The One with the Cat Chaos

If you saw my Facebook page last week you may have noticed we adopted a cat. After the heartbreaking process of leaving our first kitties--Butterscotch and Maisy--back in Michigan because our landlord wouldn't allow pets, we were starting to feel lonely. We really, really loved those stupid cats--despite their vomit and poo and meowing and climbing all over our heads in the morning. 

the hopeful beginning

We missed having a cat around--laying on our bed, enjoying a good tummy rub, "talking" with us occasionally. A cat brings us company, something to take care of, to enjoy playing with. So after 6 months of renting, we decided to ask permission to have a cat in the house. Shockingly...he said yes. 

So we purchased all the supplies--cage, food, litter, litter box, scooper. And we looked around in the local shelters for a fixed, declawed cat who need a home. We found one! But she was gone by the time we were able to adopt her. We found a second one! But he was adopted that morning. We found a third! And we went to pick him up. 

His name was Sammy. He was dropped off at the shelter a few months ago and was very very shy, but generally friendly. Kevin snuggled with him for a while and we decided to take him home with us.

Sammy ran and hid from us the instant he arrived in his new home. We were used to timid cats--Butterscotch didn't come out from under the couch for 2 whole weeks. We gave Sammy his space, petting him a few times a day, but never forcing anything. He had thoroughly enjoyed our petting encounters, but would just as quickly run away from us at our next visit. Weird. 

the saga continues

On the second day home, I noticed the crusties around his eye had started leaking. He had a little puddle of fluid under his face. It was clear, so we weren't too concerned; maybe it was just a cold. (He sounded congested too.) 

I was gone for the weekend and when I returned his eyes had made an extreme turn for the worse. The fluid was practically streaming down his face, his eyes were nearly swollen shut, the mucous was yellow-ish, his nose was running. GREAT. Now we had to take our cat to the vet--not something we like to do. (We like low maintenance, low cost pets.)

We made a vet appointment, but soon realized we had been deceived by the shelter--they had told us the vaccine/healthcare paperwork would be attached to our documents, but they weren't. They had acted like Sammy had been up to date on every medication, treatment, and exam. But he wasn't. There was no proof for anything. 

As much as it pained us, we decided we needed to try to return him to the shelter. I spent much of the morning in tears, sobbing really--thinking about the poor cat being sick and in pain, thinking about how we had been lied to and ended up with the wrong cat (for us), thinking about the awfulness of sending that cat back to a shelter of 75 cats. It was all heartbreaking to me. 

the tramatic end

At 3pm it was time to load the cat up for the trip. He refused to be put in the cage. He must have remembered how the experience ended up for him last time. I waited for Kevin to get home. Kevin forced the cat into the cage and the subsequent events were very, very disconcerting. The cat thrashed around in the cage and when I leaned down to try to soothe him, he barred his teeth in the most frightening way, and hissed like I've never heard a cat hiss. I lost it. I fell into a mess of tears--full of fear, worry, sadness, just plain stupid emotions. 

Kevin quickly decided I needed to stay home from this trip. I was thankful. My knight in shining armor. He called me on the ride home and said things went smoothly. They had accepted him back and promised a refund. Sammy seemed comfortable and glad to be "home." The workers were taking him to his private room where he could get treatment and feel better soon. 

And now I feel better. We just have to wait for the right cat. Right? 

The One with the Sappy Kitties

For the sake of complete honesty and because I seem to have an affinity for sharing my embarrassing moments, I will now expand about the "goodbye" entry from yesterday. 

I miss my cats. 

It wasn't until we said goodbye to our Butterscotch (after already giving Maisy a new home) that I realized how attached I had become. Those little rascals really kept me company. Even if they didn't do a whole lot, just knowing they were there, asleep in the other room, ready to receive my silly conversation and my need for snuggles--it made me feel comfortable. Hearing Butter's crazy-long back nails tapping along on the kitchen floor or knowing he had laid down because of the loud THUD. Maisy's little happy purr in response to anything I had to say always made me grin, and having her sleep on my head during the night (albeit annoying was lovely in a way.) 

 

I loved our gatos. 

Now, if detailing a few of the reasons I loved wasn't ridiculous enough, brace yourself for what I am about to tell you. 

The moment we closed the door behind ourselves after waving goodbye to our crying, scared-out-his-mind Blubberscotches (another loving nickname), I started sobbing. Over-sized tears pouring down my cheeks, staining my tshirt. And I couldn't. stop. Kevin kept holding me, listening as I confessed how crazy I was for crying over a CAT, and he smiled, but he understood. Butter was my first pet EVER. 

And I had just said goodbye. I was worried about him. Would he be scared forever? Would he miss me, feel betrayed, wonder if we were ever coming back for me? Would he die instantly of a heart attack? 

But all the worry aside, I just really loved that cat with the sway back and the saggy belly. The one that created hairballs the size of small countries. The one who always managed to gouge out a chunk of my leg with his long back claws when he made himself comfy on my lap. The one who made the occasional mess that really grossed me out (and yet I still loved him?!) The one who didn't really love many people besides the two of us. The one who was obsessed with cardboard and Kevin's Converse. The one who made a place for himself on my lap even when it already occupied. The one who was relegated to a life of uncertainty and irritation when the GIRL (Maisy) moved in. (We're still sorry about that, Butter.) The one who tried to took quite an adventure when we lived in our trailer at camp. The one who loved me almost as much as I loved him. 

That darn cat.

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The One with a Flash of My Future

 

Top Ten Ways I Got a Glimpse into My Future 

This morning was just dandy--everything going according to plan my desire. Or not! The first two hours of my day gave me a vision of what the rest of my life will be like--you know, once my days are filled with our offspring throwing a wrench in my lovely little schedule. Of course, it'll be worth it and probably a good thing to rid myself of my fairly self-centered lifestyle. 

1. As I'm cozy in bed, still fighting with the reality that the alarm clock was close to buzzing, I heard Kevin down the hall. He was shouting, "No! No!" and then the bright hallway lights turned out, shining into my sleepy eyes. The cat was throwing up. 

2. I rolled over and pretended I was none the wiser. 

3. After my workout, I came upstairs with a plan to head to the shower. Kevin beat me to it. 

4. I came up with an alternate plan--eat breakfast. 

5. As I was toasting my cinnamon raisin bagel and dreaming of spreading it with Nutella, I realized the trash can was overflowing. 

6. I took out the trash, only to realize the bag was leaking some sort of liquid all over the kitchen floor. 

7. Grabbing a rag, I began wiping up the mess. It was at this point that I almost stepped in a pile of cat poop conveniently located on the floor entrance into the cat's bathroom. 

8. The litter box was overflowing, and someone decided it was high time we did something about it. Thanks, Cat.

9. Still donning my sweaty workout clothes and ignoring the fact that my bagel has been done for 15 minutes, I dumped a billion pounds of cat poo and swept up $11 worth of kitty litter from the floor. (Why can't they just shake their feet off in the litter box?!)

10. At this point, I had no other choice than to sweep the entire kitchen floor and then pull out the hated mop bucket for a thorough cleaning. I had been putting this off for weeks, knowing that the wintertime does nothing but make my floor dirty again in moments. 

If you have any doubts of the accounts of my morning, just ask my husband. He can attest to this story in it's entirety. (Oh! Except don't tell him I was awake while he was cleaning up cat vomit!)

Do you ever have mornings like this?! (or a hundred times worse?)

linked up with Oh!Amanda's Top Ten Tuesday.

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The One with the Top Ten Tuesday

1. Yesterday, I baked chocolate chip cookies for Tammy--the winner of my giveaway from a few weeks ago. Yes, I realize that it's long overdue. I remembered last week that I had totally neglected this prize but Tammy was so gracious. 

2. I may have eaten WAY too many of said chocolate chip cookies. In fact, I may have had cookies and cookies alone for lunch.

3. I ran outside at 8am. I do not enjoy waiting that long to exercise, but the stinking sun was just not wanting to rise any earlier. It was COLD. So cold, in fact, I didn't think I would make it. To think, I used to run in 15 degree weather in college. brrrrr. 

4. The library just loaned me the brand new Jillian Michaels dvd--Shred It with Weights. I was scared, I'm not gonna lie. I've been beaten up by JM before, but I was thinking this would bring me to my death. I didn't have the kettlebell weight, so I used my wimpy hand weights. Surprisingly, I really liked the workout and it went by really fast. It wasn't as intense as I expected. Either that, or I'm just super in shape. Ehh. I'd place my bets on the fact that it was level one. I'll see how level two goes tomorrow morning. 

5. I had a victory last night. I didn't eat anything after 8pm. That's my biggest problem--snacking in the evening. I eat wonderfully all day and after dinner I feel like I should reward myself with a bunch of crap. Or even if it's not "crap" it still doesn't need to happen. So last night, I withstood my temptations.*

*please ignore the fact that I had cookies for lunch when reading of this victory. 

6. I have begun rehearsing the middle harmony of the song I have chosen to perform for special music with two of my talented friends. It's called Before the Throne of Grace. It's powerful. It's gorgeous. It's really difficult to learn this strange sounding mezzo soprano part. 

7. While I was plucking out my notes on the piano, Butterscotch came up on the bench and sat on my lap. This was a HUGE moment for so many reasons. 1) He has been quite disdainful of me ever since Maisy came to live with us. 2) He hasn't sat on my lap since Maisy arrived. 3) He hasn't purred since Maisy arrived. 4) He has NEVER been anywhere near me when I'm playing the piano. (Yes, I just did a list within a list.)

8. We have really made a home here. I think it's official that this is our hometown because the librarians know us by name and have our books waiting for us when I walk in. We LOVE them and they love us. It's pretty awesome. 

9. Along those same lines, the Aldi and local farm market employees also know me and chat it up with me often. I like that. 

10. Last evening, we watched Arsenic and Old Lace. Kevin played a part in his high school's theatrical version of this classic Cary Grant film and he's wanted me to see it for some time. (He was the crazy nephew who thought he was Teddy Roosevelt, digs the Panama Canal in the cellar, and gets committed to the Happy Dale sanitarium in the end. Quite the character.) This was such a ridiculously awesome movie. My jaw dropped multiple times, I was cracking up, I was nervous. It evokes every part of your emotions--all without special effects or even mood music. Totally worth watching (multiple times.)

This post is linked up at Oh, Amanda!

The One with Our Girl, Maisy

My mom won't believe it, but it's true. 

We are now the parents to two cats! 

I was never a cat person.

In fact, I largely disliked the feline variety of pets. 

But ever since Butterscotch/Reginald came into my life, my heart has grown for the lovely creature. 

Reg has been in our home for nearly a year now, and there's hair in every corner of every room to prove it. 

He's lovable and lazy, demanding and cuddly. 

I heart his old man self. 

A couple months ago, my friend Debbie asked us if we wanted another cat. She and Brian had rescued it from along the side of the highway and it needed a home. I wasn't ready for the commitment at the time, but it got me thinking. Kevin jumped on the idea. I, of course, needed an obscene amount of time to process the situation. When I finally came to the conclusion that I would like to have another kitty around the house, I was fully aware of the fact that this would probably never happen After all, cats cost money, and money is a precious commodity in these parts. 

I guess it was meant to be, though. Two weeks ago we went to a wedding. At this wedding, I was chatting with a former classmate and he introduced me to this lovely fiancée. Erin and I hit it off, and later that evening I connected with her on Facebook. As I was stalking her profile I found a picture of her cat with Erin's plea. Maisy, the cat, needed a home. 

I mentioned this to Kevin and he, of course, jumped on board immediately. I was a bit slower on the uptake, but just one week later, Maisy was dropped off at our humble abode for good.

I was completely nervous about the prospect of having two cats--

would Maisy like me?

would she cause problems our old man, Reg, never could have?

would she and Mister Crotchety Old Man Cat get along? 

Eeek, my world stomach was turning. 

Maisy quickly found Reginald in his usual hiding place. The two took sides in the boxing ring that is the underside of our bed. There was hissing and pawing and growling and groaning--all sorts of weird sounds I had never heard before. I was just praying Reg would try to eat her. They chased each other and neither was very happy. Poor Reg had to share his house AND his food AND his toilet AND his mom and dad. And little Maisy was dropped off in a foreign land and was now having to hold her own against the present ruler.

Thankfully, they are both fixed, both semi-old (she's 8, he's 13), both declawed. These facts make my life easier.When Kevin left for work Monday morning I was really worried about the carnage I would be home alone to deal with. Would there be a blood bath? Kevin told me not to worry--they would be fine. 

And sure enough, they were. Maisy took over the living room and spent much of the time perched on the back of the couch behind my head. She's about 400 times more agile then Reginald. Reg, on the other hand, resigned himself to our bedroom or, if he heard me in the kitchen, he'd come out for some attention. It was sad having to divide my time. and I hope they can learn to cohabitate. 

Today showed progress. They actually sat in the same room--staring at each other--but without hissing--for at least half an hour. When hissing ensued, I mediated--"NO. Be NICE!" And Reg would back down and walk away--most likely hoping she'd be gone upon his return. 

(watching each other from around the corner)

But no, Maisy is here to stay. She's already made her way into Kevin's heart. He's a bit smitten, I believe. But that's ok. I have Reg. He's my little old man. Don't worry, Reg, no one will replace you. :)

The One with the End of Camp

My mother just informed me that it had been three days since I last posted. 

I know when my mom--the woman who would rather not be ushered into the technological realm--points out that my blog needs to be updated, well, then, gosh darn it, it needs to be updated. 

(No, mom, I was not actually offended by this comment. 

I just thought it was funny.)

Saturday was my last shift at Somerset Beach. 

I had originally planned on working through Labor Day. 

And sure, the paychecks would have been nice.

But ever since we had our teens spend the week with us for Family Camp, my heart needed to be back home--with those whipper snappers. 

Being away from the weekly youth group duties made me realize more and more that my passion lies with those teenagers.

While we did get to have youth group every Sunday, it just wasn't the same and the weekly commute was not all it was cracked up to be. 

My boss understood and agreed to let me go as soon as Kevin was done with youth camps. 

So we said our goodbyes, 

packed up our teensy car with all of our belongings, 

put the cat somewhere among the luggage, 

and hit the road. 

The poor kitty started crying and freaking out immediately.

He was not happy. 

And he was probably a bit demoralized thanks to his litter box being the only space for him to sit. 

It worked out alright because he had pooed within 10 minutes. 

And five minutes after that he threw up everywhere. 

It was so heartbreaking.

And disgusting. 

But at least he didn't poop on me like he did on the trip out to camp. 

He quieted down after that.

I stroked his soft little head for the remaining hour in the car. 

And he seemed to resign himself to the situation. 

It wasn't until Monday morning--or Sunday night really--that the change seemed real.

I mean, we always head home on Saturdays. 

We always did church and youth group.

But when I got to put on my pajamas after youth group, 

and wake up at home on Monday morning, 

that's when I realized we were back for good. 

It was bittersweet. 

Mostly because I'll miss the people I worked with.

And being close to half of our family.

Monday afternoon I said to Kevin, "I should call Somerset just to talk to Debbie." 

I love that girl. 

We had so much in common. 

A young marriage. 

A cat. 

A love for blogging. 

A desire to live healthfully.

An identical wardrobe size.

A mom who fought breast cancer. 

(Debbie just completed the 60 mile Breast Cancer 3 Day Walk in honor of her mom, Anna.)

An appreciation for quiet evenings home with a book over crazy evenings out with people.

A passion for God. 

We had many deep talks, Deborah and I.

We shared secrets, 

gave advice, 

laughed at hilarious moments, 

complained about certain frustrating scenarios, 

and enjoyed the silence. 

She's a great friend and I'm going to miss her. 

The One with the Prison Break

I'll be honest.

I love our cat.

Butterscotch.

Reginald.

Baby.

He answers to all three.

And I know I love him because I clean his litter box.

Something you may remember me saying I would never do.

We have our little routines with him.

We expect certain behaviors from him,

he expects us to reciprocate.

For instance, every night within five minutes of climbing into bed,

Butterscotch hops up with us.

Sometimes he plops down contentedly.

Other times he likes to walk all over us,

pushing his feet rhythmically into our ribcages, until we feel like moving him.

When I'm finally settled, he typically comes up and lays on my belly.

It's nice, this snuggle time of ours.

And typically, during the night, I sense him walking around a bit.

And around 5 or 6 am he likes to meander up to the head of the bed where he promptly sticks his nose in my face.

WAKE UP, MOM!

This morning, as I rolled out of bed, I instantly realized something was wrong.

There was not kitty at the food of our bed.

Odd.

I began calling him, searching in all of his usual hiding places.

Being the small camper that it is, I quickly exhausted his options.

Butterscotch was no where to be found,

and I was panicking. 

"KEVIN! WAKE UP! I CAN'T FIND THE CAT!"

Groaning, Kevin crawled out of bed, trying to reassure him. 

"What if he got out?" I said, as I remembered the door creeping open late last night before we went to bed. 

"He'll be fine. He knows this is his home; he wouldn't go far," Kevin calmly replied.

"But he's never be outside!!" I shrieked. 

I threw on my clothes and ran outside. 

Calling his name left and right, keeping an eye out for a large mass of butter fur. 

Nothing. 

Then, from underneath our makeshift porch (which is probably 3 or 4 inches high), my baby appeared. 

He walked inside like nothing had happened. 

"Don't you EVER do that to me again, you hear me!" I chided him. 

Tears were welling up in my eyes. 

"I'm the worst mom ever!"

"No, you're not," Kevin said. "He's perfectly fine, he had an adventure. And I think he rather enjoyed himself."

We both agreed it would appear even Butterscotch is ready to go home.

I guess Debbie was right. 

I should have had tags made for him. 

You know, in case he escaped at camp. 

[For a more thought-provoking, heart-examining post, check this one from earlier today or this one from last night.]

The One with a MishMash

I ran another 6 miles this morning!

For real! 

And I didn't even stop halfway for a break. 

I was kind of insane for going running when I did, though. 

I "slept in" a bit--until 6:30--and didn't get on the road until almost 7:00.

It was already super humid and hot. 

What in the world is up with this weather. 

I am never one to "wish for summer."

I thrive in 60-75 degree temps. 

But in any case, I accomplished another great feat. 

And proved to myself it wasn't a fluke that I can run a 10k. 

My legs kind of feel like jello, though, now. 

I bought a new toothbrush today. 

It was necessary. 

REALLY necessary. 

Last night after placing my toothbrush on the table, I heard it fall. 

It fell out of it's cover. 

And right into the cat's litter box.  

DIS.

GUST.

ING.

Three cheers for new toothbrushes. 

I did our laundry today. 

It was also necessary. 

Hot, humid weather

combined with my running and Kevin's youth activities 

equals grossness. 

And in case you haven't checked out my recipe blog this summer

(I don't blame you because there's not been much--or ANY--cooking going on with me in TOO long)

you'd probably enjoy my witty lists of favorite new recipes to try. 

And if nothing else, avoid my banter altogether and at least click on the links.

Those food items are delectable.