Random thoughts from an animal-loving French prof / mom of three on things she finds beautiful, funny, sad, or strange.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Sometimes, The Cat is Orange...

This post is the first of several that I will occasionally publish on the theme of "questions I probably shouldn't ask."

One group of such questions usually arises between three and five in the morning, those hours when you've been in bed long enough to be blissfully asleep, and when, if wakened, you are unlikely to get any more true rest before life hauls you onto your feet for another day.

Lately, this question has all too often been, "who puked?" Follow-up questions include "where?" "how much?" and "what came up?" I have a dog, three cats, and three kids. This means seven candidates for the "who" question, not counting myself- I'd like to think I'd know if I'd vomited! And don't get me started on the answers to the follow-up questions. Let's just say that living with three cats exponentially increases the possibility of hairballs, and that my habit of walking around barefoot almost always shows me the answer to "where."

A somewhat related question is, "who ate the tops off all the corn muffins?" Again, we have seven potential candidates, eight if I have started sleep-eating, which I would not rule out just now. After all, I am the only adult caring for three human children and four fur babies.  Anything is possible, including the loss what little was left of my mind! All I know at six a.m., not having slept soundly since four, is that I really wanted a corn muffin with my coffee and now, I'm not going to get one.

The final question of recent days is, "do we have to hunt the orange felt mouse now? Really?!" The answer is always, invariably, a resounding YES. After minutes, or maybe hours (who's counting?) of yowling, pouncing, and dashing madly about, he sits by the side of the bed, expectant and triumphant. The old catnip mouse has once more been vanquished and left lovingly at my feet. And yet again, of course, it is not yet five o'clock. In the morning. I pet my baby and tell him what a wonderful cat he is, whereupon he flops over and curls into my side, purring contentedly. An hour later, when I give up on sleep for good and start yet another bleary-eyed day, he has made a nest of the covers, where he will likely stay until some new adventure, usually involving his belly, calls.

Dear readers, meet Norbert, the answer to today's questions I probably shouldn't ask.

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