TraumaMama … Brace yourself …

I did a little IP checking – you were number 16,000. If I can figure out an appropriate prize, I’ll send it your way.

Anyhow, enough with the family history. We are who we are, and we each deal with it our own separate ways. I really don’t write in this journal for an opportunity to rehash old family history. I write more as a chance to grant myself perspective. It’s harder to lie to yourself about things when you have to set them down in writing. And it’s harder yet to lie to yourself when you are surrounded by good people who are skilled at reading between the lines and willing to gently set you back on track when you derail.

Sunday I slept in, or at least as much as the Gang of Three would let me before they decided that breakfast was an absolute necessity. I have discovered how to wrap a towel around the door-stop and then stuff the ends in between the door and jamb so that they cannot be dislodged. No more “boing, boing, boing” Kitten Serendade in the mornings. The cats require no instrumental accompaniment, however; they’re just as happy to sing for their breakfast a cappella.

After a leisurely breakfast of eggs-in-the-nest (I love making those things), a large mug of tea and a thorough read of the Sunday paper, I got my act together and took it on the road. First stop, PetSmart for kitty litter. I only got the ten-pound box before, and they went through that in less than a week, so I decided to bite the bullet and get the big Bucket-O-Litter. When I got to PetSmart I noticed that the vet clinic was open (it’s only open Sundays every other week) so I decided to just stop in and ask the vet on staff there about what the job entailed. Wrong move. Turns out that the guy was bored, lonely and garrulous. It took me three quarters of an hour to extract myself, and I never did get the answers to my questions.

I went over to the cat section of the store, found the brand of litter I liked in its big, white bucket, and then tried to put it in my cart. When did I get so weak???? Last summer I would have slung it up there as if it were nothing. Yesterday I could barely heave it up, and I had to wedge it against the shelving to help myself move it! I’m not THAT sick! I think I’d better start with the arm and leg strengthening exercises again. *sigh*

Since I’m a fool who apparently likes being parted from her money, I aimed my cart towards the cat toy aisle on my way to check out. They had the best chase-the-fuzzy-mouse toy I’ve ever seen on the shelves. The mouse is suspended on a rod in the center of a round, partly enclosed track that the cat can reach in and try to grab the mouse through. The mouse is balanced just so, and a mere touch sends it circling around the track. I, of course, had to get one for Kitten. It turned out to be a great move; she’s played with it non-stop since I brought it home, to the exclusion of the rest of her toys. Two o’clock this morning I woke up and could hear her downstairs batting that damned mouse around. That has to be the most fun I’ve ever gotten a cat for under five bucks.

THEN, while still finding my way to the checkout, I found a “build it yourself” cat tower, with three tiers and catnip-treated carpet covering. It was a quarter of the price of the pre-made ones. How could I not get it? I put it together yesterday afternoon and placed it agains the glass sliding door in the kitchen that all three cats like to stare at the world through. Even Cattitude took an interest in that! Then again, Cattitude is slipping a bit – I even caught her playing with one of Kitten’s jingle-balls the other day. This is a cat that disdains any form of play. As soon as she was aware there was a witness, Cattitude abruptly stopped her play activity. Too late, though. I’m on to her now!

The one thing I did not do is get the bucket of kitty litter upstairs to where we store it. I simply couldn’t carry it up the stairs. I’ll wait until I use enough out of the pail that it becomes light enough for me to lift. I may be weak, but I’m still clever.

After PetSmart, I stopped at Kohl’s Department Store. My ever expanding girth has demanded yet again that I get new clothes. Yup, folks, the “Fat Clothes” just don’t fit any more. I’ve apparenlty moved on to “Obese Clothes”. Since last August I’ve gone from a size ten to a (gulp) size 18/20. Yup, you read that right. I have no fat over my ribs, it hurts to lean on my elbows because there’s no padding there, rings I haven’t been able to wear since high-school are now too large for me, but I’m taking a size 20 in slacks. A size 20 petite, no less. Gotta love those oxymorons.