Callie the Cat
The day started out as any other day….and if that were the case, I would have had a coffee before 9am. As it was, I woke up blissfully late, for me. Startled, I took a second look in my bedroom mirror and pretty much scared myself back into bed. If there were a bed head contest, I would have been in the finals. I went out to see why it was so quiet, only to see who the true finalist of that bed head contest would have been. It looked like an ’80’s movement had gone terribly wrong on my youngest darling’s head. When I asked what had happened she smirked up at me and said “Honey”. Enough said. She got the prize.
After my coffee was sufficiently guzzled, I took myself down to the shower to see if I could make some sense of the freakiness I had embraced at some point during the night. As I dried myself off, I wondered why it smelled so much like coconuts after stepping out of the shower. I puzzled about why my hair felt so smooth but wandered through toys, blankets and children to find my way to the hair dryer. When I commenced attempting to dry my silky tendrils, it dawned on me that I had probably not washed the conditioner out of my hair, making it highly impossible to make any sort of headway with the process of hair doing. I tipped my middle-aged self into the tub to rinse my head off only to have a child open the bathroom door to frantically say something to me that still doesn’t make sense. I dripped my way to the door to deal with the mysterious problem but before I had a chance to turn on the dryer again, another crisis arose which had my towelled head leaning out the back door yelling at a child or two.
I had the chance to take a couple of breaths when I heard tentative knocks at my door. Oh good, someone from the church gets to see me with the terry-cloth fashion statement on my tresses, I thought to myself, so I sent one of my girls. She told them “You have to work!” If you know my youngest you know that she can sound like she’s yelling when she’s really not. It wasn’t someone from the church but two adorable girlies from the neighborhood. They took off down the street, probably mystefied at what my daughter had said. I ran after them to explain it wasn’t how it sounded. Cautiously, they came back to “help” out with the recycling and brought another neighbor with them. Our “rule” is that if friends show up when it’s time for you to do a job then they can either join with the work or go home.
I needed more coffee.
The Reverend “paid” all of them with ice-cream cones at noon. There went lunch…or so I hoped. After a while, I sent all the little girls, with adorable eyes, home so that we could have lunch and restart our chores. I should have let them stay…
I was being incredibly productive, for me, with cleaning out my cupboards, when one of the kids let the cat in from the rain-soaked outdoors. With a shriek, my oldest yelled “She has a mouse!!!” at which I scrambled from my precarious position in the inner recesses of my kitchen. I ran after the cat, which only made her run for cover down the stairs. She had the biggest mouse I’ve ever seen. I shouted “Close the doors! Don’t let her in the closets! Shut the DOORS!!!!!” My oldest, J-man, echoed the concept with “We’re in LOCK-DOWN!” The three other children ran around closing doors confused as they could be, when my oldest, giddy with excitement laughed “the cat has a mouse, the cat has a mouse, it’s in the house!!” He might as well have added a “Yippee! This is so exciting” to it.
I fretted and wondered what to do as I externally kept a calm facade. I told the kids to just let her be and we would wait until she went upstairs to kick, I mean, put her out the door. In the meantime, J-man went down to see what she was doing. I may have screeched “Go, look what she’s doing so I know where she is!” He came up a few minutes later and told me “She flung the mouse up at my head and hit me with it!” Trying not to wretch, I told him that she did that because she was trying to impress him. It’s a cats way of saying “HEY Look what I did!” He went back down to watch. Apparently, she tossed the mouse in the air for a few minutes. Suddenly he shouted “She’s coming up.” I flew to the door, trying not to look like the crazy cat-hater and opened it for her. She backed away from me then ran out the door with the mouse firmly attached to her teeth. Whew! I breathed with relief and told J-man to vacuum. After doing his job, he came up to tell me “Mom, there was mouse hair everywhere…and I should probably wash my hands.” I said “Did you TOUCH it?” He nodded and said “Yup!” Big smile. Blech! Ick! Nasty, Blerg!
Hearing the familiar scratching at the door, I looked outside to see kitty with the mouse in her mouth, waiting outside for some unwitting sucker to open it. I am not that messed in the head, Cat. I slapped at the window on the door and said “NO!” She took her mouse and slunked away.
A few minutes later the same nails-on-chalkboard scratch filled the air. I yelled at everyone “Don’t let her in, she just wants to barf that mouse on our rug to show off.”
See? I have learned a few things over the years. You can thank me that I forgot to take pictures.
The parts of the day that aren’t funny include a massive meltdown or three. One of them may have been mine. Close to the end of the day, a certain Mother ended up rending her clothes (not really but it sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?) and crying in a corner. There may have been five sets of wide, blinking eyes fixed on the blubbering mom, all wondering what exactly caused this gnashing of teeth.
Good news, the crying was a pressure release and all is happy in our world again. Except the cat, who keeps wanting to go back outside.
Later that night…The front door of our house leads directly into our white carpeted livingroom. Trust me, I didn’t pick the carpet, it came with the house. We never use that door unless we have to. Apparently the cat thought she had come into a reason to open it herself. She launched herself at the doorknob but was unsuccessful in opening it with her cat hands. At the sound of her wild screech we looked over to see what was happening. She was hanging by a claw because one of her nails slipped into a groove and left her hanging there. My disdain for cats quickly disappeared with a surge of compassion for a girl in need. Gingerly I lifted her body, hoping she wouldn’t scratch my eyes out with the other paw, and loosened her nail from the groove. Without so much as a thank-you she jumped to the sofa and lay down.