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Not One of My Better Days

We all have had a day or maybe even two where we want to crawl up into a ball and hibernate for a weekend in bed.

Today would be that kind of day for moi.

Our son had a rough time sleeping last night so the hubby and I are operating at 55% at best.  The child, who had a pretty good morning, but was somewhat testy and emotional, is now napping. Praise the Baby Jesus. Oh and FYI - Toddler emotional upheavals are on par with PMS. Good times. Well, not for my husband.

Our two pets are special needs and geriatric. That means, my insane cat, who is 17 and ill, does nothing but "meow" incessantly for food. Even after she inhaled the spoonful of wet food already eaten. Once she does chow down, she will, at times, proceed to throw it up or shit it out someplace other than the litter box. This then makes our second floor smell like a rotting morgue. After today's vomit moment, I have opened the windows, thank God it is in the high 40's, and I have burned incense. If I knew what to burn for what god that helps prevent the spewing of kitty insides, I would light it like a bonfire.

The dog, who cannot walk unless she is in her wheels, will whine to notify us what need has to be met. She wants water or she wants to be near you, then she wants to be away. She wants bread, she wants your socks. We don't get the sock thing, but hey, it makes her happy. Right now she wants to eat because she went outside and that means dinner time in her small Jack Russell head. That's right. The whining is happening even as I type. Dogs have no concept of time and I would like God to alter that mistake in design.

With my household somewhat "settled", this is the one moment I have to write and while the blog is fun and easy, the opportunity to work on the novel becomes hindered by the craziness of my elderly animals. This is also why I have no chickens are any other livestock that would demand my attention. I believe that at some point, I would be out there with gin and tonic in a bottle, trying to corral these creatures with a shotgun. Old hens would be running for cover as I barrel out of the house wearing some floppy, too big hat with a deranged expression. I am sure if I wasn't trying to write a novel it wouldn't seem so bad. But I am, so it is.

Yeah, yeah, others have it harder. That does not mean the rest of us can't vent about our shitty day. All I know is, I have told my animals to shut up so much today, I am surprised my son has not begun to utter the phrase. Best part is I am not even yelling the words. It comes out sort of short and ragged. Like I have climbed Mount Fuji and have no breath left. A clear indication that Mama is worn down by their needs. I wish they could feed themselves the little fur bastards. Who am I kidding? I wish they could do laundry. They will be sorely missed when they do pass on, but right now, I wish I could put them in pet day care.

And on that note, I am going to feed my dog, maybe feed the cat again and get myself a bowl of Panda Puffs.



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