Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Life Around Here

Dear Tweet,
It's been quite a week for both you and I.

I don't include your father in that statement on purpose... because, quite frankly, since I was 1 minute pregnant, every week has been "quite a week" for him. In the last 30 weeks or so, he has become the Get Up And Get It, Guy... the Get Up And Fix It, Guy... The Get Up And Rub My Feet, Guy... The Get Up And Put New Flooring In, Guy and The Get Up And Clean Out The Litterbox Guy. Last night, in fact, before he was the Get Up And Sleepwalk, Guy, he was the Why Don't You Get Up And Put That Book Away Guy... and when he did, he immediately became the HEY! Why Aren't You Rubbing My Belly?, Guy.

Yep. It's pretty much a lose-lose situation for your poor dad. But, we finally have an explanation as to why your mother has gained, I dunno... 500 pounds? And yes, I will blame your father for the weight gain as he has been excitedly telling me whenever he LOSES a pound. Which makes him THAT Guy.

And, then I have to go to my happy place (you know, the one where the walls are made of cream cheese frosting and the furniture is rocky road ice cream?) and remember that at least one of us has to preserve the athletic skill that was once the Jaynee & Benny show. For posterity. Which is why to even things out, I've insisted he grow a beard.

So, you see... to include him would be a bit redundant.

Yes... it's been quite a week. You are kicking around in there.... almost to the point of annoyance. And who would ever have thought I would say THAT? But, c'mon! I can't be working with all that tumbling going on in there. It's distracting! Why? Because I keep staring at my belly waiting to see it jump. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW MUCH OCD I HAVE. Aren't you the lucky one!

The good news is that you now have very definite awake and sleep patterns. The bad news is that your sleep patterns are always at night. Which is, actually, good news as we hope that you carry that over into your air-breathing days... but your daddy doesn't get to feel you kick much anymore. And that's a huge bummer for him. Perhaps I'll wake him up a 3 a.m. so that he can feel you working on your balance beam routine and he won't feel so bad, huh?

Anyhoo... Every once in a while during this pregnancy, I get a random bee in my bonnet about something or other. This week, it happened to be the fact that the cat needed to be shaved.

The cat has been vomitting more than usual (as if there were actually a way of knowing how much is unusual, HA!) and I thought perhaps it was due to hairballs. Because, let me tell you one thing about Nytro that I DO NOT MISS since making her an outdoor cat... well, one of many things: That cat sheds like no other. We actually had a policy at one point that the cat was not to be pet under any circumstances. Not that it helped because every time she blinked or twitched her tail... POOF! Hair in my Cheerios.

Nytro, the cat whom I hope you will someday remember fondly as being your very first cat - which gives your father nightmares, because "very first" means that there is a very second and possibly a very third cat in our future and that, my dear girl will be why your dad loses all his hair - needed to be shaved about a month ago. But I distinctly remember thinking: Why bother when I could just lay down and take a nap instead?

So... she ended up with some nasty mats in her fur because she's become too fat to reach certain areas. And although she's been shaved before and has LURVED it, she's never been shaved whilst being an outdoor-only cat. (Or as your father prefers: That Damn Beast.)

Let's just say that the whole experience this time probably could have gone worse... but I'm not sure how. All I know is that Nytro has been awfully lethargic since coming back. And although she looks fabulous, I can't help but feel that she's depressed.

My cat.


WOW. I may need a life.

I really thought that I was doing what was best for the poor beast... I really did. And I think that once she gets over her PTSD, she'll be okay. I hope she'll be okay. Because I can't live with a cat that goes from this:

A cat that is constantly causing trouble with the neighbor (The Burbs-style) because she refuses to use the litterbox unless it's raining outside and much prefer's Mikes front lawn... but you can't really get mad at her because, really.... HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A MORE BEAUTIFUL BEAST? I mean besides me at 30 weeks... HAVE YOU EVER???

To this:

Cue the music to Cymbalta.

If depression had a face... THIS. WOULD. BE. IT. Someone needs to tell her that depression doesn't just hurt you... it hurts your owner that kicked you out of the house and gave you a bad haircut. And get over it already... at least you get to eat the exact same breakfast and dinner 365 days a year.

And if that isn't reason enough to get your act together, I don't know what is.

She looks like she lost her best fur coat (actually, she did) and I haven't been able to get much more than a headlift and a sigh from her for the past two days. For the love of PETE, the girl isn't eating. We are very near Code Red with her.

It doesn't help that the night-time temps around here get down to (gasp!) 66 degrees at night and since she lost her fur coat, she had to finally use the cheap cat house I got for her months ago but was convinced she would never fit in. Turns out, Miss Fatty isn't so much fat as she is furry and I found her curled up in the house this morning. Just needed to take a couple pounds of hair off of her and she fit just fine. Who. Knew?

Meanwhile, Bailey continues to beg me to play fetch with her and can't quite understand that the reason I don't is because SHE ATE THE BALL. But that doesn't matter, really, because... wait! Are you going inside? Can I come? Can I come? CAN I COME?? Inside is my favorite ever! I'm pretty sure I heard you drop a black bean on the floor by the table 32 minutes ago! Woo-hoo!!!! That bean is MINE! SOOOOOO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!

And then we go inside and if I accidentally mention the word 'outside'... it's game on. Can I go? Can I go? Can I go? CAN I GO??? Outside is my favorite ever! I think there's a ball out there somewhere! And the squirrel!!!! And, and, AND..... CRABGRASS!!!!! SOOOO EXCITED.

Yes, Tweet. This is the world into which you are being born. A cat with PTSD, and a dog that will love you even if you come out... as a cat. Just as long as you play fetch with her.

And two very excited parents still have NO IDEA what we're in for... and we couldn't be more thrilled.

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