Cat Fight

It seems that every year as the chill in the air becomes more constant, our family adopts a pet, or two – or more! Last year we had a group of grown cats all carefully named: Sparkle, Julie, Cruella, and Calicorn. When Papa visited at Christmas, he left us with a couple months supply of cat food for the little critters, and the tradition got a little more serious.

This year, as you may remember, Sparkle (who last year was a male and this year had a litter of kittens) is back with her five kittens (the Papa cat being last-year’s Cruella!). One of the kittens adores us and visits us constantly... she even tried to sneak in the house when Little E conspires with her and opens the door! Mr. Man named her Christmas (because he thinks she won’t last till Christmas out in the cold – she is the runt of the bunch after all!) Big J likes to call her Christmas because it looks like her ears have been dipped in frosting for Christmas cookies! There’s another little kittie who looks just like her but is black, and so her name is Copycat. Then there is the one who runs away feverishly every time we open the door – so he’s Scaredycat. The fourth one is AltTab – because he’s half tabby and pretty alternative looking. The fifth little kitten, poor soul, is more than a little scruffy looking and Mr. Man calls him Roadkill.

I have to admit to being an avid non-pet-lover. I’m basically disgusted by most little creatures. Those little fur balls are anything but cute to me. They have done dirty business in my garden, peed in my boys’ trucks and turned our chairs and mats into hair-covered lounging areas. I despise being hissed at in my own backyard by a protective mother cat, and was ready to vomit when a dead mouse was being played with just on the other side of the door while I was trying to eat my breakfast. Mr. Man gets all cute and cuddly when he sees those cats. His voice rises at least 100 decibels and he’s just about ready to take out stocks in cat food. While I shiver in disgust and dislike, Mr. Man shivers in adoration and a desire to really adopt those little critters (he’s even thinking about building them a little cat house out in the woods behind our house!). Thankfully our lease is to my defense at this time, but Mr. Man has started an all out coup d'état to get the children riled up to demand a cat, or a dog or some other dirty, smelly, hairy, annoying creature into our house as soon as we leave this protected estate.

I told Mr. Man that when the day comes that he is sleeping with an animal, he won’t be sleeping with me! I’m curious what Dr. Laura would have to say about this cat fight that we have going on between us. How do two people with un-negotiable feelings negotiate? At least we have a few years to figure out if we’ll have to pay for two separate dwelling places or not! In the mean time I curse the cats as I fill up the bowl with milk three times a day. The children are thoroughly entertained while I have time to myself, and at 10pm every night I get to mock my adoring husband as he fiddles with the indoor and outdoor lights to get the best possible look at his favourite little furry flock.

Smorgasbord

We are vacationing way up north, relaxing and spending time with family before we pack up and head across our "other" country. My dreams lately consist of living in and setting up my new home, painting, decorating, and even putting up my Christmas décor. I’ve already situated most of my decorations (in my mind) and have even determined my neighbor gifts. I’m excited. Though I know most of the imagined decorating is going to take some time, and money, but it’s fun to dream. And seeing some dreams come true inevitably invites more dreaming.

We’re in a cottage at a great child-friendly beach that is also a marina. I have thoroughly been enjoying my children and husband, have made 6 batches of strawberry jam, am on my third novel, and have done so much people watching (or mostly over-hearing) that I feel like I could write a novel. Some of the people here are absolutely hilarious.

The walls in our cottage are as good as paper thin, though I figure with all the noise my kids make the neighbors should have figured by now that we can hear every word they make as well and would perhaps tone things down a bit for children’s ears. Our first set of neighbors had a newborn baby (not quite a month old) who would cry that pitiful newborn cry while they were just out of range in front of the cottages smoking their hearts out and drinking enough beer to sink a ship. They moved to a new cottage because apparently their porch stank like cat urine. At first I thought they moved because of us, but was glad nonetheless to have the smoke stench and its lasting effects eradicated from our vacation. And I'm kind of over the whole new born at 4am thing.

Our new neighbors are, I’m pretty sure, a complicated mother and daughter duo. They fight – yelling and screaming at each other – endlessly. They pound on, what I believe to be, the bathroom door, until the other finally exits. Then they come up front with their yappy little dog and smile and play with my children like they love each other and everything else in life as well. We know better.

There are other groups that crack us up. There’s the mother of two little boys who constantly asks me how on earth I manage four children. I’m running out of responses and am not really sure what she’s looking for. This woman cannot handle her two. She is always with the baby (who is 2 ½) but acts and is treated like a baby. The older boy (almost 4) is constantly on the prowl for destruction and, since his mother is nowhere near to supervise, my kids have had way too many sand castles and creations destroyed by him. Did I mention she has a nanny? A nanny who spilled a few interesting beans in a conversation and has brought a whole lot of questions and ideas to heart. Another appealing novel perhaps.

There are the drunks who lounge about in their skimpy swimsuits and beer bellies. Mocking my modesty and “cute tankini.” When asked what I do, with them assuming I was a teacher, I replied that I am a child development specialist. They were amazed, and clearly impressed, one was able to utter “like, in a third world country?” I responded that it was actually in the U.S. And quickly exited that social circle lest their habits and brain cell depletion be contagious. Still, the things I have heard…

And three doors down there was a death in the family -- or rather a death in the cottage. Sad, but a true story nonetheless.

Mr. Man is worried I’ll have nothing to do once I finish the last book I brought. But I’m not lacking entertainment in the least.

My internet sucks, so no pics yet. Not that I have taken any of these funny people. Just my great kids and sexy husband. Writing about them would be the ultimate novel. But it's also a lifelong work in progress.