July 29, 2010 § 3 Comments
I’ve got just over 6 weeks left of this pregnancy! My little girl dances away in my belly much of the day, reminding me how lucky I am to have her. I’m healthy, have put on a healthy amount of weight, feel quite comfortable most days and have a loving, supportive home to come to each evening. And I get foot rubs! Every night! Life is good.
I’ve not written in a awhile. I could say I’ve been really busy. Which I have been. I could say I’ve not had much free time. Which I haven’t. I could also say that I’ve had family visiting. Which I have had. But mostly, I’ve not written because the only thing I feel like writing about isn’t a very happy thing. Maybe getting it out will make me feel better. Here it goes.
I have two cats: Pauline and Feather. The former furry is a fiercely independent, wily girl with nerves of steel. Feather (shown here) on the other hand, is not as tough. Recently my step son was visiting from Toronto- yay! Which meant that we had a bunch more kids in the house than usual for him to play with- also yay! Unfortunately Feather didn’t fare so well and he took to hiding under the couch. I’m sure most cats hide under the furniture from time to time but seriously, Feather was under the couch for three weeks- except at night when the children were either gone or asleep. He was under there so much my Mom started putting his food and some water under there. I told her that if we continued down that road, we might as well just toss a small litter box under there and say our goodbyes.
Every afternoon when I came home from work I’d ask “Feather come out today?” The answer was always the same- “No”- but I kept asking anyways. My heart sank every time I heard about Feather’s choice to remain under the couch and for the first few days, I’d get my large pregnant self down on the floor to try to coax him out but it was all for not. He just looked at me with those wide, beautiful green eyes.
One evening, I came home after a long day at work and then a Meet the Doctor’s night at the hospital to meet the group of doctors our Doc is in a maternity group with. I was excited about all of the information I’d just absorbed and was absolutely exhausted at the same time. The moment we stepped out of the car, I smelled animal feces. I checked my shoes and the Hus checked his but we were clean. Funnily, my Hus with his super duper sniffing nose couldn’t smell anything. My olfactory sensation must have been foreshadowing for what was about to happen.
We came through the front door and I could smell it right away: cat poo. Feather, out of sheer fear, had lodged himself under the kitchen sink and Mom thought, had been there all day. He had pooed there as well and was sitting in it. Mom was trying to bleach everything around him as she couldn’t get him out and my stepson was looking on curiously (which only caused Feather to try to disappear into the cupboard more). Instinct made me pull him out and the smell made me throw him in the shower to get clean.
After his bath he was so exhausted from his ordeal that he did not retreat to beneath the couch but instead, passed out under the coffee table. I think he was just too tired to be afraid.
Now I must preface this next statement with an admission. I’m a crazy cat lady. Not the kind that lives by herself at age 75 with 13 cats but the kind that thinks of her cats like furry, disobedient babies. I do not take keeping cats (or any pets for that matter) lightly and I have spent many years up to now, absolutely abhorring people for giving away their animals when a new baby came along. And now I’m becoming the biggest hypocrite on Planet Earth. Yes, Rhiana A is a big fat (literally) hypocrite. We’ve decided to find Feather a new home.
The trauma he experienced by having the children in the house surely resulted in the bizarre kitchen cupboard fiasco. Once Jason left us to head back to Toronto, it took Feather a good week to relax back into our quiet kidless life. I realized, after he returned to his old self, how stressed I’d been by his hiding and skittishness. Every dart beneath a piece of furniture made me feel such guilt- guilt that I’d disturbed him, guilt that I’d adopted him from the shelter and brought him to this crazy house and most of all, guilt that I couldn’t help him to feel better.
I’ve come to realize that Feather is just not a cat that likes kids. The speed with which they move sets him off. Their high pitched squeals of glee send him over the edge. Just hearing them playing in the street outside our house puts him off his dinner. Given that the Hus and I have wanted to have a house full of kids for years now, this situation just does not seem a viable one for either Feather’s or my nerves.
About two weeks ago, I posted an ad in the local online classifieds with what I thought was a favourable write-up for the Feather boy. I included the picture I have pasted here to show people how beautiful he is. I pressed “Post Ad” and waited.
Before the week was out, I had some dozen inquiries. Most were not the right fit for Feather, I could tell right away. But then, a lovely single woman in her 60’s wrote a few days ago. Let’s call her P. P told me that she’d had two cats up until 2 and 4 years ago when they passed on and she’d loved them so much that she hadn’t been ready to adopt another cat until very recently. She wrote about how beautiful Feather was and about how much she hoped we would consider letting her meet him to see how they got on. She said that she had many couches and her bed upon which he could perch his gorgeous self and that she could offer him the peaceful, quiet life it seemed that he preferred.
We talked on the phone the other night and P and Feather have their first date on Monday afternoon. While it absolutely breaks my heart to think of him not being with us, I can’t help but wonder how much happier he would be with someone who doesn’t have loud little rugrats running amok and who lets him sleep on whatever piece of furniture his little heart desires (we’re a no-cats-0n-the-furniture type of house).
I’ll let everyone know how it goes. Perhaps someone out there has been in a similar situation? I could certainly use some support with this one. Thx everyone and nighty night to all the Mamas and the bellies and the babies out there. Peace out.
June 24, 2010 § 5 Comments
I work full-time. I’m growing a human being. For the most part, I’ve found doing these two very important things simultaneously to be manageable. I’ve been very lucky with this baby that (a.) I had very little morning sickness, (b.) I haven’t put on an obscene amount of weight which I can imagine would make life quite difficult and (c.) generally have had very little discomfort. That said, this past week I’ve had a visitor at night. They come just as I’m growing tired and am lying in bed preparing myself for sleep. The visitor’s name? Insomnia.
In the early hours of the morning as I trundle about the house alone, I’ve given this insomnia thing a great deal of thought. It must be prep for when the baby arrives, I tell myself. This must be happening to me so that I can prepare myself for the sleeplessness associated with a new baby and maybe I’ll be less exhausted once she comes because I’ve had this practice. Well, here’s the thing. I work full-time. At a job where scatterbrains aren’t popular and afternoon naps are discouraged. At the end of the day, I feel like a dish rag. I feel like one of those pieces of gum you see on the sidewalk that has been stepped on so many times that it that the only difference between it and the concrete is a shade of grey. I feel like a discarded newspaper page whipping around in the wind.
It is for these reasons that I am now heading to bed. Yes, it is five minutes after 8 (PM). Yes, the sun is still up. Yes, the only ones asleep right now are small children and seniors. Regardless I’ll be joining them very shortly and will probably be sound asleep and snoring like my Dad when the Hus comes to bed. Good thing we have a comfortable couch. G’nite to all the Mamas out there. And the bellies too.