Tag Archiv: cats

Bad News, Good News and Revelation

1-IMG_1752

Bad news:

1. Goodwin Cedric the sheep husband has presumably served his purpose by now and will be departing next week. May his future pastures be finer and his head butting possibilities endless.

2. Despite the intentional naming after an Italian saint, our cat Filippa is now demon possessed. Our borrowed heirloom pine furniture pieces are now wrapped in tin foil to prevent further damage. The water repeatedly found on the laundry room floor turned out to be her handy work as well. She chewed a hole in the rubber seal on the front loading washer. Laundry is piling up while I send DIY you-tube videos to my husband’s e-mail and speak with parts suppliers who laugh that I must be looking at a site from the States when I say, “but it’s only a hundred dollars on Amazon.”  The Italian demon (TID) is currently gnawing her way through the electrical wires under my husband’s desk. The internet recommends purchasing covers for the wires as a safety precautions in case of electrocution but they have got to be kidding me. It would be a thousand times easier to weep with the children over a cat’s determined suicide than to defend why you re-homed their kitty. TID also eats voraciously and refuses to go outside when the weather is below freezing, which in Canada is every day from November to April.

Good news:

1. Anabelle is still pregnant. Three cheers for persistent reproduction attempts everywhere. I hope she works up the courage to tell her mammoth son to get lost and stop nursing soon.

2. Chickens are still laying despite the winter months. Some years they do, some years they don’t. This year we thank them that they are.

 

Revelation:

My husband needs a whistle and a rule book. Misbehaviour with the kids is not something he notices until he is so frustrated he wants to behead them.

He refereed a basketball tournament this week. I couldn’t help but notice that he was cheerful as can be enforcing rules all day long. Maybe, I pondered, it was because he wasn’t required to set up rules or decide penalties on the fly. The flashy orange whistle may also have played a part.

I am writing a rule book over the weekend. I am also buying him a very bright and respectable whistle. A striped shirt may bolster things further, so I’m considering that as well. Based on quality of performance at the tournament, I anticipate a great deal more free time after this.

Siphonaptera

2013-06-08 10.12.30-2

At an anonymous and unclarified point in time (assume ancient history out of generosity) I was combing Girl two’s hair. It was the morning of a busy day. The kind of day with thirty things clambering for completion on the list and only room for twenty if absolutely nothing went wrong. Girl one was already waiting in the car – after a none too gentle chiding for the explosions of contraband I emptied from her backpack.

Girl two’s skin is fair. Her hair is fair. Even in the morning shadows I saw the black speck dart through her hair. My fingers moved with purpose while my brain began a calming meditation about the silly ways that dirt can seem alive sometimes.

Don’t move, I commanded.

Ow, yelped Girl two in surprise as I tore at some strands of hair in hot pursuit.

It can’t be helped. Don’t move, I said again.

Overnight guests were arriving in less than ten hours.

It was not a piece of dirt. It was not lice.

It was a flea. I think.

I think this because our house growing up had more than one flea invasion. I remember the worst time sitting and watching the carpet hop like popcorn. Our only carpet here is on the stairs. I inspected. No popcorn. Ditto for furniture.

What do fleas do? asked Girl two.

They make you itchy, I said.

I was itchy as soon as I got in bed last night, said Girl two.

It’s true, I realized. She’s been complaining of itches every night lately. How could this be happening today?

I grabbed a comb and a cat and inspected. No fleas. I took the kids to school.

Boy two looked at girl two, somber. “I promise I won’t tell anyone at school that you have fleas,’ he said.

“She does not have fleas! There was one flea.  And it’s dead so she doesn’t have it anymore.”

I’m not sure that he believed me.

I got home and left a message for my husband to buy updated animal flea protection just in case. I checked the internet for signs and symptoms then resumed my search. Bedding clear. Mattresses clear. I found the wool blanket I added to Girl two’s bed last week with a small measure of relief. It would be a better reason to be itching than the unspeakable.

Meanwhile I’m itching. My head. My back. Even my fingers are itching. Wool blankets, winter dryness, these things we can manage. A flea invasion shortly before the guest arrival on the other hand . . .

I calm myself between mantras that it wasn’t actually a flea or that the flea market was a one man show.