Saturday, January 25, 2014

Where I tell you I locked my youngest in a room....

Have you ever had one of those parenting days?

Where patience has worn thin. Disobedience runs wild. You beg and plead and threaten and yell but your words seem to fall into oblivion. Where finally sheer exhaustion sends you and your sanity right off the cliff....

It was our first week back to school after Christmas break. We had just survived a two week planned vacation for the holidays. And we had also triumphed an additional week of snow days. A winter storm dropped eight plus inches of snow ushering in the polar vortex of January 2014. Temperatures dipped with wind chills at 40 below zero.

That extra week of break was wonderful. We played in the snow when it wasn't 'illegal' to go outside. We made snow ice cream. We crafted. We played games. We enjoyed our new toys from Christmas. And even those four days we couldn't leave the house, we fancied each others company.

That first Monday back, the six a.m. wake-up call was rough and the day ended in exhaustion. But the next day we were back in routine and all was good. All except for the youngest....

Now, I have three beautiful, smart, talented, mostly obedient children. And one Holy terror....

She looks innocent enough. But let me assure you: the devil wears fur.

Meet Callie. My youngest. Five months old.

When my niece, who works at a veterinarians office, told me of a sweet, cute little kitten who had been abandoned, I had this moment of insanity and said we wanted a cat. We'll take her.

Can I tell you how much I'm a dog person?

We had cats growing up. Outside. Where they belong.

And they were the most spoiled, well-cared for outside cats of the neighborhood. My Dad would be the one to give the new 'stray' some milk and food, pull out the make-shift cat house with a warm blanket and we would all of a sudden have a new fluffy.

But they were never allowed indoors. In fact, it wasn't until I got married and my husband wanted a cat that I even thought of allowing a cat into my home.

I tolerated that cat.

For one, the litter box is disgusting. With an outdoor cat you never even see a litter box or its contents.

For another, I don't enjoy sitting at my dinner table, eating a meal to see a cat fur float through the air.

And finally, the sheer attitude a cat posses is enough to heighten my dislike to an unimaginable level.

So we got a cat.

What was I thinking?! Mostly I ignore her except to feed her and clean her littler box.

And she loves me. Did I mention that? As soon as the kids go to bed, she is by my side. She follows me everywhere. She lies in my lap. She rubs my legs.


And then....ever so covertly..... she tries to kill me.

She attacks my feet as I walk. She knocks over milk cups on the table. She knocked over a Christmas tree. She digs in my flowers.

She has sonic ears for the Wii and runs from where ever she is in the house to chase the Wii hand blocking my view of the T.V.

She disturbs my sleep. She gallops through the hall. She attacks the hanging necklaces in my bedroom. She attacks my feet under the covers.

She tears through the living room up and over the couch and slams into the window sill.

She walks through my living room with a stuffed animal in her mouth.

And she meows as if to say: Do my bidding slave...

I squirt water at her. I yell. I chase her and she doesn't care. She flops on her side and stares at me like I've invaded her home.

And the day after the kids went back to school she did all of this plus more in about two hours. And as my patience wore thin and I came to the end of my wits, I locked her in the laundry room.

I honestly think she was running through the house in pure joy screaming, "I'm free! I'm free! Free from this!"

And really, who can blame her?

So yes. I locked my youngest in a room. A time out really.

A time out to further plot my demise.

*No cats were harmed in the writing of this blog post.

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