Emma

“She looks just like the day we picked her up.”

What Patrick meant when he said that was that she was glaring at him through cage bars and that she looked underfed and overly spiteful. She was poorly groomed and not moving very much. Both days, the day we picked her up from the Humane Society and the day I took her to the vet for the last time, she looked at us through those cage bars and we knew she was scared.

That’s the worst part, of course. The fact that you can’t explain what’s happening to them. As much as I told Emma that it was her kidneys that were failing her, that they were to blame for her feeling so bad and for not being able to walk, that she might even have cancer somewhere but we’ll never know for sure, she never understood. She never knew why she felt so bad or why her back legs didn’t work anymore. Her little gray body was failing her and she didn’t even know it.

I decided to get a cat when I was 19 years old because I didn’t think I was mature enough to handle a dog. Patrick and I went to the Humane Society in Louisville to pick out a cat. Emma was the oldest one there. I don’t know why I picked her. I’m pretty sure she growled at me through the cage when I tried to pet her. Something about her seemed to fit in the little space I had in my life where an animal should go. So I filled out the application and waited for several days until I was approved.

Upon bringing her home, she stopped eating. My low maintenance pet had turned into a Skipping Class to Syringe Feed My Cat Project. She got better, started eating on her own, but never really warmed up to me. Or anyone. I guess she liked me more than anyone else, but she would only allow me to touch her at night when the lights were out and she was perched on my chest. And even then it was only for a minute.

When friends or family would come over and ask after her, I liked to joke that Emma could usually be found under my bed, spewing curses and brewing potions. Truly, she was a feisty, antisocial, cantankerous little critter. But she was my cat. My first pet. My first responsibility. My first little one. And now she is gone.

People say that “they will tell you” when they are ready to go. I waited to be told. I watched for signs but had no idea what I was looking for. Would she die in front of me? That would be a pretty obvious sign. What would I do? Did I need to call someone if that happened? What if she just looked like she might die? Was that too late?

Saturday night, she told me. She told me, without any doubt, that she was ready. She came to my side of the bed several times and moaned. She used to cry a lot to get attention, but those were high pitched sounds like a child might use to call you. These were deep, pleading moans that roused me from the deepest sleep. She moaned until I got up and she led me into the bathroom. She refused food and water and fell anytime I tried to get her to move. She looked at me with eyes glazed over and swayed where she stood. I felt as if she’d called me in to get me alone and to show me how sick she was. I saw.

Our vet is an old friend of mine and she came in to work on Sunday, July 4, to be with me. Patrick and Colin stayed home and I took Emma alone. I sat with her in the room, her beside me on the bench, and we waited. I wonder if she knew what was happening, what was coming. She didn’t squirm or cry any more, she just sat. She was barely there at all by the time they were ready for us. I looked in her eyes for the last time, but she was not in there. There were only toxins and poisons there, not my little feisty girl.

I wept unabashedly into her fur as it happened. What else was there to do? I told her that we would always remember her, that I would always love her. And then she was gone. So fast. So quietly.

I keep thinking that I hear her crying for me. Not the horrible moaning but the young Emma who demanded attention from the other room. I know she’s gone but I miss her, my potion brewing antisocial kitty who was the first to teach me how to care for others. A lesson in love, in faith, and in sacrifice, she was one not easily forgotten.

Ever.

Request

On my way home today, I stopped to let a woman and her dog cross the street. It was a furry black dog, the kind that make you wonder how it sees through the fur covering its eyes. The woman was an older lady wearing a sundress and orthopedic shoes. When they were about halfway across, the dog stopped and sat down right in the middle of the street, about six inches from my car. The woman looked at me and looked back to her dog, begging him to move. He sat and panted and looked back at his person lovingly but steadfastly refusing to move.

Watching this from my car, I couldn’t help but giggle. I wanted to get out and snuggle that dog to bits. I feel that way too! I need a minute to catch my breath and rest, look around and see what is happening. Assess, take stock. Make a plan and make decisions. Stretch. Feel. See. Think. Love.

Life has a tendency to be overwhelming in my house and now is no exception. I have taken to my usual list-making and picking at my nails. But instead of talking about that here, I would like to break from the norm and ask you for something.

I would like to ask for your prayers for some of the people I love. If you don’t pray, perhaps you could send your thoughts or good karma or whatever you believe in. Here is my list of prayer/thoughts/karma/whatever requests:

My friend Bob. He was recently diagnosed with cancer. He has been undergoing surgery and radiation all while fighting an epic battle with various health insurance demons. The spirit with which he lives his life continues to be an inspiration to me and his writings about his life now that cancer has made itself a guest in his house are articulate, funny, and obscenely tender. Please think of him, his lovely wife, and his mother, all of whom are dealing with this illness.

My friend Chad. One of my oldest friends, Chad is one of those people who knows me way too well, has been through more with me than anyone else, and deserves all that life has to offer. When I saw him at a wedding last weekend, he told me that he feels unsure. His life doesn’t fit him all the time and he doesn’t know his path. While I don’t think that anyone is ever completely sure that they’re on the right track, please keep Chad in mind as he searches.

My newlywed friends Colleen and Terry. The couple of the aforementioned wedding, they are starting their life together. Colleen and I describe each other as soulmates, as we seem to have lived very much the same life. I watched her marry her best friend on Saturday and am so looking forward to meeting their children (they’re both Catholic – they’ll be along soon enough) and celebrating with them for decades. Please keep them in your prayers as they learn about life after the wedding.

My cat Emma. I am of the belief that whatever higher power exists in the universe is often manifested in the animals for which we are responsible. My little cat, the only cat that Colin likes or notices, is dying. It may be slow or it may progress quickly, but the process has started and is now inevitable. You may hate cats, but please think of my little girl, my very first pet, the first responsibility I ever had outside of my own self, who is sick and alone tonight in a veterinary hospital.

I’ll pray for yours if you pray for mine. Let the comment section be our prayer/thought/karma/whatever chain.

Watchful Waiting

I am full of things to talk about tonight, full of things to share, to ask your opinion about. My fingers are aching to tell you stories and fill you in. Everyone in my house is sleeping right now all the animals and all the people, except for me, because I am awake and pacing. I am anxious and worried about people and animals and things that I love and I don’t even know where to begin.

I finished up Internal Medicine on Friday with an exam and, though those exams are always a giant question mark, I feel like it was probably okay. Then, I had another exam, starting at noon, which I completely forgot about. I was halfway to my car before running into someone from my class who commented on how quickly I must have finished my exam. That was a moment I hope to never repeat, as if my worse nightmare had come true. A final exam that I didn’t know about, hadn’t studied for, and was now late for…

The weekend looked promising. Though Colin has been exceedingly trying the last week or so, as he is presently sprouting molars and that is, from all accounts, a terrible ordeal, he was all geared up to spend the night with the Baby Mama and crew, giving me and Patrick a night out. Patrick bought movie tickets for me (I’m still suspicious.) and said I could pick what to see.

Let me be perfectly clear: I absolutely LOVE going to the movies. It is among my very favorite things to do and, given the choice of going on an all expenses paid trip to Vegas and going out to see a movie, I would pay for my own ticket and popcorn. So when Patrick showed up with two passes to go for a night out at the movies, I was as happy as I’ve been since Colin was born.

I picked “Avatar” because I had heard of it and it also seemed like it would be a good one to see that on the seven story screen and with super mega sound. Turns out, I was right! (Shocking.) It was completely wonderful and I loved it.

That is, except the parts where Patrick kept having to get up and leave the theater to take phone calls from his mother, where he would talk to the Emergency Room doctor about how his grandmother was having dangerous heart rhythms because of a terrible infection.

That will kill any movie, no matter how good the effects or how tall the screen.

So we packed up our things and drove the few hours to see her in the hospital. We helped interpret the medical lingo for our family and we shouted in her ear so she could hear us without her hearing aids. We rotated through with the rest of our family so that there were only two people at a time in her room, everyone else pacing outside or running for coffee. She looked better, then worse, then about the same.

We got home late Saturday night, exhausted from the day and, for me, being up late every night this week studying. We were very much looking forward to sleeping in a little this morning.
So imagine how unfortunate it was when Colin awoke at 7:30 on the dot (relatively early for him) and, upon getting out of bed to start the day, I noticed that my little cat, my Emma, the first of the many animals, couldn’t move her back legs.

She was pulling herself across the floor, crying, not in pain but in an effort to call attention to herself, and looked completely inconvenienced by the whole thing. I called an old friend, now a vet at an emergency hospital, who said, sorry but yes, you have to take her today, right now, before you brush your teeth. And so we went.

She’s still there, my mean little Emma, tough and begrudging. She’s there cursing the technicians and veterinarians who are moving her in and out of the litter box, she’s brewing potions of poison for any assistant who tries to pet her, and she’s watching with her huge eyes, scheming and planning her escape.

That escape is going to be difficult when you can’t walk, little one.

In medicine, there is a saying “watchful waiting”, which means that we have no idea what’s going to happen. That’s what we’re doing here tonight. Watching and waiting and pacing and trying to think about something else.

I start Neurology in the morning. Maybe that’ll help.

Bullets

Howdy, friends! I have things I want to tell you, but none of them seem like they deserve an entire post, so I’m resorting to a list. I would rather resort to Cancun, but I do love lists, so watch out for the bullet points.

- Remember when I told you recently that I decided to do The 30 Day Shred? Yes, still doing it (amazing in itself) and it has been going well until yesterday. I survived Level 1 – by the end of the 10 days I was feeling quite solid – and moved on to Level 2, which almost kills me every time. I thought that I was just adjusting to the harder workout and such, but last night was bad. I did my workout, crazy sweat and breathing hard, as usual, but I couldn’t catch my breath. Ever. For the next EIGHT HOURS I couldn’t catch my breath.

As an aside, when I was in college I was diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma, which I promptly scoffed at because I didn’t have problems when I was exercising. I went to be evaluated in the first place because I had trouble when I was singing, found that I could exhale completely and that my breath didn’t respond as it should. Fine and dandy, but exercise was no problem. Of course, now I think more critically and see that my exercise was yoga, with very controlled breathing. Hm.

Anyway, so I was worried that I was going to die. I couldn’t lie flat, I was wheezing and coughing, none of which was helped by the fact that I was a little panicked due to feeling like I was, as I said, going to die. So, damn it all, I’m going to have to go to a doctor and ask for something to help me not die after a workout. In the meantime, I’m taking a little break from The Shred, possibly going back to Level 1, until I can feel like I won’t die from it. Sad face.

- Guess what I think I’ve discovered about Colin? Can you guess? You’ll never guess so I’ll just tell you. I think he’s a lefty. A south paw. LEFT HANDED. I have had this suspicion for a while, but obviously it won’t be until he starts coloring or writing (or playing basketball) that we’ll really know. But he reaches with his left hand, he prefers to feed himself with his left hand, and when he’s cruising around he always takes a step with the left food first.
So, to recap, I grew a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, lefty in my body. Yeah, I don’t know either.

- I am bored with vacation. I still have a bunch of projects and things to do, but I want to go back to work. I just got back in to this game and this extended time out is a little premature. I was glad for the break after inpatient peds, as I was exhausted, but I think a weekend would have sufficed. I feel like I’m losing my recently and hard-earned skills.

It goes without saying that I love hanging out with Colin all day, but I don’t feel like I am as fun when he and I are together all day versus when I come home, having missed him all day, and am ready to play. Now, we are together all day, but the day is so structured around meals and naps and errands that it doesn’t feel like we can just sit down and PLAY like we do when I come home from work. I doubt Colin notices a difference, he’s such a happy camper by nature that, as long as his routine is not disturbed, he is perfectly pleased in life, but I feel a difference in my energy. I actually have less energy to devote to playing with him after tending to his every need all day. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is a reality. Going back to work is the best thing for all of us. Except maybe the laundry pile.

- Myra the Fluffy Dog got her hair done today for the first time in probably three years. She is prancing around like she’s on a runway and it is making me giggle. A lot. The groomer was a craggy old woman with stretched out tattoos on her wrists, a wicked smoker’s cough, and an incredibly bad dye job, but loved my little dog and was very proud of her work. Myra is proud also and thanked her by licking her ankles incessantly while we checked out. She might need a day at the spa more often, if only to make me giggle like this.

Poor Sal

Do you know that Sally is still hoarse? I'm thinking that maybe I should have called the vet, that maybe she has laryngitis or something. She's not acting sick or lethargic or different in any other way except that she can barely make any noise. I'm not complaining, no way. I'm just a little concerned that it is more than just wish fulfillment and she's actually sick. That is not the way I want to quiet my dogs. Today she tried to do her hound howling, but instead she just looked at me and sort of breathed loudly. Poor thing. But, in the meantime, I am enjoying the relative calm and quiet around here, though Myra is picking up the slack as best she can.

We're off to play Thanksgiving Pinball tomorrow morning. We're hitting three cities in two days!

Soul Sisters

Do you think it is any coincidence that, while watching the trailer posted below, I had to pause it three times to get Sally and Myra to stop their insane, incessant barking? I think not.

Walking

The canine fur faces and I just got home from a magical, soul-cleansing walk. Which can be translated into: 15 minutes of quiet and solitude since we left the boys at home. I hadn't been out on a walk alone since Colin was born - in fact, this is only the second walk I've taken at all since Colin was born. So, tonight's walk = bliss. We saw several cats that the dogs barked about and I saw a lovely floor length gown in plastic wrap hanging from someone's door. We also learned that two houses on our walk are newly for sale, so we stopped and learned all about them. All in all, a lovely time. Now the pups are properly worn out and happily sprawled out on the floor, as they should be. Oh, wait - I spoke too soon. Sally is begging for some of my fruit popsicle. Now Myra is barking at Sally's whining. Typical.

In only slightly related news, I'm sorry if I freaked everyone out yesterday. I tried to convey that the Life Issue is merely an issue and not a crisis, but upon rereading the post, it does sound kind of dire. Sorry about that - I can be dramatic when I'm upset. Regardless, there isn't anything to be done just now except to take some soothing breaths, perhaps a walk with the pups, and keep on keepin' on. Just like everyone else.

Two Weeks

Today is Colin's two week birthday. And so, a status update:



Colin is doing great. He is perfect in all ways. Sure, he could sleep more and eat less, but that would just be my exhaustion talking. He's actually awake quite a lot for a newborn, which I love because it gives me a chance to look in his eyes. I find his eyes to be captivating, even when he's asking me to eat again. For the twentieth time today. His current missions in life are to eat and sleep as much as possible and to remove his right sock in the most efficient manner. He gravitates toward me, you know. Over the weekend, my dad and his sweetheart visited and when anyone else was holding Colin, he'd contort himself so that he was looking in the direction of my voice. That is incredible.



I am recovering well. My body is healing itself quickly and providing for Colin like a champ. Having been through this entire "growing another human inside me" process, I am amazed. Awed. I joke with my girlfriends that I can't believe that women have been reproducing for millions of years and we haven't come up with a better way yet. But I'm really just joking. I am humbled by the incredibly complex and delicate process that is gestating and birthing a child and I am proud to be a part of that history. In truth, I think it's pretty impressive and I'm not sure how we could improve upon it. That said, if I'm ever pregnant again: scheduled c-section. I also think that babies should come equipped with manuals, a layette, and a nanny standard issue. I mean, if you're looking to better something, why not shoot for the stars. Am I wrong?



Patrick is doing well as a dad, but I think is feeling a little left out or unnecessary. I think this is understandable. I'm breastfeeding Colin and his recent growth spurt, and subsequent increase in feedings, I have no milk left over to pump for Patrick to feed Colin. I know the spurt will level out and, thus, the feedings will regulate again. But for the moment, Patrick is left with nothing to do except change diapers and hand me the baby. No fun.



All of the fur faces have adapted well. The dogs are a little bored during the day when I can't give them much attention because Colin takes up everything I have, but I make up for it in the evening when Patrick gets home. Myra is very attached to Colin and looks at me in a panic whenever he cries. She licks his hands and feet when they're in range and is always checking on him to make sure he's doing okay. Sally is less interested in the actual baby and more obsessed with the smells that he leaves behind. She's always right on top of us when we're changing his clothes or his diaper and, once we walk away, takes great pleasure in giving whatever we've left a full sniff-down. The cats are totally oblivious/couldn't care less about the baby. They only notice that I've been consistently disturbing their sleeping spots on the bed by getting up 14 times a night. I don't think they've even noticed that we brought YET ANOTHER living thing into this house. How could you, really, unless you do a head count. I think that might be beyond them. At the very least, it's beyond their interest level.



Two weeks and everything is different. I'm not used to this new life yet, nor am I prepared to fully endorse it, but I have to admit to being completely in love with this little Turnip.

Random, Part 2 (million)

You people are amazing. Every time I start thinking that this blog is frivolous or that no one reads it, you come up with a response like that and I am so grateful for the opportunity to connect with so many completely fabulous people. Thank you for your kind words of support. I am feeling much better the last few days, probably because I have finally been able to sleep a little. Yesterday I accidentally took a five hour nap. Then I slept for seven and a half hours last night. Even though it is gloomy today and I'm sore and achy, things just seem a little brighter.

Some more random tidbits for you today, if for no other reason than to get that depressing post off of the top of the page:

*****

HOLY COW we may have decided on a name. I'm not going to tell yet, because I don't want to jinx it, but we came up with it on Monday night. Then yesterday Patrick asked if I had thought of any more names. I said that I still liked the one from Monday and cringed, since this is always where he squinches up his face in disgust and says that he hates that name, even though he liked it earlier. But yesterday he turned to me with big eyes and said, "Really? I still like it too!"

Seriously - nobody breathe.

*****

We had a doctor's appointment yesterday and I got "checked" for the first time. I'm nowhere close to labor yet and am measuring right on schedule. Last week she told me that I needed to come up with a Birth Plan. I laughed a little and told her that I thought that was only for midwives and home births and people who are not delivering in a hospital. She informed me that many women are dissatisfied with their labor experience because they have not communicated their wishes and, thus, their expectations were not met. Patrick and I went to a couple of websites to check out some templates for Birth Plans and, as it turns out, she was right. I actually do have expectations, as does Patrick, and they might differ from the standard at the hospital. Huh. Who knew? For the template that we used, go here.

*****

Several people have asked about the Mouse Roommates. In short, we have had several more incidents, including one last night that I ignored by not turning on the light but then I laid awake waiting for the thing to crawl on me and die. However, I have not been in a proper frame of mind to deal with this problem, so I haven't. Patrick and I recently cleaned out the basement and we found no evidence of mice. Nothing. No droppings, no torn up bits of anything, no entry point. So I've convinced myself that the cats are finding them as they come in and keeping the problem under control. I still hate it and try to save the little mice, but I haven't been too successful in finding them in time. *shudder*

*****

Tomorrow is our Childbirth Prep class. I am terrified. I think I need a Pre-Prep class.

*****

I'm going to rip out the dogs' vocal cords. FYI. Especially Sally. Because of this pelvic joint pain I've had, they are sadly under exercised, though I play with them at the house all day long. Sally has these fits where she gets herself worked up so much that she just turns in circles and barks. I can understand how she feels, as I have had a few of those myself, but SERIOUSLY dog. Can't you see you're taking years off my life?

*****

I was doing really well with my embarrasing Twilight obsession until I found out that Stephanie Meyer is no longer planning to finish Midnight Sun, which is the first book told from Edward the Hot Teen Vampire's perspective, because the first 12 chapters magically were leaked onto the internet and she feels all violated. I totally can see where she's coming from, but come on! You have rabid, insane fans here! But it was okay because she posted her version of the leaked chapters on her website, all 267 pages, which meant that I used some of my not-sleeping evenings to read it. It has just ignited the fire all over again and now I'm back to stalking forums and watching the trailers over and over. (You can download the partial book at the link above. Happy obsessing!)

*****

Finally, a few pictures for you, since we miraculously found our camera charger last night. First up, the nursery:

Changing table with one million diapers and 900 stuffed toys that Patrick loves. The crooked diaper stacks really bother me, but they WON'T STAY.



Crib, mobile, monitor. Baby Faux-Pas: unwashed crib sheet. (I'll get to it.)



Bob the Bear (a gift to me on my actual birth day by my father's friend Robert who hated the name Bob) in the awesome glider. Future reading nook, once I figure out what to do with the books.



36 and 1/2 weeks. Horrible photo, but it is hard to do that little twist these days. This was the best of like 10. There are two inches of my body in shadow - that's odd. Note to self: Stay in School!

Six!

After the fiasco that was my attempt at sleep the other night, I decided to take action. I am temporarily moving out of our bedroom. Last night I slept for SIX WHOLE HOURS on the sofa. SIX. IN A ROW! I put an electric fan on the floor right next to me, so I was kept cool. The sofa allowed me to sit up a little bit more without using 14 pillows, which helps with my hip and pelvis joint pain. The sofa is also only four steps from the bathroom - crucial. Most importantly, there were no cats or husbands or any other buggers keeping me awake. Just the one little Turnip, who hasn't been able to get very far away from me as of yet, but even he seemed content with the new situation last night.

It seemed foreign to kiss Patrick goodnight and walk away, like we'd jumped back in time six years and I was leaving to go back to my own apartment, but SLEEP! Sleep is a siren call that I cannot resist. I know that people don't get much sleep with a newborn, but it will be nice to at least feign sleep next to the hubster again once the Turnip makes his grand entrance. For now, though: SIX!

In other fascinating news, last night I folded and put away the last of the Turnip laundry and am dismayed, even appalled, at the fact that I have no idea what to do with about 30% of it. I have a general idea about the clothes and diapers and such. But there are all these different kinds of blanket things and sheets and cloth items that all seem to serve different purposes - purposes that elude me. And there are all these pads for things, but I don't know what to do with them or what they are intended to pad. I figured out the crib mattress pad, but beyond that I am lost. I wonder if the Tutoring Center at school has Nursery Tutors... I think I could use some help.

Warning

An open letter to all future fathers. Actually, it's more like a warning.

Dear Future Fathers,

Congratulations on your new role in life. I'm sure you're terrified and maybe, if your partner is really lucky, even a little excited. I have no experience in the post-partum area, so I can't say if it will get better or worse, but people seem to like their kids. I'm taking that as a good sign.

I'd just like to issue a blanket statement in case the situation ever arises between you and your partner. DON'T SIDE WITH THE CAT. I mean it. When your very pregnant and not-sleeping-well partner attempts, at great risk of pain and peril, to kick the cat off the bed so she can try to roll over, don't stand up for the cat and hold and protect him from her. Just don't. She's not going to hurt the cat, not going to give it away. She's just trying to get some leg room for herself. When you tell her that the cat is all the way on your side of the bed, and she responds by pointing out that you are in the middle of the bed and the cat is walking on her very sore back, don't get mad and tell her that her pillows are taking up too much room. Again, just don't do it. You're not going to win this argument, but you're just going to make life exceedingly difficult for everyone for the next several hours. She won't be able to go back to sleep and odds are that she'll make sure you don't either. These are not the kinds of interactions that people need to ever have, much less at 4am when one half of the couple is a very pregnant and sore and not-sleeping woman.

This statement can and should be applied to many and varied other situations. In general, don't tell a pregnant woman that she is taking up too much room or that she's being mean by not letting someone/thing do something to her that makes her uncomfortable or causes her pain. Some of you may think that this doesn't or shouldn't need to be stated, but, apparently, it does. Now hear this: the pregnant woman should take priority over the cat.

If you choose not to follow my advice, do not be surprised or alarmed to find cyanide in your coffee, the cat missing, and a very long list of difficult and obnoxious chores for you to do when you get home. Not to mention a sarcastic and very annoyed blog post written about you in the morning which was drafted after the early morning conversation in the head of the rightfully fuming pregnant woman.

Best of luck with everything,
Katie

Kittehs

I just read this article and I got all mushy about it. As an unabashed and fearless animal lover, I would totally do this. I am so glad that other people are as insane as I am and are willing to risk life and limb for four helpless little kittens.

(Image displayed with the article at the Daily News.)

Scary

Remember this post? The one about our ant problem? Part of the solution to that problem was the purchase of two of those ant houses, where the ants come and get some food, take it back to the nest, and then they all go to heaven together.

Last night, I was watching the Olympics (of course), when Myra came trotting into the room, quite pleased with herself, chomping down on one of those little poison traps. It took me about three seconds to figure out what it even was, as she'd kind of demolished it.

OMG!!!

My first thought, I'm a little embarrased to say, was that this was karma for killing all of the ants. I know. I'm insane. I know, really - you don't need to tell me. Really.

I panicked a little. I tried to call the Animal Poison Control number, but they charge a $60 consultation fee, and I wasn't ready for that yet. Luckily, I remembered my good friend Alykat, who is awesome and way smart. She gave me good advice, the Fluff never even showed a single symptom indicating that she just ate a bunch of fatal poison, and everything is fine. It didn't stop me from waking up every 30 minutes and shaking her awake to make sure she was okay, of course. So today, she and I are taking it easy and napping while very muscular men jump off of diving boards in China on the TeeVee.

Now, instead of blaming myself for killing all of the ants, I blame the crack-cocaine that is the Olympics.

FDW

This afternoon our Fabulous Dog Walker invited me to escape my house for a little bit and join her and five of her charges on a walk! So Myra and Sally and I hopped in the car (well, Sally was more tossed in and forced to cooperate, poor terrified thing) and met her and the pooches at the park for some sunshine. Lessons from today's outing:

1. I could never be a dog walker.

I spent entirely too much energy worrying about the leashes becoming tangled or who's wrapping around my leg. I repeatedly missed the fact that someone else was approaching or that the path was bending and required a course adjustment because I was instead focused on unwrapping myself from the leash braid that the pups had made. Or I would get super focused on one dog and kind of tune out the rest of them. In short, I am too much of a Type A control freak to be a dog walker.

2. The FDW is a saint.

Even the worst dog that was in attendance today still listened and obeyed her commands because she treats them all with respect and love in addition to authority. I would have given up and gone home within the first ten minutes when the leashes were a mess, the dogs were tangled and hyper, and I was already sweating (though it was in the low 80s). Luckily, she was blessed with more patients than me and we sat in the grass, worked out the leash mess, got everyone and drink and a snack, and went on our merry way like this happens all the time. Because, apparently, it does.

3. We are super, duper, extra lucky to have snagged her.

Myra and Sally were over the moon to see the FDW and their pup friends again. It made me feel guilty for keeping them away from their "pack" all summer (and now all fall) when I was off. Sally, who has never really warmed to other dogs with me around, weaved herself all in and out of these Labradors like they were litter mates. I was so impressed. It occurred to me that perhpas I don't know everything about my dogs. I wonder it I'll have similar experiences with the Turnip - like be corrected by the day care teacher about my kid's personality or tastes or habits, simply because they are around him more than me. I wonder if I'll be impressed by that, as I am with the FDW and Sally, or if I'll be offended and feel guilty.

Because she's awesome, she invited us to join her again and next time, I'm definitely taking the camera. The whole thing was very impressive (and probably terrifying to onlookers), but there was a leash knot that would have made a sailor cry for his mother. In the future, there will be photographic proof of this woman's hand-eye coordination and unwavering patience. Do you know how infuriating leash knots can be?

(Disclaimer 1: The FDW is updating her website, so check back for more details on her services, as well as videos, pictures, etc. In the meantime, you can still find her basic information there if you need a pet sitter or dog walker!)

(Disclaimer 2: I've posted this picture before, but this dog was there today and was super sweet, so I thought she deserved another few minutes of internet glory. Also, look how cute Sally is!)

Cat and Mouse

We have a problem.

Last night, for the second time in four days, one of the cats caught a mouse. Inside. The basement, most likely. I didn't write about the first incident because it was deeply traumatic for me.

That first night, or actually morning, the culprit was Neighbor Cat. Yes, the one with no claws or teeth. I don't know how she managed it, but I came downstairs about 5am on Saturday to find her in the middle of the den hunching over a dark writhing thing. I ran to get my glasses and by the time I got back she had eaten some of the poor little mouse. I screamed and ran around in a little circle for a moment, then called upstairs to the soundly sleeping hubster, "SHE'S EATING A MOUSE! SHE'S EATING A MOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR!!!" Patrick, a man who takes his sleeping very seriously mumbled back, "Ew. Put her outside. ZZZZZZ."

By the time I returned from this enlightening exchange, the cat had, shall we say, rid the mouse of any higher thought processes. I scooped the cat up and tossed her outside, followed soon after by the remains of the poor mouse. Scarred for life.

To my horror, last night The Pickle, who is known for getting into trouble, came up from the basement very pleased with herself about something. Having seen this behavior before, I was immediately suspicious, but was too involved in reading New Moon to be bothered. However, after about five minutes of The Pickle's chirping and Sally's baying, I got up to investigate. Sure enough, another mouse. This one, however, was still quite alive and was hiding under my favorite chair, while The Pickle circled it and tried to catch it. Patrick and I sequestered all the Fur Faces, procured a box, and went in to catch the little guy and put him outside. He was just a baby mouse, about half the size of the other, more unfortunate mouse. Patrick let me take the reins, as he is afraid of "small, unpredictable wildlife". (I learned this last night. I told him that when the cat brought in a bear that he would be in charge of shooing it back outside, since it would be classified as large, unpredictable wildlife and would, therefore, not fall under this heading of things to be afraid of. I don't think he was very amused, but that could be because I was holding the box with the Terribly Frightening One Inch Mouse in it.)

We put the little guy back outside with strict instructions to keep out of our house because we harbor dangerous predators in here. This was not, however, before both of us thought about making a cage and keeping him because he was so tiny and fuzzy and adorable.

On the top of the Things To Do list today: humane mouse removal and deterrents. I was callous enough to spray the life out of the ants, but I don't think I could set kill traps or put out poison for the cute, fuzzy, little mice. Got any suggestions or ideas? I'm all ears.

Unwieldy

The household illness continues unabated, I'm afraid. I went to Student Health this morning for a strep screen. After another horrible night's sleep, I was praying for it to be positive so that I could treat it already. No such "luck". Negative strep screen = suck it up and stick it out. But that's good for my chances of developing rheumatic heart disease and needing a new valve or of the Turnip suffering any ill effects of the medication. Instead, just misery. Hm. Thanks, modern medicine.

I came home and went back to sleep, just as soon as I convinced Patrick that he was too sick to work. He brought his computer home and went to bed. I parked myself over the air conditioning vent with a down comforter within arm's reach, since I have alternating chills and fever. Patrick woke up from his sleep a bit ago by coughing so hard the cat attacked him, perhaps thinking he'd been possessed by a ghost or something. Difficult to say with cats. The dogs don't know what to do and keep pacing back and forth between us, though for Sally this is difficult as she's terrified of the stairs during daylight hours (nuts, that one). So she paces between me and the stairs, while Myra goes all out and keeps popping up and down checking on everyone.

We're a fun household, let me tell you.

Meanwhile, I've been passing the time by utilizing this fabulous tool: Hulu. Free movies and TV shows all the time. Awesome. I was reminded of if by Michelle - thanks for helping me pass the time!

Freedom is Sweet

Today is awesome for several reasons. Let me form them in a list, as you know I like to do.

1. I slept until 10:30 this morning and only woke up because the Turnip started practicing triple axles in my belly. The things we do for our children, like get up before noon.

2. I have done NOTHING today. I ate Fruity Cheerios for breakfast, watched an episode of original Star Trek, ate lunch, caught up on my people (read blogs).

3. We're getting rid of a bunch of our college furniture to a co-worked of Patrick's. Goodbye, futon! Fare thee well, glass coffee table! Ciao, ratty old computer desk!

4. My best friend's sister had a baby this morning! So my friend is an aunt now and is going to be among the Best Aunts Ever.

5. We're off for a very fun weekend in a few hours. Tonight, hanging out with The Rendas and all the cuteness that comes with them, including a puppy play date. Tomorrow, we see my family. Tomorrow night, a wedding! Then staying with old friends. Sunday, Father's Day.

Sigh. Oh, vacation. I love you.

Puppy Consult

I don't have much to say today, and none of it is nice or pleasant or even entertaining, so allow me to direct you to our friends Kate, Andrew, and Sophie who just got a pair of puppies! Kate just posted pictures this morning (I have been begging... ) and I nearly wept for the cuteness.

There is nothing in the world happier than puppies, and I want you guys to be happy, so go check them out. I'll be here tearing at my hair and muttering to myself. Sanity expected to return to You'll Never Know Everything in approximately four days.

Blank Stare

I don't know if I've ever said this, much less if I've said it recently, but I love this blog and I love the people who read it. What started as an indulgence and means to remember things (as I have the worst memory on the planet) has morphed into an absolutely priceless medium for me to connect with other people. All kinds of people, too. Real doctors and future doctors, old friends and strangers. I try not to geek out too much about the blog in real life, but, honestly, it's one of my very favorite things in my day.

Which is why it is so frustrating to not have anything to say. I want so much to chronicle and communicate and reach out to others, but my life is so static at the moment, so mind-bogglingly dull that it is really difficult to find anything at all to talk about. I took a walk tonight with the pups hoping that that would inspire some, you know, THOUGHT, some sort of expression instead of cramming things into my head. Mostly I counted the cats we saw (five, two of which were black) and thought about how my dog always goes poo right at the start of the walk so that I have to carry it around in a baggie for two miles. That was all I could come up with. So sad.

I'm afraid this isn't going to improve in the next 8 days either. It'll be boardsboardsboards until the 11th around 4:30pm (not that I'm counting). I'm still going to try to post, as I really do love it so much, but I can't promise that anything will be entertaining or even coherent to read. Apologies in advance and thanks for sticking with me. Seriously, you guys rock.

Basic Instinct

This morning I had what I believe was my very first maternal instinct directed toward a human. (You know, I'm always maternal with the fur faces...) I was asleep in bed (really asleep) and Sally jumped up on top of me. Still in my slumbering state, I curled up into a ball to keep her from jumping onto my belly. The jumping onto the bed and being attacked by a dog tongue is not usually reason enough for me to wake up, but I sat up immediately when I realized that I had instinctively acted to protect the Turnip.

I have been a little worried about this. Protecting the dogs comes naturally, but when it comes to babies I tend to twiddle my thumbs and wait for someone else to deal with the problem. Even The Best Nephew Ever sometimes gets shafted because I just sort of stare at him while he turns blue and I patiently wait for him to deal with his little problem. (Not actually true - I usually scream hysterically and that gets Baby Mama's attention. I don't know that that's any better than just staring, though.)

Hopefully this recent development means that I will be a fit mother. Hopefully it does not mean that I will revert to the fetal position whenever a potential danger is afoot.