Catatouille

Should the boy ever become despondent or think he isn't a handsome little devil, I'll show him all of those nice comments you guys left in the post below. Thank you for sympathizing with me. He is getting his driving permit tomorrow. It's a really exciting time for him, and a scary one for me. I am so not ready for this stage of the game.

I know I said this isn't a pet blog and I would refrain from writing about the puppies unless they were to shit gold nuggets. Sadly, they aren't shitting gold nuggets... but this story was partially written before I made that promise to you guys. Plus, it's more about the cat than them damn dogs, anyhow.

Chip the wonder cat got a nasty case of the green-eyed monster and ran away… again. He hates Daisy and Darla. He caught me making a doggy bed for them. Knowing I’d never made a bed for him, might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.




He sat there, washing his face as I tried to finish the dog bed. It looks more like he is just covering his face, shameful of his trader mother who ran out and came home with two puppies.

I have the day and night shift with the puppies, and Mr. Lane has the early morning, since he is getting up and ready for work. What you are about to read is Mr. Lane’s fault. He let the dogs out at 3:30 a.m. and left the back door wide open. Chip saw opportunity knocking, and he answered the call for freedom from those mangy mutts.

I wouldn’t have been as pissed and upset as I was if Mr. LaMe had taken a minute to go looking for him. Instead, he called me around 9:00 a.m. and said, “Hey, I forgot to tell you, Chip got out this morning.”

“Oh man, we have to be more careful about letting the dogs out, huh?”

“Well not really… anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he took off.”

“So you didn’t get him back in?”

“No. I wasn’t going cat chasing. I had to get ready for work.”

“And you didn’t wake me because?”

“I knew you’d be pissed.”

“But I woke up and said goodbye to you! And you waited six fucking hours to tell me? You know how far he could be by now, don’t you?”

“I thought you were going back to bed when I left.”

“Like the dogs give me that luxury. Fuck! Even if I could have gone back to bed, I wouldn’t have, knowing he was missing. I’d have had my ass out there searching, and you fucking know it!”

He is a friggin’ bonehead. I can’t even express in words how mad I was at him. Three days of solid hate and discontent over my missing cat seems pretty harsh, I know, but I couldn’t help myself. It was cold and raining the whole time. We even got our first snowfall in that time. It’s something an indoor cat isn’t accustomed to, and being his mom, I could just picture him frozen and dead in a ditch somewhere. Everyday I’d spend a couple of hours scouring the neighborhood for him, calling his name and whistling for him, to no avail. If you know the whole Chip story, you may understand. If not, I come off as just another crazy cat lady with anger management issues. And that’s okay too.

In the TV room, the whole family, minus Chip, was watching Ratatouille. Patches, the evil cat from hell, sat up high on the back of the sofa watching the mutts from a safe distance, as they played tug-o-war over the blanket I was wrapped in on the floor. Lane 2 ran down stairs to get a drink and heard a cat crying. She opened the front door and Chip came running into the house.

He was covered in mud. She scooped him up in her arms. I heard her screaming, but it was a happy Lane 2 screech, which I’ve learned to tune out. She came bailing up the stairs yelling, “Mom!!” I finally looked in her general direction and couldn’t believe she had him in her arms. Beyond thrilled is a good description. Tears came fast as I was overwhelmed with relief and happiness, as that muddy little fucker jumped out of her arms and into mine. He purred his loudest purr. He rubbed his cold, wet, muddy head across my face and neck. I wish someone would have taken a picture for you to see me crying like an idiot covered in mud while squeezing and hugging Chip.

No matter how cute those two puppies are. No matter how many wagging tails come to greet me as I enter a room. No matter how many sloppy puppy kisses I am given. No matter how many times they bite each other and fight to be the one closest to me. I am, deep down inside, just a crazy cat lady.