The Scoop on Cats

I'm home from a week in South Portland, during which I ran a hospital for cats.

It was really more like a clinic, because I didn't have to do any surgery. The lady for whom I was pet-sitting has nine cats and a 13-year-old Wheaten terrier. The dog and four of the cats required daily medication, some of them twice daily. So I got pretty good at wielding the syringes and hiding pills in peanut butter.

There was a learning curve, of course. The first night, it took me an hour and a half to feed, water and medicate the troops. I felt like Nurse Ratched. One cat ran and hid whenever she saw me coming with syringe in hand. Another has an esophagus problem and he threw up four times in the first 12 hours I was in residence.

Eventually we came to terms. I learned to brook no nonsense, Pepper learned that I wouldn't hesitate to grab her tail as she tried to scurry under the bed, and Stuart Little restricted his vomiting to once a day.

One great thing that I took away from the experience: I lost my aversion to cleaning litter box. That "box" is not a typo. After cleaning eight litter boxes twice a day for five days, one box (which is what we have at our house) seems like nothing!

It's all about US

Kayti was noticing this morning how the car windows were frosty on one side but not on the other. "It's because the sun is on one side," she said. "Too bad we don't have two suns that come up from different directions."

Yes, it IS too bad, just because WE want the FROST off BOTH sides of OUR van. Let's redesign the entire universe just to convenience US!

I noticed something today, too. I noticed that the pony is wallowing around in about a solid inch of manure, so I'd better get out there with a shovel.

Ich bin ein slacker

I have not abandoned this blog. I've just been so overwhelmed by all the Berlin Wall information, I couldn't focus on my own little life.

I am working a lot these days, since the Press Herald is throwing money at me again. I barely have time to say hi to my kid, between work, online Scrabble, and animal care. I have a pet-sitting gig next week in which I'm in charge of one dog and NINE cats! It should be most interesting.

Finally relented and let the older hens out of the new pen. A couple are back in now, but two are permanently out roaming around with Robin Hood the rooster. Robin never had any hens of his own back when Friar Tuck was here. Now he's got 'em, and guess what? He's afraid of them!

It's really warm out today, and I can't sit here any longer. We'll talk tomorrow!

As Maine goes ...

We in Maine all voted Nov. 3 on whether to repeal our new law allowing same-sex marriage.

I voted no. I think I am an isolated case, though, in that I feel that maybe marriage is way overrated as an institution, and maybe instead of OK'ing marriage for gays and lesbians, we should ban it altogether in favor of civil unions with accompanying rights and privileges for everyone, gays and straights alike.

The outcry from the one-man-one-woman camp reminds me of when Maine was considering requiring that motorists drive with headlights on during the day as well as at night. Motorcyclists were up in arms over that one. Their argument: Daytime headlights are a motorcycle thing, and should remain a purely motorcycle thing. Kind of a one-bike, one-headlamp mentality.

What if we non-motorcyclists told bikers, "Wheels are strictly for cars. You can't have them." That would be fairly dumb, wouldn't it?

My point being, if it works, why not share it? Similarly, if marriage works (and frankly, I'm not that sold on the idea that it does), then why not share it?

In Tuesday's vote, the Yeses won out, and went home safe and sanctimonious in their marriages, which they have rescued from the very jaws of Satan.

But it's pretty obvious the issue will be back, and it's pretty obvious that someday marriage will be OK for everybody. We'll just have to keep voting on it until less rigid heads prevail.

Hands-off Momma

Kayti is working on her first major school project and Rex and I are having a devil of a time letting her do it herself.

It's really been a test of her boundaries, as she has had to stand up to us and say, "No, I want to do it THIS way!" sending us whimpering back into our corners.

I remember once in 7th grade I let a science project slide until the night before it was due, and my poor dad stayed up half the night putting something together for me. He actually did the whole thing -- it was a homemade battery. I was so grateful to him. I felt guilty, too. Not because I hadn't done my own project, but that my dad lost so much sleep. I've never felt guilty about getting someone else to do my work!

Kayti is having some interesting ideas and I'm proud of her creativity. Of course, it would have been nice if she'd started the project three days ago like we begged her to.

At 9 p.m., she decided she needed a nap and made me promise to wake her up in an hour and a half so she could continue working. She's sleeping now in the recliner. It's a perfect time for Rex and me to hijack the project. We'll tell her elves must have done it.

Happy November

I actually like November. Sunlight is so different when it doesn't have leaves to soak it all up before it hits the ground.

Anyway, my interest this morning is: What piece of advice did you follow all your life, and have only recently realized that it was bad advice and screwed you up royally?

Being a kind of gullible person, I can give you legions of examples. One major one that we've all heard: Follow your heart.

What the hell does that mean, really? Does it mean quit your job and move to Sri Lanka if your current boyfriend decides to join the rebellion? Or does it mean, I really love my living-room decor and cannot leave it under any circumstances, including my boyfriend moving to Sri Lanka?

Then, if the living-room decor wins, the very people who advised you to follow your heart turn around and chastise you for being selfish!

When I was agonizing about what to major in in college, my brother told me to pick anything, and worry about what I want to do after I get my degree.

So I did, and I've been worrying ever since. Shoulda gone in the army.

What I really would have enjoyed was becoming one of the June Taylor dancers. Those numbers where they lie on the floor and make a pattern when viewed from above ... Too cool! Unfortunately, becoming a June Taylor dancer was not just unthinkable but unimaginable in my middle-class Lutheran family.

I wonder if it's too late? Any advice?