Monday, January 21, 2008

The Worst Night EVER

Last night was the worst night ever, and all you moms, I ain't got nothing on you. Time: 2am. Location: Master Bedroom. Culprit: Mary Jane Woodson (aka, cat).

Mary Jane is still at that ever so sweet kitten stage where she likes to sleep cuddled right up in the crick of your neck or your chest or on your shoulder. Some people think that's gross, but I don't mind; I think it is amusing. Upon settling down she often does the infamous "kneading bread" technique, useful for fluffing pillows, naval piercings, scab picking, skin tearing and other salutary feline extremities. So naturally when she is settling down to sleep so close, this kneading often takes place on my neck, or my shoulder and even my hair.

Last night at 2am I felt her jump up on my chest then to my neck and I was thinking ''man this cat is stinky' - she is kind of a stinky kitten anyway. After walking across me she jumped back down but her stink still lingered, and waving my hand in front of my face did nothing for the stench that was burning inside my nose. Not 30 seconds later there she was again, walking on my neck and then onto my pillow, inches from my ear ferociously licking and smacking and gnawing her legs. The horrid stench was more than I could handle and I was thinking 'oh my god, this is more than stinky bottom, there has to be something wrong here.' Frantically switching on the light I discovered that Mary Jane's legs, and I am not talking feet here people, I'm talking HER ENTIRE LEGS were covered in cat shit and that furious licking and gnawing? She was desperately trying to get it off of her.

Man, I shot out of bed like I'd been shocked, grabbed the cat and ran to the bathroom, threw on the faucet and covered her legs in soap. Between the way she was howling and the furious squirming and the freezing cold water there was no way to be quiet, so in walks Billy all squinty eyed and sleepy and asks 'whatareya doing with the cat?' And I'm like dying inside because all I can feel is cat claws digging into my skin and theres brown water being flung all over the counter and me and the floor. 'Babe, the cat's legs are covered in poop!' And then she twists and my grip vanishes and she is on my back and I'm hunched over and flailing - blindly groping for her to pull her off, water splashing everywhere. By the time she was clean enough and I couldn't take the clawing any longer I was not only soaked but I stunk like fresh cat crap - and I'm talking fresh. I let her go and she ran out of the bathroom and I was left looking at a very brown, very stinky, very wet bathroom and me. Covered in poop and shaking. I stripped and just as I thought I was safe I reached my hands up to my hair and thats when the tears came. I my hair was covered in cat shit too. It was more that I could handle and all I could do is stand there and cry and repeat 'oh my god, ewwwwwww.' Pitiful, I know.

After I got out of the shower I walked into the hallway only to discover that she had tracked her dirty paws through the hallway. I was furious at this point because I now got to enjoy hunting f0r and scrubbing poopy paw prints from the carpet. Just as I thought I was done I walked into the living room to find that she had peed all over a section of the paper that the flood guy had taped along wall to protect the carpet from his work. She had been so scared from the freezing cold water I had been torturing her with in the sink. I pretty much lost it at that point and handed Billy the scissors so he could deal with cutting it out and cleaning it up. I was done.

Today we get to wash ALL our bedding and all associated apparel that was degraded by those filthy paws. Mom, Erika, Krista, I ain't got nothing on you. You are my heroes and I AM NOT READY TO BE A MOM. Holy cow, I hope that doesn't happen again.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

A Vanilla Flavored Home

Ok so I decided that I disparately want to repaint my living room and dining room. This crazy notion entered my head a couple days ago and I just can't stop thinking about how badly I want to do it. Haven't told Billy yet so it's not something that is entirely possible to happen. You know how they say that the home is supposed to be your sanctuary, a resting place and a place of comfort and fondness? For the past week my house has been the completely opposite. It's been a place of discomfort, uneasiness and dare I say a serious source of stress. For those of you that may not have heard we had a flood last week in one half of our house which means the living room, dining room and kitchen. That is a whole separate post on its own, of which I will post pictures and explain the 1:30 am discovery in full.

So for the past week we have been traumatized by our crazy upside down house. Drywall bits, stinky chemicals, plastic sheeting, monster fans and a layer of dirt on everything. My home has been the center of unrest - and eating dinner in bed is not as fun as it might seem people - when you do it 6 NIGHTS IN A ROW.

Until this, I have never ever fully realized how important the idea of 'a home of comfort' is. When my home comfort went down the drain (a nicely executed pun) I have had a jolting realization of just how important and necessary an orderly home of comfort has on the psy-che. Wow. It's so important. A place to rest, a place to relax, a place of tradition, good food and familiarity and for interaction, personality and sharing stories.

So this is where the painting comes in. My walls in the living room and dining room are a dark khaki color which all of a sudden feels cold and uninviting to me - modernly repugnant of my conclusion about the alliance between the home and mental comfort. I need a light naturally delicious vanilla tasting tan that coos snuggly blankets and snuggly husbands and breeze and sunshine flooding through the skylight. I need to actively acknowledge this life discovery by doing something about it.

We'll see what the husband says.