the big escape

This is a true story. Names have not been changed to protect the guilty or innocent. We don't believe in crap like that.

Sugar Daddy started a new tradition. On Saturday mornings he takes the boy and the wild beast to Dog Beach. They stop at Leucadia Doughnuts on the way. Finnigan and Thom run around like banshees in the sand and surf and get all their energy out for the day.

I stay in bed and cuddle Birdie. It's wonderful.

A couple of Saturdays ago the boy came home with a pet. Now let it be known that I love animals and believe all children should be allowed to learn and grow through the responsibilities of caring for a pet.

But...

I'm not big on pets of the little variety. Mainly because they stink. Gerbils=stink. Birds=stink. Lizards, turtles and snakes=stink and creepiness.

I've never wanted my house to be a kid house. You know the type. Toys strewn about the living room. Science projects by the sink. Stinky little pets in bedrooms.

But I'm afraid it's becoming inevitable. The boy came home with a crab. His father, knowing it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission, had stopped at the pet store and bought an aquarium with all the bells and whistles.

They set it up in Thom's bathroom. "Eugene" had his new home. (Eugene, as in Eugene Crabs from Spongebob.)

Eugene stayed huddled in the corner for the first day, then he burrowed under the rocks.

Or so we thought.

On his third day at the Meeker house Eugene went on the lamb.

I was on the phone with my dad when I spotted something in the far corner of the kitchen wedged underneath the cabinets. I got closer to have a look and gasped into the receiver when it dawned on me that I was looking at Eugene's corpse.

It seems his gamble didn't pay off.

But what a display of sheer determination! People, this little crab crawled out of the tank and down the bathroom cabinets. He must have gone through Thom's room, down the hall, took a hard right, and scaled down two flights of stairs. At that point I can only imagine his excitement to see a door leading outside. Freedom at last! But he still had a ways to go, down the hall and through the kitchen. He must have been simply exhausted. I wonder what went through his mind as defeat overcame him, as he realized the door was shut tight, that he was slowly drying out with no where to go.

Poor Eugene.

"What am I going to tell him?" I asked my dad. "He's going to be so upset! He only had him a couple of days!"

I tried to break the news to Thom as gently as I possibly could. I put him on my lap. I stroked his hair and explained that Eugene was no more. I waited for the tears.

"Good." he said. "Now I can get those fish that I really wanted at the pet store."


Such sentimentality.

of mice and men

People, there is a mouse in the house.

I had been blaming the nibbled fruit on the boy. In fact, I gave him an entire lecture about not taking just one bite out of the apples and pears. He was playing a video game at the time, and obviously he wasn't listening to me enough to even defend himself. Typical.

Rosa was here yesterday and she sleuthed out the mouse within minutes of her arrival. She's sharp like that. I stood there like the big oaf that I am (I always feel like a giant around Rosa, she's very little) and listened to her detective work. "You see dis right here? Dis isa poop. A poop a de mouse! You gotta de mouse en su casa! Es no goo. Es no goo Aprrrril." She set to work cleaning up the "poop a de mouse".

Now, I'm not too freaked out. We had a mouse in our house before and we caught him and set him free in a field. It was no big deal. But Sugar Daddy had to go and rate this situation an "R". For rat. That puts me over the edge.

The appearance of the mouse/rat is rather timely, or untimely, depending on how you look at it.

I've had a hankering lately. Whitman has been gone almost a year and I have started to feel a twinge when I see other cats. I have always wanted a big fluffy orange cat. I would get a girl and her name would be Matilda. Can't you just see her now, keeping my spot on the couch warm?

Sugar Daddy has said that we will not be getting another cat anytime soon in no uncertain terms. But I have my ways. I have been honing my womanly skills of persuasion for years now. He is powerless against me.

The truth of the matter is that I know exactly why I want a cat right now. It is another meager attempt to fill the baby void. I know this, but I can't seem to help myself. If someone doesn't get me something to mother quick, Matilda's movin' in. And I might even dress her baby clothes.

The little mouse bag was made by Syko. She has a delightful little Etsy shop you should check out. She is from Turku, Finland. She's not the allusive Miss Finland we are all waiting to hear from, but her work is charming!

good grief

As I sit to write today, my heart is so heavy in my chest I can hardly breath. Yesterday, I lost my best friend in furry pajamas. Whitman had been struggling with kidney failure, and over the past few weeks it was getting the best of him. I decided I couldn't watch him loose any more weight or get any sicker. Our vet is really great and he made the experience a little easier.

I already miss the warmth of his little body nestled in the small of my back as I sit at the computer. He wasn't there this morning to watch me do my hair or put on my make-up. I didn't have to shew him off the bed to make it, or fill his water bowl. His sunny spot on the carpet sits empty. I have a headache from crying so much and I feel void of any creativity or enthusiasm.

One of my friends said she will never have pets because the pain is to hard to go through when they die. All I can say is that it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. I would never give up the memories I have just to save myself from sadness. Whitman was my surrogate child when I couldn't get pregnant. He relished my attention and purred like a motor boat.

So, although I wish I could walk past his sunny spot without crying or go an hour without second guessing my decision, I feel that this grief is good. The depth of my sorrow is only a measure of the joy he brought into my life.