Yeah. We like cats a little too much around here.

You know how when you hear someone is expecting a baby, you feel compelled to share all your wisdom with them? Even if you haven’t actually had any babies? Uh, yeah. Most of us do it. Except the dog and cat people out there, who skip the advice and just chime in, I love my cats/dogs, they’re so much easier than babies.

No, they’re not.

For instance, our creaky, kind of kooky 15-year-old boy cat, Wacky Cat 2, (you may remember him from such blog posts as this one, or or this) decided to stay out all night last night and stressed Steve and me the hell out. “Stressed me the hell out” is a phrase I use way more often when talking about the cats than when I am discussing the kids, fyi. I went out on the back porch and called for him, and miaoooow!! There he was. Steve: “He never comes when I call him. I can’t believe all you have to do is call, Here, kitty, kitty, and he trots right up.” Me: “Yeah, after 2 1/2 hours!” Seriously. I was all, Woog! Woogie! Boogie! Here, kitty, kitty! starting at 6 a.m. Our poor neighbors. Miaooooow!! And he won’t tell us where he was. It’s maddening, really.

Next: Kids generally tell you before they throw up. Once they’re verbal, that is. Before that, all bets are off. You will not get that kind of notification from a pet.

My friends, a couple I’ve known since college, who are just adorable and yummy and live in the Bay area with their exciting life, have surprised us all by announcing they’re having a baby girl in a few weeks. I should have known, because they bought a house, and then they got a dog. Breeders. (Kidding. Congrats to the three of you, and blessings. You will both be great parents.)

They even posted pix of preggo mama on Facebook to prove it to us. Wow! Pretty woman. Love her. I promptly sent them a list of the top 5 items they shouldn’t forget to pack in the bag for the hospital (nail clippers for the baby, because the hospitals tell you because of “health codes” or something they won’t/can’t do it; sleeping/nursing bra, without underwire; the baby book, so they can put the footprints in that when they do the state birth certificate; a couple of sizes of clothes for baby; a couple of sizes of clothes for mom) (oh, and I told the dadd-o, for god’s sake don’t eat pizza or a peanut butter sandwich when she’s in labor. Just sayin’…), They promptly sent me back a note that said what they really need is 4 or 5 binders to gather up all the “helpful advice” they’re getting from everyone. My response to that was, Yeah, we’re all obnoxious, sorry. PS it usually takes about 3 weeks to get the hang of breastfeeding; it’s not exactly the most natural thing in the world.

Next time I hear a close friend is having a wee bebe, I’m going to keep my mouth shut. Because why shouldn’t they re-invent the wheel? We all want to. (Except me. I figure, that wheel looks good enough, I’ll use it.) Seriously, I like checking in with other parents, grandparents, nannies, bartenders… whoever… about child-rearing. I didn’t realize my first baby was teething until a mother of triplets pointed it out to me. (See: drool. See: cranky face. See: gnawing on hand.) I didn’t think babies started teething until… later. What the hell did I know? I was also surprised that she started scooting at 4 months and crawling at 6. Both of mine walked on their first birthdays, which was kind of hilarious. “Developmentally, you’re right on track!” were the first words out of my mouth. Kidding.

A friend’s husband also told me, worried, Well, be sure you don’t leave her on the table. (Cuz he did, and his girl went boom on her head.) Just… damn. Don’t leave them on the bed/couch/table/changing table/anywhere high up, unattended.

Some of them start rolling and flipping over from birth, it seems like. (It was three months and younger for our 2.)

“It’s just a matter of time before they’re locking you out of the house.” — my great-uncle to my great-aunt, when her kids were toddlers.

Truer words were never spoken. To wit: The time my kids locked me out. And the other time. And that one time when… Then there was the incident wherein my son smashed his Thomas the Tank Engine bang into my nose, stating calmly, after the fact: “Train coming.”

“It’s like those books, ‘You Never Know What to Expect…'” — my girlfriend Zip, when I was asking her for more advice. “That’s not even what they’re called! They’re called, ‘What to Expect…'” Her response: “Well, they should call it what I said, instead, it’s better.”

What is it, this desire to “share”? I think we all struggle with parenthood, especially that first year. Especially those first few months. Especially those first few weeks/days/hours/minutes. We want to make it easier for others than it was for us, maybe. Some people (Steve) take to it like a duck to water. Others (me) have to have the obvious pointed out to us. Some advice, however, is messed up.

* My granny, calling every few days while I was pregnant with Wacky Girl. She’d yell, Spina bifida, spina bifida! at me, then hang up. She was making me cry. So I finally said, Granny, I took my folic acid… I’m still taking it… My baby is not going to have spina bifida! “Oh, OK.” (click.) That was my granny, God rest her soul.

* The cow I worked with at Fred Meyer, who told me I really should have another baby right away (our daughter was 1 at the time) because what if something happened… And then she went off on it. Made me cry, just like my granny. I was hormonal at the time, due to the fact that I was already knocked up again and didn’t realize. Sheesh. One child can never replace another child, just fyi, cow-lady.

* You know what I told my friends who are soon-to-be parents? That I used to know so much about parenting. But what I know now, you could stick on the head of a pin and still have room left over for the Pledge of Allegiance.

* The only real advice you’ll need is what our ultrasound tech told us, excited, at the same time she was flipping out about my advanced maternal age 1) “Oh! My kid is 3. I’ll tell you everything I know about parenthood. It’s not the terrible 2’s, it’s the terrible 3’s. 2) Do you want to wear the green shirt? Or the blue one? 3) Do you want the yellow sippy cup? Or the red one? 4) After the baby comes, your dog… is just a dog.”

OK, I’ll add one more, cuz I can’t resist. If you want to make a baby or a little kid laugh, put something… anything… on your head and say, “Look! It’s a hat!”

The end.

“Don’t be yourself. Be someone a little nicer.” — Mignon McLaughlin, journalist and author (1913-1983)

Wacky Cat I, who refuses all vet appointments and medications:

(Photo by Steve Rawley)

who wrote this? not I. funny, funny. our boy is good and sucks down his pain meds. this is rare, for a feline. happy Friday!

How To Give A Cat A Pill

1. Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.

4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.

6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth Drop pill down ruler and rub cat’s throat vigorously.

7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.

8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse’s forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10. Retrieve cat from neighbor’s shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door on to neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw Tee shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

12. Call fire department to retrieve the damn cat from across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.

13. Tie the little bastard’s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.

14. Consume remainder of scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15. Arrange for SPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

How To Give A Dog A Pill

1. Wrap it in bacon.

2. Toss it in the air.

(Photo by Steve Rawley.)

Misc. everything, by me, Wacky Mommy:

1) No one told me Will Smith and Jada Pinkett (soon to be not) Smith were divorcing. Explain yourselves, prettiest couple in the world next to President and Mrs. Obama.

2) Is it really necessary to make one movie, much less two, about the poor, sweet, late Linda Lovelace? Do all oppressed women everywhere a favor and skip the soon-to-be-released movies. Skip Deep Throat, too, if anyone happens to suggest that you view it together, for a little “fun.” Go read her autobiography/biography by Mike McGrady instead. Seriously. She was one of my heroes growing up, because she lived through her past. Rest in peace, hon.

3) The wild tom, Baby, is back at the vet. There goes another several hundred dollars that I don’t have. Love you, fluffy boy. Please stay healthy.

4) Tired today. Gardened and planted all weekend. It’s looking nice out there… Maybe Stevie will take some pictures this week for me to post.

5) My kid is getting some dental work done soon. Not so much fun. Send some good thoughts his way, would ya? Thanks.

6) Off to read now, and possibly write. No word from the vet about when Baby gets to come home. Soon, we hope. Well, our grouchy old-lady cat is glad he’s gone, but the other cat and I miss him.

7) I was thinking about this Goldschmidt situation a little more. How I feel about this can be best explained by Andrew McCarthy, telling off James Spader’s douchebag character, Stef, at the end of “Pretty in Pink.” (Somehow I never saw the movie — watched it with my daughter this weekend. It’s awfully good.) The douchebag has convinced his BFF, Blaine (played by McCarthy) that Molly Ringwald’s character is a poor, ugly, worthless slut, and that he shouldn’t date her. And like the big idiot that he is, Blaine listens to him. Then he wises up.

Blaine, to Stef: “You couldn’t buy her, though, that’s what’s killing you, isn’t it? Stef? That’s it, Stef. She thinks you’re shit. And deep down, you know she’s right.”

That’s what I’m saying. That’s what we all want, am I right here? For people to not think that we’re pieces of shit. For Goldschmidt, he can atone forever, but there is no hope for him. He is upset because he knows that Steve and I can’t stand him, and are calling him out for the child rapist asshole from hell that he is. So he needs to go climb back under his rock and stop re-traumatizing the rest of us by trying to crawl out again. Give up, already. Done.

For the rest of us? We all need to be a little more like Duckie, and a little less like James Spader. Or Charlie Sheen, as the case may be.

8) Just heard from the vet: The cat has cystitis. They’ll shoot him up with antibiotics and send him home with pain meds. Three hundred dollars, please. (Edited to say: Total was $353.13, and that included pain meds for him only, not me.)

all for now,

yours, as always,

wm

I am grateful that my hissy, bitey tomcat, Baby, seems to be recuperating from the icky head wound he wound up with (wound/wound, get it?) after yet another CAT FIGHT. God he was sick.

the vet’s office called today to check on him. “How is that big, handsome boy, Baby?” me: “He’s high as a kite on the pain meds you gave him.” office lady: “Isn’t it lovely? Enjoy it!”

oh my wacky cat, I love him so. he gets to live in our room for two weeks. he is wearing one of those crazy cones around his neck.

and while i am not grateful that Panda, our one remaining hamster, died last night… I am grateful that she wasn’t in pain and miserable, in the weeks leading up to her demise.

damn pets.

— wm

(that should be under the “pets, smart” category.)

QOTD from rapper Ice-T: “‘My idea of a vacation does not include screaming kids, spilt drinks and wrestling a wet bulldog into a life jacket.”

#stilllivingvicariouslythruvacationsofothers.

When I say, Everyone and his dog is going on vacation, but we’re staying home, well. It’s true!

hahahaha.

— wm

Why do I love this dang dog so much? I’ve probably watched this video twenty times. I’m worse than the kids.

arggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!

from my son:

“Did you ever go a-fishin’ on a sunny, sunny day/
sit on the bank/
’til the bank give away/
with your hands in your pockets/
and your pockets in your pants/
sit on the bank/
and do a hootchie-kootchie dance…”

(psst — wanna see a picture of our grumpy cat?)