A Special Place in Hell

There is a special place in hell for people like me. I know that there is. What kind of person is that, you ask? The kind that hates puppies and kittens.

Yes, you heard me right. Go ahead and lecture me about the insanity of it. Please send me your lolcat links and tell me what I'm missing out on. Sure, sure, I'll look at your pictures and listen to your stories and say, "Awww. How cute!" And then I'll walk away thinking about how lucky I am not to have any of those monsters in my house.

Here's the thing. I love dogs and cats. LOVE them. I don't feel complete without pets in the house. It's a thing with me. But I only love them fully grown.

You see, for every ounce of "cute" a puppy or kitten may contain, there are two ounces of "untrained" and six ounces of "troublemaker." And honestly, do we need that much cute? At such a high trouble cost? I think not.

I crochet. Which, ask any crocheter or knitter, means that I collect yarn. I have random balls of yarn all over the freakin' house. Now, while an adult cat will only get into your yarn when she is mad at you, kittens... Well, kittens are kittens. Which is like saying boys will be boys and should be taken to mean that you are supposed to think that they are the most pwecwous wittle things even when they are destroying a year's worth of yarn scraps. Making them all cat-hairy.

I am telling you all this, because I am living in a land of horror today.

Remember when I told you about my small little cat-heat-unspayed problem? Well, I still haven't gotten it fixed. (Pun intended.) I mean, there were holidays and shopping and money issues, and really, she hasn't been all that annoying. In the grand scheme of annoying heat cats, Penny is at the bottom. The bottomy bottom. The rock bottom. She is pretty innocuous, really. So, we thought we could wait until January. Just a month, right. We can keep her out of trouble for a month, right? Right?

Probably not.

This morning, I said, "Move out, Girls," just like I do every morning. Every morning, I end up begging them to leave while I carry/hold hands/haul stuff to the car. This morning, they moved out. Quickly. Before I was ready. Brynna opened the door and walked out and then held the door open while Maren toddled behind.

I know you saw the fatal flaw in that last sentence. Held the door. Out ran the cat and since I had my hands full of other crap, I impulsively yelled, "Brynna! Grab Penny." I tossed everything in my purse, grabbed the lunch plate, remembered the 15 foot drop off the back of the deck and the now-unattended one year old out there, and ran for the door.

Then I decided that the best policy would be to load the car, strap down the children and then hunt for the cat.

I found her. In the darkest, farthest, smallest corner of the area under the deck. I couldn't get to it with liposuction and a million dollars hanging like a carrot. So, I cajoled. I called. I begged. I bribed with food. And finally, I left. It's going to be a fairly warm day. She's obviously discovered a safe place under the deck. It rained yesterday, so she shouldn't die of thirst. All in all, my cat should be safe for the day.

Except for her, well, let's say her decorum.

So, despite my extreme hatred for kittens, I will probably have some in (according to Google) 60-67 days. Oh, and the good news is that Himalayans mature slower than normal, so I'll have to keep them for 16 weeks after they are born. 16 WEEKS! Oh, and on average Himalayas have big litters. So, there, Jessi's sanity. I hope you weren't planning on staying.