Welcome to my world!

My life's been crazy since my Daddy moved in with me immediately after my mother's death in October 2010. My one and only kiddo headed to college at Carolina at the end of August. So...I lived on my own, for the first time in my life, for a total of a blissful six weeks. Then, I started the parenting gig with my dad. He's a combination of a grouchy old man, a surly teenager and a temperamental toddler. Needless to say, I get very close to the brink of insanity sometimes. I get through life by finding the humor in difficult circumstances. And for some reason, I wind up in the weirdest situations. I couldn't make this stuff up. So I wind up having lots and lots crazy adventures which make great stories to share with my friends. Writing about my life is so therapeutic. My ramblings range from funny to sad to angry (full of cuss words) to sweet. While my focus is dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a parent to my Daddy, I have lots of random, totally unrelated posts. Whatever's on my mind. I love to make people laugh, and I'm happy to think my readers will get my strange sense of humor. And maybe, people who are in my situation will be encouraged. That's all I can hope for...

Thursday, July 21, 2011

That Damn Cat

Her bulimia has been raging. When I was out of town, I moved her food and water bowls to the kitchen so someone else would feed her. Before that, they were in the bathroom in my Enchanted Aerie, so I never forgot.

Soooo, now I don't always notice them first thing in the morning. Sometimes the food bowl even gets close to empty. The cat likes her bowl filled to the rim and if you can see the bottom, she gets worried. All I can figure, as far as the sudden bulimic bout, is that she gorges herself when her nearly empty food bowl is refilled. Maybe she went hungry before The Fire. She'd been burned when she was a kitten, and we got her at the Humane Society. The Daddler used to call her Short Ear, because the tip of one of her ears is missing. Also, the wet-behind-the-ears vets we always see (Cloverleaf Animal Clinic must be some sort of teaching hospital), always tell me she has some unidentified skin condition on her side. Don't the dummies know scar tissue when they see it? Oh, well.

The latest annoyance is BC's newfound talent at breaking and entering. She insists on sleeping in my bed. It doesn't help that I'm allergic to her. She takes perverse pleasure in parking herself six inches from my face. It also doesn't help that I don't get the best sleep in the world these days. So when she's walking around my head during the night, trying to get to the water glass on my nightstand, it's not a good thing.

I know what you're thinking. Lock the bedroom door. Slight problem there. It doesn't lock. It doesn't even catch. It won't even stay closed. The doorknob's fucked up somehow. It probably doesn't line up with the hole in the doorframe. So I close it and make a doorstop from the cute little, heavy, statue of two little girls (sisters or best friends, I suppose) holding hands on a bench. It was a gift a long time ago. It's pretty much done the trick.

The night before last, however, the cat defeated it. I heard her butting her head against the door during the night. Like a battering ram. She got the door open enough to squeeze through (not much for a cat), and made her triumphant entry.

So last night, I shoved a heavy box in front of the door. When I moved it to go brush my teeth, she was waiting. I stomped my foot and told her to scram and she took off running down the stairs. Unfortunately, it's impossible to close the door behind me. I went back to my room with my clean face and teeth and returned the heavy box to its place against the door. Got settled in bed. And there she was. Skulking around my room. So I got up to grab her and she ran under the bed. It's too big for me to reach the middle and too low for my head to fit under. I couldn't find anything long enough to prod her out with. And then I remembered how much she hates aerosol spray bottles. So I found some Glade in the bathroom and sprayed it under the bed and she shot out of the Enchanted Aerie in a flash.

What a relief. I put the box in place and happily drifted right to sleep.

Then, at some ungodly hour, I hear it. The little, furry battering ram. Over and over and over. And sure enough, the door starts to open a little. I got up and pushed the box back against the door, closer to the end that opens (some shred of logic told me that would provide more leverage), hissed a few choice curses at her, and returned to bed. A few more head-bumps ensued, and then she gave up.

Flash forward a couple hours. It starts again. This time she succeeds. And here she is. Right beside me. Occasionally licking my elbow with her sandpaper tongue. The same tongue she uses to lick her anus.

So I suppose I'll get up now. I'm so utterly and completely exhausted. Maybe coffee will help. The stupid cat squeezed back out my door, so I'm sure she's sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to fill her bowl, with a plaintive look. And instead of drop-kicking her over the fence and into the field next door, I'll fill her stupid bowl, and get on with my day...

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