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I’m dreaming of a White… what holiday is it again?

This year, we took it upon ourselves to drive up to Tennessee to spend Christmas with George’s parents. The drive, in and of itself, was an adventure… Since lists make everything better, I will bullet-point the highlights of the trip for you:

  • It’s a 12 hour drive without counting stops. We agreed to set out at 8 or 9am so we’d be here by 11pm, latest.

  • We actually WOKE UP at 11am.
  • We decided it would be a good idea to rotate the tires before the trip.
  • This took four hours.
  • We finally finished cleaning the house, prepping the cars, packing, packing the cats (yes, all three), picking up snacks for the drive, and setting out at FIVE PM.
  • Five minutes after we got on the highway, Leo Tolstoi pooped all over himself, forcing us to either pull over, or smell cat poop for the next four hours.
  • Obviously, we pulled over.
  • I felt pretty proud of myself for lining their carriers with puppy pads, as this made the cleanup quick and easy.
  • Four hours later, George gets sleepy…
  • George is a brave man, because he decides it’s a good idea to let me drive his GTi… two days after I managed to get not one but TWO flat tires in the ghetto in Cocoa.
  • Clearly, he does not love his car very much. Or he loves and trusts ME a WHOLE bunch. I’m thinking it’s the former.
  • I drink two Red Bulls and feel immortal, invincible, and ready to drive.
  • I drive five-odd hours, and start feeling like I’m going to murder someone. Red Bull does funny things to my brain.
  • George takes over driving duties while I try to sleep.
  • Spartacus (yes, we have rather grandiose names for our cats) decides he’s had enough of being locked up in his carrier in the car and decides to have a meltdown, scratching and howling the rest of the way to Franklin.
  • Leo pees all over himself. Again, thank goodness for puppy pads. Princess, who is usually the basket-case in our house, has not complained or pooped/peed ONCE this whole time, by the way.
  • We arrive at nearly 6am.
  • I am in a Red Bull haze and can’t sleep.
  • I kind of hate life at this point.

The next day we were complete zombies, but it was nice to be here, especially since Caroline (George’s sister) and her husband were spending Christmas with her in-laws and Liz (his other sister) and her husband and kids can’t make it here until Monday night.

We fell asleep last night and woke up to this:

George’s dad said it’s the first time it’s been a White Christmas in about 29 years.

All in all, although I don’t really celebrate Christmas, I’m grateful to get to spend the holiday with our family members who do. I’m grateful I got to speak to my family on the phone last night, I’m grateful I am married to the kindest, most patient, and gentle-spirited person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. I am grateful for every person, friend, family member, that I have encountered on my path through life, whether they’re still part of my life or not, whether they’re still on this Earth with us or have already passed…

I’m not really sure how this became a Thanksgiving post, though. :)

December 25, 2010   No Comments

Crazy cat people

We have become crazy cat people.

This was never our intention.

OK, so, George travels a lot. His job description actually states that he be in Houston (or Tampa or wherever else he’s needed) fifty percent of the time, which makes for a lonely Lorenia. We decided to get a pet. We like dogs, but they’re higher maintenance, what with the walking and not being able to leave them alone, and cleaning up HUGE STINKING POOPS, which I would be fine with if George was home more (because I’d totally make him do it) but alone? Not so much.

Enter Leo, stage left.

The last time George had to go to Houston, he had accumulated enough Rapid Rewards for me to tag along free (yay! free stuff!) so we had a friend come over every day, refresh Leo’s water, fill his food bowl, give him love, etc. (Thanks, Rene!) But when we came back, he was positively feral. See, this cat is weird. He’s even more of a dog-cat than any other kitty I’ve had. If you go into another room, he follows you, even if he was asleep, and curls up there. If he can’t see you, he whines. He likes sitting on your lap and having all of your attention. If you don’t give him enough attention, you’re in trouble. He’s very affectionate, and that doesn’t mix well with your Masters going on trips… or with the Female Master who was always at home with you before getting a job because she’s finally getting her work permit, thus leaving you alone for up to nine hours a day.

And so I was able to convince George we decided it would be a good idea to get a second kitty to keep him company. We found an adorable baby, about six weeks old, that needed fostering until he was old enough to be adopted. The plan was to bring him home and take care of him until the shelter people took care of his vaccinations and neutering (we’re not cruel, it’s state law for animals adopted from shelters), at which time we’d be able to officially adopt him.

panchito

We went to pick him up yesterday, and he was in a carrier with his sister, Dreams.

And Tina asks, “Would you be willing to foster her with him until she’s old enough for vaccinations and spaying? We already have applicants for her, so it would only be a couple of weeks until her adoptive family could have her.”

George nodded; he figured he could indulge my kitty love since she’d only be with us a couple weeks, tops. I joked about keeping them both, he eyed me and reminded me our deal was two kitties, tops. I was only joking, anyway, so no harm done.

Until we brought them home.

After half an hour of petting this:

dreams

I tease, “I bet you want to keep her.”

“Do you think they’d let us?” George asked, looking up at me with big, sweet, brown eyes.

I was on the computer emailing Tina before he could change his mind.

The reply:

“OK, so that’s the quickest I have ever seen anyone fail at fostering.”

And so we are now two kittens “richer” (oh, boy) and having fun trying to help Leo adapt to pesky little moving fuzzy toys. He’s thoroughly confused: they’re about the size of his toy mice, but they squeak, try and steal his food, and never stop moving. Poor guy. Let this entry stand, Internet, as proof that I never tried to get George to keep them both, never tried to convince him, and that it was totally his idea. ;-)

P.S. Name suggestions welcome!

September 27, 2009   6 Comments