First of all, the day started with me trying to give two of the three cats in our household medication.
The third one is meds free. Probably not for long, though. That’s how we roll.
And, just bear with me, this does actually pertain to the wife thing.
Anyhow, one cat in the household (Steve) is a darling fluffy fat furball of deliciousness, and he just sits on me as I put the pill in his pink mouth. Like, he sits STILL, and then he just swallows it. And purrs. Because, did I mention, Steve is JUST THE MOST ADORABLE LUMP OF FURRY GOODNESS?
Seriously. He swallows the pill. No problems. We get in; we get out. Over and done in seconds. Then, he gets up and offers to help with the laundry. (Not really, but I know, I KNOW, if he had opposable thumbs, he would.)
Perhaps all this lead-up would give you a bit of foreshadowing for how the second cat deals with medication?
Second cat: Hi! I’m all furry and purring and rubbing up against you! Cuteness is here!
Me: It’s time for your pill, Second Cat.
Second Cat: I SHALL SMITE THEE WITH A THOUSAND CLAWS.
Me: I’m ready for that. This time I have a towel.
Second Cat: THAT’S NO PROBLEM JUST LET ME GO GET MY CHAINSAW. AND SOME DYNAMITE. MAYBE ALSO A NUCLEAR DEVICE. THIS IS SO ON.
Me: I think perhaps you are over-dramatizing the whole situation, Second Cat. You could, you know, just take the pill and we’d be over this in seconds. Like, oh I don’t know… your buddy-
Second Cat: Don’t do it.
Me: Like your buddy, STEVE? The preshus?
Steve: Dude. Every time you compare me to one of the other animals, or children, in this house, you break their spirit. You know I’ve set some impossible standards here.
Ok, I promise I’m going to get to the wife thing. The issue here is that I have now been treated poorly by a cat, and my feelings are hurt. THEN, when the husband came downstairs, this happened:
Husband: Hi honey! What’s with the bandaids?
Me: DON’T SPEAK TO ME EVER AGAIN.
It’s possible I too was over-dramatizing. Forty million tiny slices from a tiny ninja cat will do that to you.
A lot of times, when you are Mom-ming, you should be able to shake it off. Like, all of it. Shake off the furry disasters, the endless laundry, the fact that no matter what I cook for dinner it always ends up being one color.
My friends, I am not much of a shake it off kinda girl.
So, perhaps, just maybe … as I was preparing the mashed potatoes for dinner, I overheard Blonde’s commentary on his dislike of such a dish:
“Ugh,” Blonde said, “I don’t LIKE mashted potatoes. They’re kinda tasteless. And squishy.”
And then, maybe… just maybe I said:
“Huh. That’s exactly how I feel about your father. Kinda tasteless. And squishy.”
I know. Tbe ninja snark is strong with this one.
After copious apologies and kisses on the husband, I then decided to add this to the menu for dinner:
Note the strategic coffee cup placement. Foreshadowing.
We had BLT’s with fresh tomatoes from my mom’s garden:
Along with squishy and tasteless mashed potatoes. And at the table was seated a husband who forgives me on a daily basis. Also present were two kids who ate a lot of bacon, after delicately removing any trace of the T or the L, and bread. And the heavens smiled.
Because carbs and bacon will solve all the world’s problems.
Problems like:
- Snarkitude
- Mashed potatoes (Also, add cheese. Oh my goodness.)
- North Korea
- Mullet haircuts
- Reality television
- The deep sucking void that is, basically, 2017
So we end this little tale happily.
My cats are medicated.
We’ve had our fill of pork products.
And I am, most surely:
