilemma. 'Do I PRAISE him for pooping on the FLOOR?? He did go to the general area... I mean I wouldn't praise a DOG for pooping in FRONT of the door... But he's ONE and he pooped somewhere besides his diaper. After all it wasn't on the CARPET or anything...'

I finally gave up on thinking because I couldn't decide which one of my selves I agreed with.

AND moving on to other news:

I took my kids to the pound to play with the animals. I told them that we could NOT get any animals because they cost too much money. Plus, I was over animals. And we are moving in November.

THEN I let my six children loose in the Cat Asylum. It was therapeutic. All that purring and faint scent of flower flavored cat litter mixed with terd. I highly recommend it. My babies each sat calmly (except Boeing... he's only calm when he sleeps and then only mildly) petting the cats and kittens. And they were SOOO in love with the cats and so GOOOD with the cats AND there was a sign on the door that said ADOPTION FEE WAIVED for the cats...

And then, the firecracker, "Oh, Kitty... I just love you so much. I really wish I could bring you to my house and take such good care of you... I know you really wish that you could get adopted and you're so sad that you don't have a home..."

Brooklyn started. And then they were all telling their kitties all the things they would do with them IF ONLY they belonged to them.

It was a total lapse in judgment. A decision made completely on emotions.

"Okay babies. You can play with all the kitties and work together to find the two sweetest, CALMEST, kitties and we will adopt them."

Amazingly, there was no fighting or arguing over which two. They'd have taken any and all of them. 

Naturally, they picked the UGLIEST, scrawniest, long legged kitten in the whole pound. AND tried to pick ANOTHER hideous one. "No, no... let's get THAT one! He's so FUZZY and CUTE..." No... they wanted the one that looked like it'd been inbred one too many times.. 

Soooo I said, "Well ya'll picked that one so mommy gets to pick the other one."

No arguments. They were just in HEaVEN that they got TWO kitties.

Of course, we couldn't take them home that day.

 INSTANT panic on my end.

' Starling is going to murder me DEAD when he finds out I'm getting TWO CATS!!!'

'OMG- I'm going to go home and come to my senses and I won't want them by tomorrow!'

'And the kids! Oh yeah... I should actually be worrying about the kids...'

"KIDS! Guess what? The kitties are going to the doctor to get their baby makers cut off and we get to pick them up tomorrow! AFTER we go play at Kamper Park! But LISTEN!!! This is going to be a very SPECIAL surprise for Daddy. So NOONE can tell him until we bring the kitties home, okay??"

I felt nauseous the entire way home. And every time I looked at Starling. (I may be a FANTASTIC pranker, but I am an AWFUL liar). Starling brought me a coke float. I had to eat it in a different room. He asked how my day was. I had to go shower. RIGHT THEN.

Finally, when night came, Starling started rubbing my shoulders. I cracked like Humpty Dumpty. I would have started throwing up if I'd waited any longer. I divulged ALL my secrets. He was surprisingly calm. And completely silent. For a VERY long time. I reminded him that I give cats away ALL the time on Craig's List. Ones that don't even belong to me. ALWAYS giving away stray cats I find, or maybe the neighbors' cats; I can't be sure. I assured him, we'd find a great home for them in 4 months; I am just FOSTERING them. FOR THE CHILDREN. He rolled his eyes and shook his head and did what he always does. Accepted the fact that he married a crazy.

 The next day we went to pick them up. I took TWO card board boxes. Sturdy moving boxes.

The vet informed me that they were not "safe" enough boxes and in her professional opinion, I would have to buy two card board boxes from THEM that have HANDLES. $5 a box.

I MAY have caused a scene. I didn't mean to. I just said, "I can't use my boxes but I can use your boxes. In my professional opinion, they are CATS. Just CATS. They don't have to be strapped in a car seat. A box is a box. I'm not paying TEN DOLLARS for boxes just because they have HANDLES." She called in back up. So... it became a HUGE to- do because I wanted to transport my cats ILLEGALLY in an unprecedented way! A HANDLE-LESS card board BOX! The in-humaneness of it ALL!

"So you are telling me that you would rather KEEP the kittens and return them to the pound where they will be euthanized RATHER than let me take the kittens home in MY box instead of yours?"

"WELL. If that's the way you WANT it."

Another, more level headed lady chimed in, "No, we absolutely want the kittens to go home to your house and have a home. We just want them secure for your safety."

"AGAIN. We are STILL talking about CATS. Not lions or tigers. I think I'll be safe with a kitten."

"They have been medicated. They will not be themselves. They will be horribly aggressive."

Long story short, they GAVE me THEIR boxes and told me to MAIL them a check. I had EVERY intention of walking out the door, putting the kittens in MY boxes and leaving THEIR boxes on the front stoop as to avoid paying ten dollars for BOXES.

But when I got to the car, a $10 bill was just sitting there. As I drove down the road, I had a wave of conscious. I would not pay for the boxes. I would DONATE ten dollars for the cats because what the vets do for the pound is honorable and charitable. I sighed, turned around and gave them the $10.

I got home and let the kittens out of the boxes. They purred and climbed onto my lap. I BARELY ESCAPED WITH MY LIFE.

WEEELLL:::

The very NEXT day, I told Starling I needed to run to Wal Mart "real quick." I left all 6 kids with him and went NOT to Wal Mart.

I drove to my friend Stacey's house to pick up my "voo doo" oil, as Starling so lovingly refers to Dotera Oils. "Don't let your friends peer pressure into buying that voo doo oil! It's just a fad. I'm serious! I know how you get these little whims!"

Well. I got a "little whim" and ordered a couple oils that are supposed to help with mood balance and energy. Naturally, Starling did NOT need to know until after I decided it WORKS and I didn't waste $37 dollars.

I snuck over and got that, then went to the Dollar Store to see if they had that $1 bread that normally cost $3 at Wal Mart. They didn't. BUT I found ALL kinds of other goodies.

I FINALLY went to Wal Mart where I had loaded my buggy with 6 loaves of bread and a bag of cat food when a lady called me from Target to tell me she found my kitten.

Well of course I loaded up my bread and cat food and went and retrieved my kitten. THEN I had to call Starling to make sure the CUTE kitten was still at home. (The cute kitten turned out to be VERY whiney and attached to the absolutely PERFECT not so cute kitten and I was terrified they were together when they hitched a ride to Target). SURE enough. NO kitten at home.

I put Waggers (yes. THAT is the name the children agreed on) in the car where he sprawled out like a man after dinner, and retraced EVERY single place I'd been. No dead cat in the road. But I didn't FIND the cat alive, either. I had to go back to Stacey's to see if he'd jumped out there. AND of course I saw ALL my neighbors. COVER. BLOWN.

So I went home in complete depression that I'd lost the cute obnoxious kitten after only ONE day and the vet had taken the time to neuter him and give him his shots. But since he wasn't dead in the road I decided someone would find him and CALL me. My name and number is on his collar. But no one ever did.

And of course, when I showed up at home after GROCERY shopping without even getting MILK, Starling wanted to know WHAT took me so long. BUS-TED.

But I QUICKLY redirected the conversation to important matters.

'HOW will the poor children take it??'

Like kids that LOVED their cat.

"Oh well. I'll just have to play with this one, then. Can we PLEAAAASE play the Wii??"

I just keep thinking of the irony of the situation...

If vet lady sprung a hernia over me taking the cats home in unorthodox card board boxes what on EARTH would she think of me taking my cats through town UNDER my CAR??

Don't worry. I didn't ask her. I don't want to be responsible for a heart attack. 

And are mini pot belly pigs good house dogs?