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1:30 p.m. - 2010-05-27
The new kitty and the old one.

I am starting to understand why Rascal's mom abandoned it.

THIS IS THE LOUDEST KITTEN IN THE UNIVERSE AND IT NEVER SHUTS UP!!!!

But Rascal's also weaned from spoon feeding and has started drinking kitten formula from a dish and taking the occasional munch on softened kibble. Moves pretty darn quick for something whose belly is bigger than its legs too. Which is adorable beyond belief. So no worries, I'm not hatin' on the kitten, just a bit fed up with being stuck with an infant again, even a feline one. Mick is good about doing baby duty when he's home, but knows doodly-squat about just exactly how the baby should be fed and stimulated to make a pee and then cleaned up afterward. Mick also understood when I gave him the hairy eyeball last night and said we're at max capacity for pets. See, I'd almost relented about letting him get a purse puppy. Mick loves itty bitty critters and has been jonesing for a teeny-weeny little dog of his very own. Princess is a great dog, an amazingly easy dog to own, but she's on the biggish end of the small dog continuum- knee high and about 18lbs. Hardly the wee lap dog Mick's craving.

A new dog would have to be now or never though, I'm too close to the finish line. I'm 2 years away from going to a movie whenever I want to, 4 years from tootling off on an overnight visit, and 6 years from being able to shove my last chick out of the nest if needs be. I've been in the nurturing biz for almost 30 years. I'm tired. Wolf is almost, almost old enough to self-care in significant ways and I am not about to tie myself down to another critter for another 20 years. Cats? Cats are far more self-sufficient than dogs. If left with enough food, water, and clean litter and cats are fine on their own for 3-4 days, even longer if they're placid sorts. Dogs? A dog goes out of its bleeding mind after about 10 hours without a human around. Plus there's the whole pooping thing. I reeeeeeeeeeeeally don't want to have to take on poop duty again.

Mick gets this and totally agrees with me. Best we can figure Princess is about 4, maybe 5 years old already. I'm not sitting around waiting for her to die or anything, but she, too, is a do-able finite commitment. Yet Mick never had kids of his own and I've felt bad that I'll never give him a child either, if he wanted a teeny widdle dog, okay. Didn't seem like too much to ask. We'd been talking about it recently and I'd been shopping around some of the animal rescue websites on the sly thinking I'd surprise him with an insanely tiny rat dog for his birthday next month. But Mr Man went off and got himself a kitten, so. All done. No additional pets.

3 cats, a dog, 80 gallons of fish, one teenager, yeah, we're all good here.


On a different (but frequently discussed) subject, I was able to leave the red tent last night. Finally! I am trying to get in and be seen by the zorch doc, but since this is a baseline first visit they've insisted I not be riding the cotton pony when I go. I can see their side, but day-um! the scheduling of this has been nuts. No sooner do I get a time slot than I start to flow again. Maddening.

Yes, my darling Deb, I will be insisting they either laser my uterus so it's non-functioning or just yank the fricken thing out. Leave the ovaries, but take the baby bag. Damn fibroids are killing me anyhow. Despite my deep-seated "I'm not a real girl" issues due to my humongus size and baritone voice, I will have ZERO problem handing over some or all of my baby-making equipment. Trust me, menstruation does not a woman make. I have no fears that forfeiting my uterus will turn me into Eddie Izzard…despite our striking resemblance.

Sorry, couldn't find a broody enough pic of me, but yeah, Eddie Izzard is my drag doppelganger.

The US Passport Office, the State of New York DMV, and my husband are all certain I'm a real girl, so plus or minus a few of my more recalcitrant and messier bits won't make any nevermind as to my gender.

Oy, from the rising volume of the yelling outside my office door it sounds like it's time to feed the baby again. Gotta jet.


Toodle-loo, caribous. ~LA


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