weird thoughts and more fun with cats

Ay yi yi. I am up at 4 a.m. because the phlegm won't let me sleep. I suppose it is only fair that I should be catching a cold from Erik, since he caught the one I brought home from Washington a few weeks earlier. It is nice, I must say, that I already have some cough drops on hand. Unfortunately, I am finding that tea is a better at doing battle with this particular tickle at the back of my throat and thus I must be upright, despite my desire to be dozing.

I have been meaning to blog anyway and I still have a number of essays and administrative tasks on my plate, so a little lost sleep isn't the worst thing. This irresistible urge to cough, on the other hand, that I could live without. I guess I should be grateful that at least I am not at work, like my poor beloved hubby. He looked like total crap when he left and will likely call out sick tomorrow. At least he looked like total crap with super cute green eyeballs and sexy long eyelashes and crazy big curly '70's hair.

Anyway, so I was already meaning to share a few delightful tidbits about little G's budding sense of humor, but I'll start with the freshest example first. This gem occurred March 1st, while she was chilling with the grandparents after an overnight visit. Because I am lazy, I will just cut and paste from the gmail chat where I first heard of it:

3:48 PM Kevin: grace said the funniest thing yesterday

me: oh yeah?

Kevin: she was eating waffles and she said

i'm thinking about weird things

3:49 PM we asked her what kind of things

she said

i was thinking that jenni was peeing in the house

me: what?!

that is indeed very weird

did you probe further?

3:50 PM Kevin: no

mom said, 'that is weird'

me: it is my own fault

for all my toilet humor

3:51 PM i wonder if Grace will remember if I ask her about it

Kevin: i dunno

she also said 'starfish'

3:52 PM apropos of nothing

me: oh my goodness

what was in those waffles?

So of course I immediately called my sis to get more information on these "weird" thoughts. Grace did, indeed, recall her comment and provided a perfectly good explanation. Apparently she had been dreaming about me the night before. In this dream I was in a park, peeing in public, and I had drawn quite a crowd. The crowd was gathered around saying, "Yuck!" and "Gross!" Grace soon came up and also said, "Yuck! Gross! I would never do that!" And thus, the weird thoughts were born.

Sis, being the good parent that she is, told Grace that she may very well someday pee in public because sometimes you just have to. She then provided an example of her own (this is where I learned that my sis has secretly fertilized my brother's driveway), after which I insisted that she share the end all of all driveway fertilizing tales (the story of The Pooper).

What? You say you haven't heard the story of The Pooper? Oh, c'mon, I know a few of you have. And though it is kind of cruel how much I love to tell it, I swear it is the funniest thing ever.

So a long, long time ago in a land not so far away, my mother once went out to take the trash to the curb. (Cuz, of course, it has always been my mom's job to take the trash out, despite the fact that she has always lived with men... This is a sad fact, I say, and one I was not aware of until that time she busted me for having tossed empty booze bottles in the trash as a teen. I still cannot believe I didn't even think to bury them at all...) Anyway, her driveway is long and thus her trash is on a cart. She begins to roll the cart only to discover that hidden under it is a big old turd. Now my mom had dogs at the time and so she thought to herself, "damn dogs," and she grabbed a shovel and commenced with the removal of the offending feces. She had yet to ponder how the dogs managed to poop under the cart. Hers is not to wonder why, I suppose. While in the process of scooping, however, she did happen to notice that there was corn in this poo. This is when she realized, "This is a people poo!" A brief investigation followed and the source of the people poo was flushed out, so to speak. In fact, I think it is to her credit that she so readily confessed to her crime. Though the perpetrator is forever known in some circles as The Pooper, others call her Mommy or Auntie. I know she would prefer to remain somewhat anonymous, so I will only say that she later married my brother...

Anyway, after my sis initiated little G in the story of The Pooper, I asked her if G had a response. In fact, she was speechless, taking it all in. It was then that my sis relayed that G, who commonly joins her mom in the shower, had just that very morning been found peeing down the drain. When asked about her activity, G replied indignantly, "What? It's not getting on you." When asked why she chose the shower over the toilet, G explained, "It just exploded out of me."

As for the tidbit I had meant to share in the first place, well, it almost pales in comparison. But since I have nothing to do but write an essay that could shape my future, I might as well dig in.

So this story takes place in my sister's car. We were driving along and for whatever reason I was talking about being drunk, or wanting to be drunk, or what have you. Sis, being the good parent that she is, decided to ask G if she knew what we were talking about, if she knew what "drunk" means. At first G didn't have a clue and so we explained that it is when you get all silly and sick from drinking too much beer, to which she replied, "Oh, like Uncle Kevin." Already hilarious. And so we began quizzing her about her various relatives, to see if they drink a lot of beer. Her mommy? No. Her grandma? No. Her grandpa? No. Her daddy? No. No? To the contrary, Daddy likes his beer at least as much as Uncle Kevin, and so we ask again. And again. Until we are beginning to think that maybe he doesn't actually drink much when he is with his G. Just when we were moving on, perplexed, G blurts out, "I was only kidding you!" Oh my goodness, she had us going and she knew it too. Silly little smarty pants.

Anyway, though I'm pretty sure I have more examples of G's priceless sense of humor, I really should move on. First, another pot of tea...

Okay, I'm back. Where were we? Oh, yeah, more fun with cats. First, you will be delighted to know this story has nothing to do with pee. In fact, since banishing the couches, I have been completely free of phantom pee smells and unfortunate mishaps. Granted, I was supplying the spoiled bastards with indoor plumbing, but that experiment ended yesterday, when hubby still had his olfactory senses. Turns out he was at least as bothered by the scent of the Scentsy as it reminded him it was just covering for the smell of cat litter. I was all too ready to oblige and, in fact, I really do need to completely banish the one most popular box for although the litter is expensive and relatively free of debris, the box around it is, shall we say, soiled. Yuck. For now, though, I'm just keeping the door closed.

But I told you this wouldn't be a story of pee and there I go, talking about it anyway. Sorry about that. Let's start over.

So this evening I am sitting there, innocently settling in to enjoy an episode of Lost. My killer cough has not yet fully bloomed. I am still hopeful for a lovely evening. Then in comes Monkey. Usually Monkey brings in sticks from the outside world. Don't ask me why, but that cat loves to bring in sticks. Sometimes he'll chase them if you toss them, mostly he is just proud of his find. He will meow proudly if he's brought in a particularly impressive specimen, as he did last night after bringing in about 3 feet of what I imagine is eucalyptus bark... Anyway, I can tell Monkey's got something and it is clearly not a stick.

The other thing Monkey's good at catching is mice. (In fact, he may have even resolved our mice in the attic problem. At least I haven't heard them for a while. He still likes to go on patrol periodically - he actually asks to be let up there - but he's never come down with anything, dead or alive.) So immediatly I know, this is a mouse.

The next thing to determine is if it is dead (and therefore just a really gross cat toy) or alive (and therefore mine). Um, yeah, it's moving, and hiding, and very much alive. Monkey seems to sense that the living room is not the place for mice. Perhaps this is because I have gotten up (and very few things will actually make me get up) and perhaps it is because I am yelling at him. For whatever reason, he decides to move the party into the office.

Suddenly, this is the image going through my mind. This is the last mouse Monkey brought home, an already dead mouse, who is in the process of being flung into the air so it can be swatted at again. I believe I caught this particular moment on camera before Monkey decided the mouse needed to take a bath in the cat fountain. Yeah, the same cat fountain I occasionally clean in my kitchen sink. I knew that water fountain maintenance was gross, I just never knew it was disgusting. Anyway, having witnessed the swimming of the dead mouse I suddenly realized why the mouse that preceded this one had been all wet. We just assumed he'd been caught in the rain. Silly bipeds. Anyway, the mouse I caught on film eventually became a hand-me-down gift to Monkey's paramour, the dreaded Ratty Catty. Ratty then took the mouse into his own room (yes, Ratty has his own room, and yes, it smells horribly) and proceeded to eat its butt. Literally. At least OC knows to eat things head first. Mmm, brains. Ratty does everything wrong...

Anyway, back to the mouse in the house. So I follow Monkey in to the office only to find he is, of course, playing with the rodent very near the water fountain. I begin to wonder just how exactly I plan on catching this mouse. I even contemplate just closing the door and pretending not to know about it. Then I remember the sound of the last mouse I took from Monkey, the one that was outdoors. This "rescue" was easier, for all I had to do was pick up my cat. Unfortunately, mice are dumb and he needed a handful of head starts before he actually began to get away. In the meanwhile, the commotion had attracted the attention of the neighbor cat. And the neighbor cat took over where Monkey left off, killing the mouse despite the rodent's rather vocal protests.

So I know I cannot ignore it, and besides, what if he didn't end up killing it? Then I have a mouse in my house. Unacceptable. I must carry on. First I consider a box, the cat nip box that is way too small for OC but way too big for this mouse. There is no way it will work. And so I think. A cup, I think. Not a glass that I would ever wish to drink from again, I realize, but a plastic cup, that is what I need. Conveniently I know I have one. Not so conveniently, it is on the upper most shelf of the kitchen cabinets - the one where I tend to try to dislodge things using a giant knife because I am way too lazy to get out the stool. After some knife weilding and some counter climbing shenanigans, I return with my cup.

Let's just say my first few attempts were not pretty. Once I convinced the mouse to seek sanctuary in the cup. Surprised at my early success I screamed and frightened him out of it. The next couple times he chose to run along the wall instead. Monkey thought this was great fun. Each time the mouse returned to his corner. Then, I'm still cringing to remember it, the mouse decided to wing it, and make a break for it across the open terrain. The only trouble is he ran right in to my arm. Needless to say, I screamed again. Then I decided to take a break. The mouse, sensing he was down to only one predator, made another attempt at escape - coming right towards me again, sheilding himself with none other than the cat fountain. Forcing myself to man up, I got on my knees and tried to lower the cup over the mouse. I was shocked when this actually worked. Keeping him in the cup (with the help of a postcard) and getting him out of the house (through two doors and one lock) was more difficult. Only then did I wish he were in a glass so the sides would not be so flimsy as I gripped them. Still, I soldiered on. Luckily, Monkey was distracted, checking and rechecking all the nooks and crannies for his catch, and he did not witness the tossing of the cup in to the backyard. He and his devoted Rat boy followed up with some excited searching of all the places that the mouse had been, but I think it is safe to say the mouse lived to poop another day.

As for me, I guess it is back to my essays and financial aid forms. I am certain to finish today as I have knocked down nearly all my distracting tasks. I bought plane tickets ($600 - ouch), I RSVP'd (though I think not to all my schools - hm, will have to check on that - plus I have to solicit travel subsidies...), I even bought clothes (on line, already I worry they won't fit, caught up in a moment of weakness), I made appointments (chiropractor this weekend, booby squishing six month check up when I get back), and I started to research hotels (narrowly avoiding booking a roach motel thanks to sister's sage advice). Today I can only distract myself further by calling the garbage company (to see about disposing of pee couches), and, well, coughing like a maniac all day. Fun fun.