In a Year

In a year, we have missed your presence, your touch, your smile and your laughter. We have missed your tears but shed our own. We have celebrated your life, your journey and have wondered when we will meet again. In a year we have asked people to learn from us, take lessons in pain, forgive and move forward. We mourned many losses next to the huge hole left in our hearts three hundred and sixty five days ago. We have held celebrations while seeing your little smile and thinking of all the things you would be doing now. We wake each morning grateful to see the sun all while thinking of the view you have from above. We cross our hearts, hope not to die, but instead cry deep inside. We know our purpose here has not met its needs, yet yours was fulfilled so quickly. We try not to think of the things we do each day that you cannot do. We practice our arrogance thinking you are missing so much when what we don’t know is what we are missing not being there with you. We know you’ll not climb a mountain one day as you may have dreamed, and we won’t witness your wings soaring over sights we don’t see. But we know you are there. We can feel you. We look up into the bright sun’s rays and see your smiling face looking down upon us; drying our tears and pulling our hearts back up into warmth. With your presence recognized again in a form we cannot begin to hold, we have hope. We know you are. We know we will be. We have faith, and the more you allow us to feel you, the more powerful we will feel. We can heal and understand there is no need for forgiveness to move forward. We are used to questioning, asking why, what did we do wrong, why, and why again? We are not used to giving ourselves away to blindness, but now that we can, you give us strength. With each breath we take, we can feel your warmth. With each step we take, we can feel your hand, so much stronger than it was just a year ago. We know you are gone from us, and we hurt still from the pain left behind, but you are here in ways we never knew before. We love you, cherish you, miss you, and can go on because you give us strength.

The Positive Spin on You

Rather than complain about you today, I’ve decided to take the positive spin on your actions and decisions. I feel you should be commended for not even grazing my small child as you drove on the sidewalk today. He’s really very little and the sidewalk is so narrow, what compared to the road, it must have been hard to actually miss him. And I’ve been thinking about those two different times you interrupted me to speak to the person I was talking with and I’ve decided that your rants about housing prices was obviously so much more important than whatever nonsense I was talking. And though I usually look down upon people that continuously park in the fire lane, I figure since you are there while I’m releasing one of my three children from school and have the baby with me at all times, really I only risk losing one child should the fire trucks not be able to put the fire out in time as you move your van out of the way. Saving two out of three ain’t bad, eh? And finally, after seeing a child lift her car seat with her when she stood in the car before getting out, I decided after all you should leave your smallest child in the car while you run in to get your middle child. It all goes back to saving two of three ain’t bad. I see now that parking in the fire lane makes your trip into the school so much easier while leaving a small child in an unattended car makes your trip all the quicker. Sure the walk home will suck the day your car and your child are stolen, but you managed to save about ninety seconds by not taking her with you. I get it. I understand. Maybe those firemen will save her when they break your windows to get the hose through your car to put out the fire that may come. Or maybe not. Maybe some random sicko will take your van with your small child left inside and drive away. But no worries…you will still have two more children, and I will be happy to drive you to a field and drop you off after I leave your remaining children at a safe home or the police department. I’ve decided it’s also a great thing that you advertise to everyone that you have left your small child in the car. I hate it when criminals actually have to work to get their jobs done. I constantly hear about how many car doors they had to try before finding the one that was unlocked or before they found the one with the cute little girl left inside. Molesting takes time you see and when they have to waste so much looking for small children, they lose a lot. So I’m sure they are so appreciative of your loud voice carrying all over touting you left your kid in the car. Me, I’m not happy it’s a choice you make, but I also wasn’t happy about almost losing my child to your wheels or your rudeness or even your need to control people you do not know. But since looking at the bright side of you, I’ve decided if I hear you talking about leaving your child in the car again, you just may find the police waiting for you when you return. That would bring a smile to my face and I’m sure the alternative of someone stealing your van and child would be so much worse. Yep, this positive spin is so much more fun when dealing with you.

One vat of cold coffee, please

Starbucks has introduced a new cold drink size to its menu only to compete with McDonald’s regular soda drinks and 7-11’s enormous Slurpee. The media seems to be making a big deal because evidently the drink is larger than an average adult size stomach. Hmmm….where were these people when McDonald’s offered the 42 ounce Super Size or more the fun loving 42 ounce Summer Size soft drink? And don’t we realize thanks to the likes of McDonald’s super drinks and the fact that Americans can’t make responsible choices, the size of the average adult American stomach is much larger than it used to be. Despite the media’s blame on the new Starbucks vat sized cup that was just released, it’s because of poor American sized choices and screw ups that we are larger than we should be. It’s actually a shame the new Starbucks Trenta cup was tested in Arizona where it’s about 116 degrees. I wonder if it had been tested in Minnesota if it would be for hot drinks instead of cold drinks. If that were the case, I’d surely ask for a vat of Americano with room for cream and several shakes of sugar.

Kiss it! ....or make out with it

A few months ago I took a Team Fitness class. I learned a lot, remembered a lot I had forgotten, toned up, lost a few pounds and was down two pant sizes putting my waist back to that little waist that walked down the aisle to greet my husband over eight years and three babies ago. Then pneumonia hit our house along with bronchitis, meningitis, chocolate, the common cold, Thanksgiving, green snot, guests, errands for Santa, peppermint cookies, Christmas, beer, queso and another round of coughs and colds. It’s been two months since I last walked into the gym. Luckily for me, only the queso was bad to me.
So I’m back at the gym and it feels like home again. I love those people, those machines and the child center that entertains my children. My oldest loves the climbing wall. Getting back on track after two months can be tough. I can’t imagine years going by without taking care of myself. What is hard is finding that zone again. After months of daily cardio and kicking my ass all the way to the cookie jar, I knew my numbers like the back of my hand. I knew just months ago at what heart rate I would get the best results and which one would make me go further or faster and which would make me pant like a large hairy dog in the middle of July in front of a hose that no one will turn on. I was told in my class to kiss my anaerobic threshold heart rate, and twice I was asked to run for thirty minutes at that rate. The first time was to see how fast I ran and how far I could go. The second was to see if I could go further at the same speed and the same AT rate, and also to see how quickly the paramedics would arrive since I was recovering from bronchitis at the time. My trainer started her shift at 4 o’clock in the morning, so I was certain her teeth hadn’t been brushed for hours, and I was sure I didn’t want to play around with the idea that she might have to bring me back to life. This past week I’ve felt like I have to make out with that AT rate. Instead of a simple kiss, I come up for air and pant until my ass is kicked and my legs are weak. Weak legs usually mean a great make out session, not just a kiss. And I’m down two pound again. So to my trainers I say my AT rate has changed in two months of not visiting you, but I do like making out, and you can kiss it!

The sanctity of marriage…or not…whatever, right?

I am amazed to see each day on my iGoolge home page the amount of relationship failures I see, the amount of extramarital affairs I read about, and the hope that is lost in the sacred vows we take with the one person we love. Then I remember I am on iGoogle and most of what I read is about celebrities and their small lives blown up on an internet page. Was anyone really surprised to find out Tiger wasn’t faithful to his beautiful wife when he could have any whore in the bar he wanted? Were we really appalled at Jesse James when he broke Sandra’s heart with some other tattooed tramp? Do you believe The Don has been faithful all these very few years since marrying his last wife? So now I read about marriages lost to sex with others and I think, that’s too bad, but really, it’s also Hollywood or professional sports, or it’s the price of celebrity. Brad Pitt has yet to fall at my feet and beg me to my knees, so I’ve yet to be tempted. Amy Ray either, by the way. But I’d hope to be a better person and a better wife if either of them did come knocking at my door.
But what I am surprised about however is the lack of respect for marriages that are out of the public eye. In the past few years, I’ve seen three people I know go through divorce. I’ve watched their worlds turn upside down, lives ripped apart only to be rebuilt one tiny Lego at a time after years of hope and dreams. Only one of those three I know was a result of infidelity. Only person of those six was a cheating man. Sad, but almost expected, huh? On the flip side, I am shocked at how many marriages have stayed together while the wives cheat. In just two years, I learned of seven women I know that cheated on their husbands. Some husbands know and have chosen to move forward rebuilding trust within their marriage. Some husbands do not even know. I’ll never understand what causes such disrespect in a woman. I’ll never quite get what she is missing and why she feels the need to risk it all for a romance that could be waiting for her at home.
One thing I can say is I love my husband very much, and sometimes that is hard to do. Marriage is hard. Life is frustrating, and it’s easy to forget the one person you need most – yourself – in a relationship. I don’t know what’s happened in marriages of which I am not a part, but I do know when I feel lost in mine, I have to look at myself and see what I can do to improve myself. It’s those occasions that I am successful that my marriage improves as well. I can’t pretend to understand what it is like in someone else’s shoes, but I can be shocked that so many women are putting their families at risk.
Ladies, ask yourself what he would do if you told him today. Would he leave you? Would you be thrown out on the streets without your cushy stay at home mom job? Hey, I’m a stay at home mom and I know it’s hard. It’s the toughest job I’ve ever had. But there is no commute, there is no boss except your own expectations of yourself, and there are no reviews or pay raises. But compared to what your husband does each day to provide for your family, to keep you at home, to send you to school, to give you Starbucks every day, or simply just to feed you and give you blankets for your bed, I feel the least you can do is respect him enough to tell him you are screwing around while he’s at work and the kids are at the neighbors or that you did screw around on him when you thought he wasn’t good enough for you or fun enough for you or worked too hard and didn’t have enough time for you.
My husband works hard for his family each day. Each week we miss him more and more, but we know that each evening when he’s done working, our day as hard as it may have been was easier than his. I know that our mortgage payment is not contingent on whether or not I did enough laundry that day, but it is dependent on his daily work. I’m a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, a sister and a volunteer….I get angry and I have hard days, and believe me, I complain enough for the two of us being a stay at home mother, feeling responsible for shaping little complicated lives, but I couldn’t imagine disrespecting my husband quite so much as I have heard from some of the women I know. I am in shock with each take I hear. Again, I can’t pretend to know the circumstance. But if you are being abused, neglected or otherwise mistreated, leave him. But don’t teach your daughters that it’s okay to not communicate with your spouse and give your body and mind to someone else because you can’t say the right words to the right person. Please don’t teach your sons to expect the women in their lives to treat them this way. Your children will go looking for these traits in the people in their lives whether they know it or not. It’s ugly and I’m sure it’s not what you want for your family. In turn, we should be treating others as we’d like to be treated and we should be teaching our children to expect the same. It saddens me that so many women I know have chosen this road and it saddens me more to think I am one of few who is shocked.

School drop off

Is it really that hard to be respectful to other people? Are you in such a rush to get to a line that you must put the small lives that entrust us adults to see them through to their own adulthood safely in complete risk and danger? I’ve seen you squeal your wheels and drive on sidewalks so you can be the first to get to the stop sign…to stop and wait. I’ve watched you drive on sidewalks, even had to move my child out of the way of your tires one morning. Why are you in such a rush and why do you not consider the children that are only trying to get to their school safely? Tell me why you open your doors in the middle of the street and push your children out like a helicopter dropping soldiers in the middle of a war zone. Please explain to me why small children have to dodge land mines with Chrysler emblems making their way to the sidewalk while you try to push your way back into traffic fighting for the first car at the stop sign award. And how about those of you that almost pull over to the curb but don’t actually quite make it sitting there with the nose of the car at a small portion of the curb that is open with your ass hanging out in the street for the rest of us to drive around while dodging children that were left in the middle of the road, and your left blinker flashing to let the rest of us know you plan to take your place back in traffic. Are we supposed to go around your back side while you do your war zone drop off forcing the oncoming traffic into the side mirrors of the parked cars along the other side of the street? I just want to know the rules here because obviously my way of driving slowly down the road, stopping to let children cross the street, stopping at the stop sign, and letting my child out with a teacher at the front door is not the correct way. Should I be running over your children to get to the stop sign quicker? Should I be driving though the stop sign as I’ve seen you do? Or maybe while there are basically four lanes of traffic on a small neighborhood street, I should decide to U-turn while my kid’s backpack is stuck in the closing door and while she’s trying dodge the car sized land mines to make her way to the safety of a sidewalk upon which you are driving. Is that the correct way? Will someone for the love of children tell me what the hell is wrong with people, and is this happening at every school? My young children can’t walk safely on a sidewalk without fear they will be pushed along by a Michelin. My oldest daughter feels so uncool because she’s not dropped off in the street like so many other young children. And you all feel you should be honking your horn at a driver who actually stops at a stop sign or pause after stopping to let a child cross the street. I will say this though… Some of your children actually seem to know just how dangerous it is to cross at a stop sign where it should be safest. If there is a child standing there waiting to cross, please include them in the amount of small numbers that run through your mind as you are counting turns until it is time for you to go. If there is a child there…in the cold, wind, rain, sleet, snow or heat…waiting to cross the street to get to school….LET THEM GO! If you were standing there carrying a forty pound backpack and whatever project you had to finish before morning that is larger that you are tall, I am sure you’d appreciate it if the drivers inside the nice cozy warm cars with no more baggage than the cell phone on which they are currently texting would follow the laws, be respectful and let you cross the damn street. Do you think you could show that same respect for the students? It’s just school, folks. It isn’t rocket science or brain surgery. It’s driving on straight streets with sidewalks on either side, two stop signs and a drive way. Not much different than the neighborhoods where you live. It can’t be that hard. And your trip to get to the stop sign to sit and wait or get to the back of the line to sit and wait can’t possibly be that important to you that it’s worth putting children in danger – or making me angry!

I should run away before I find myself tied to the roof of my car!

I keep telling myself this was my choice. Marrying into this family…all my choice. So I shouldn’t be quite so offended, should I? I should be grateful this man asked for me hand in marriage, gave me a home, then knocked me up and made me larger than our car. We need a new car. If we don’t get one, they will strap me to the roof of the one we have – just like the dead grandmother in Vacation. I know they will. She’s already told complete strangers of the plan. She is my mother in law. If she and I had met before my husband and I met, I would have made sure she wasn’t in my life any longer. Sadly, if it had happened that way, I never would have met Jeff, but since I was lucky enough to meet Jeff first, I unfortunately said I do to his entire family as well.
It took a while to get to know them since Jeff and I started dating in September, got serious by November and his parents stopped talking to him I December. October was pretty uneventful though, except for that one time Jeff and I argued over the phone. I felt bad, so I put on a cute little purple negligee buttoned up my long wool coat over the goods and drove from my apartment in Denver to his townhouse in Lafayette eager for him to open the door and see the present I wrapped for him under a long wool coat. Come on, every woman has done that, right? You don’t think about the thirty minute drive where you could get pulled over or flip your car and end up in the hospital with some doctor cutting your coat off talking about how people shouldn’t wear coats while in the car because it lessens the safety of the seatbelt, or the conversation you’d have to have with your family or friends when they come to bail you and your purple nightie out of jail because even though you’ve never done a single thing to go to jail, you’ll surely make a visit that night simply because wearing a little purple almost nothing under a long wool coat is just a bad omen. I didn’t think about any of that on that particular night. I also didn’t think about the fact that his parents who may or may not have been out while Jeff and I were arguing over the phone, would be sitting in his living room farting over and over again making the place smell like rotten cauliflower sure to set the mood I was not looking for in the purple nightie. I also didn’t think about extra clothing.
Luckily for me, I was never pulled over, didn’t have to visit an emergency room, or see my family while sporting all the preparations of sex ahead. Wow, looking at that I’m pretty sure I’ve admitted to having sex with Jeff not too long after we started dating – 6 weeks….8 weeks…?? Well, we are married now, so shut it! And don’t tell our children! But I did have to walk into that townhouse smelling like cauliflower ass wearing a shiny purple negligee, greet my boyfriend, and walk straight upstairs and pretend to be sick. Sure every girlfriend drives for half an hour to get to a different bed to rest in while feeling ill. I’m sure it was a believable story. I’m creative like that. ‘Hi, honey, can I take your coat?’ ‘No, thanks, I drove here in my coat and I don’t want to take it off because I’m so cold. I just may have a fever. Can I just sleep here tonight? G’night, all.’
Shit! Maybe I looked the idiot that night, but all I did was try to be sexy and show how sorry I was for arguing and how fun it can be to make up. Instead I was almost ill. I still smell the cauliflower ass and feel that same ill feeling, so maybe I could have salvaged the evening. Though I’m not sure how I’ll ever salvage the in-law relationship. They plan to put me on the roof of the car. I’d better get this baby out soon. Today would have been good, but we had plans to have breakfast with Jeff’s parents and while they were waiting for us to arrive, my mother in law made sure to let everyone in the lobby know of her plans to tie me to the roof of the car. Actually, while we were walking into the restaurant, I heard her telling a woman none of us know, ‘If she gets any bigger we will have to tie her to the roof of the car like they did the dead grandmother in the movie, Vacation.’ I’m not sure what she said before that, and I’m not even sure I remember what was said after that because I could only focus on not beating her. I know the future is scary! But I don’t know what it will hold. All I know is I can’t take the baby and run! I love my husband too much!

Social Networking

My days of internet social networking started about 13 years ago long before Facebook or MySpace – maybe even when their own creators were teaching their own parents how to use a mouse because we all know those young kids are much better at computers than their parents. I was a songwriter and I used to grab a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine, and play internet poker while writing a song. While playing you could chat as well. Then there were those random days of AOL chat rooms. That’s all so vague in my mind so many years later. It actually seems silly looking back. Did we all really sit in front of a computer and care what strangers across the globe said to us?
Yes, yes we did. And we still do.
Only today we get to see pictures of their families, their work places and we can even Google Earth their street.
Shit, we can even find out where they are every moment of the day if we’d like. Why is it people feel the need to post their location on sites like Facebook or Twitter. Sure, I post a to do list and I know you don’t care. It’s my list and not yours; I don’t expect you to care. But I don’t really need to know your travel plans, do I? Loser is at the grocery store on aisle nine looking for tampons. Really? Is all that information necessary?
Sure, knowing that I need to do the dishes isn’t really necessary, but for me it’s a to do list. If I post I have ten thousand loads of laundry to do, maybe I will actually do about five of them and feel accomplished because I told the world we have no clean underwear in the house. But I don’t post each time I walk into the laundry that I am there in the laundry room. Maybe I should. 'Stephanie is in the laundry room pouring detergent down the little hold on top of the washer. She threw in an extra red sock to brighten the whites a bit.' But then by the time it’s all typed out, I’d have to change it to 'Stephanie is in the kitchen cutting carrots though she knows Nolan won’t eat them.' An hour later, 'Stephanie is back in the laundry room moving clothes from one machine to the other and she wonders why they didn’t buy the red washer and dryer set to go with the pretty red sock and the pink whites that are now drying.'
Do you see my point? If you are posting or Twittering that you are filling your tank with gas you just may get blown up. Especially here in Colorado. I’m just sayin’. Blown up doesn’t sound fun to me. But neither does laundry, and I still do that.
The red sock does add a little fun on occasion. But only on Wednesdays when Jeff is putting on his white shirt in some hotel room more than a thousand miles away wondering what he put in his suit case to pinken his white shirts. Now that’s fun living! Telling me and all your close personal fans you are at Starbucks is not really all that fun. Next time try posting your entire trip, so we can feel more connected. Like, 'Dumbass is sitting at the light at 1st and Main…shit, no, make that 2nd and Main, no..shit, I almost rear ended that guy! I’m going to Starbucks and to get there I left my driveway, turned right, traveled to Main St. where I will sit through every flippin’ light until I get to 7th Ave where I will turn into the parking lot and greet my adoring fans. Have a good day, ta ta!'
Now that’s fun, right? No…not so much. Much like the driver in front of you with the clickety click click nonstop blinker, we just don’t need to know your travel plans or where you are each moment of the day. Unless you are bringing me a Cinnamon Dolce Latte and in that case, I may need to know so I can unlock my front door so you can come in to deliver it directly to my waiting hand.

Announcing Naked Week

It appears I am quite grumpy this week. And to top that off, I had a migraine yesterday that has decided to stick around for a whole extra day. Lucky me. In light of putting away four loads of laundry that were washed and dried two days ago, I’ve decided to make next week naked week. Remember this was just after seven loads of laundry on Saturday and I’m expecting about five on Friday after Jeff returns home with his suitcase. If I’m feeling a bit more optimistic by the weekend, I may claim it PJ week. I know there is a part of me somewhere that recognizes it is December and cold and it might not be practical to be naked all week. However, if I do this, please understand that you will be allowed one set of PJs to get you through the week, so please make sure you don’t spill milk or oatmeal on them. One set of PJs consists of one pair of pants and a night shirt to go with them OR one nightgown. Since our home is always about 70 degrees, I see no point in wearing pants, a night gown and a shirt over that. Technically that is two pairs of jammies at one time. Is there really a need for that? I figure since you all wear PJs only once before they are washed, wearing the same ones all week might teach you something. Going naked might teach you more, so I’m still with naked, though I do realize you won’t really learn anything from it - but I could just relax laundry free for a week and make you think about all the things you could be learning from it. I do appreciate that Arwen at the ripe old age of six loves to put her laundry away, but I’m also not so sure that’s enough for me to want to wash hers next week. It is a school weeks, so I think I’ll have to allow uniforms. Thank you and enjoy your clothing this week because next up is naked week! Oh, and while I’m at it….I’m trying to gather all the Little People together to give Santa room to give you new and better toys, so please stop taking them and hiding them. Santa said he doesn’t want to see Little People in this house anymore and he may not actually leave us presents unless the last two animals from the zoo are returned.

Cats, Kittens, Bite, and Scratches

I write a lot of things. The past two days I have written a lot of things on Facebook about cats!
I am so angry and though I struggle with the fact that this person that allowed this to happen is a family member, I also struggle with the fact that this person is....well family. Makes sense to those thinkers out there and I know you are a thinker.
What has happened with these cats is so wrong on so many levels, I can barely grasp it all.
So first, there were two cats.....la de da....rainbows, sunshine, sky rockets in flight, afternoon delight, those cats had kittens. We, as a family, told him to get the kittens to a shelter. At the time we had cats that were just under a year old that we adopted and we knew that people love kittens. Who doesn't love a kitten? Well, my dad, but that's because he's a guy that looks ahead and knows kittens turn into cats, which he doesn't like as much as kittens, but most people that like cats, like them to be kittens first. Moving on....months later, we see him again and he still has all the kittens. We remind him that kittens turn to cats and hope that he remembers the sky rockets in flight and knows what could happen next. He is of the oh so mature age of forty three, after all, so it's not too much to ask for personal responsibility, right? No, evidently it is too much to ask.
More months go by. I'm not sure how many, but I can guess our two cats that are well loved and given lot of care and affection, have gone through countless bags of food, have had more belly rubs that I have toes, and have enjoyed a few moon cycles from the comfortable spot they share on Arwen's bed.
His lease is not renewed. In my thinking mind, I'm sure this would have meant eviction if the lease were not up for renewal. The story goes, the neighbors complained of a smell. Maintenance entered the apartment and was shocked to find at least eight cats running around a little six hundred square foot apartment. I've rented apartments. I'm lucky to not have to rent an apartment at this stage in my life, but I spent many years throwing money away so someone else could gain from my choice of habitat.
Of those years, I'm sure I never crossed a lease that allowed more that two cats. Once in Charlottesville, VA, I had three cats, but I picked one up while still living in Richmond from the neighbors before they moved out because they felt leaving her outside with some leftovers from dinner was acceptable. I broke the rules of my lease and allowed her to live in my apartment where I liked to fatten my kitties with Meow Mix and Friskies from a can. I continued to break the rules of my lease when I moved to Charlottesville. But I also didn't think three was excessive. Little Amy needed a good home without leftovers and I was able to give that to her. Emily hated me for it, but Saliers didn't care as long as he got most of what was left in the can of food.
Eight cats is a big issue! Eight cats cannot be cared for by one person that works double shifts and has little time to rub those tummies and ears. Eight cats means sixteen ears. That's a lot of rubbing; more time that I'd be will to commit, and I'm sure most of you would agree!
So when the lease wasn't 'renewed,' he moved into his mothers house while he got back on his feet. With his eight cats. Only without telling anyone, the eight cats, or at least two of them heard about those skyrockets, and sometime during one of those double shifts, they went into flight and wham, bam, thank you, ma'am, there were three more....at least! So when he moved into his mother's house, he didn't bring eight cats with him, he brought eleven. Telling people like your mother, with whom you are about to share space, that you are bringing your stereo but won't keep the music loud, and your TV, but will share the remote, and oh about those eleven cats (!) is a important in my book. I think it's right up there with can I sleep at your house tonight while mine is being repainted, but oh by the way, I'll be using your toothbrush, and did I tell you I spend from 5pm in the afternoon until morning nude, but I don't actually go to bed until midnight. And I like to do yoga in front of the TV while watching my favorite show at 8pm. Nude. Important stuff, right? You might change your mind about me coming over. Luckily, many of you have been here after 5pm and know I like to stay clothed and like to talk about how much I enjoy yoga but don't actually do it...ever. But now I’ll understand why I won't be allowed to stay the night at your house and I feel so lucky my house doesn't need paint just yet.
So now he and his eleven cats are in his mother's house. And she thinks there are a few. Five cats, maybe….? Six even….she has no idea there are eleven!
A few weeks go by and by the grace of not being actually evicted, he is allowed to rent a new apartment. Jeff helps him move, Jeff watches him scratch the tailgate on his brand new truck! It’s easy for forty-three year old children to not pay attention to little things like to drag a dresser across the tail gate or to pick it up and carry it. They move all of his things – except the cats!
The cats are left in a four hundred square foot finished basement. A couple of weeks go by and we get the frantic call from Jeff’s mother. She has no idea how many cats are in her basement, but she knows he left them there and they are tearing up her home. She has lost a couch, an oriental rug, a chair; her floors are ruined, he walls have been sprayed, and these cats were sharing three litter boxes. Eleven cats, three litter boxes, no one around to care for them….you do the math.
So Jeff goes in to rescue the cats, and I spend my day calling shelter, humane societies, and foster homes for cats and find a place for them to go. Jeff comes home with two to take to a friend’s house to be barn cats, takes two to a Humane Society, and is questioned for animal abuse because he has been beat to hell just trying to capture these cats.
If you have cats, take a moment and think about how hard it is to capture your cat if it’s time to go to the vet. Not easy, huh? It took him two weeks to catch these cats to take them to his mom’s house. Jeff gets there thinking he’s going to get five cats out of the house. After catching them the first night, we both go back, with our children, to get the last two. Only there are five that we can find.
After some time Jeff tries to figure out why some are so much smaller and why those are so mean. It took two days and lots of war wounds, but he figured out his brother’s secret: there was a new litter a few months ago. These ‘new’ kittens are completely feral! Completely! They are not used to humans, have no desire to become friendly with humans and feel their place in the world in inside the wall under the stairs. Tonight Jeff confronted his brother about this new litter and he finally admitted to knowing there was a new littler four months ago.
We told Jeff’s mom there are eleven cats total. I don’t think she’s all that surprised.

We still have a long way to go, two more to catch and get to a shelter, wounds to heal, keep an eye on, traps to return, and we need to find someone that will clean that house for her.
Here are a few things I’m am having a hard time wrapping my mind around. What kind of person thinks it’s OK to keep eleven cats? Why weren’t they given away when they were kittens? How lazy can one person become? And why? I was given an excuse tonight that he works thirteen hour days and didn’t have time to take them to a shelter. Are you kidding me? I’ll wait while you find the seat of your chair again……. I know….you don’t even have to say it.
The next thing I can get my mind around is consequence. We work so hard at teaching our children consequences for their actions in hopes that things like this won’t happen when they are eight years old or forty three years old. Why? What? Whoa! And these cats! These cats that have only known one another are being ripped apart after they have spent so much time creating their pride, if you will. The new kittens will have little opportunity at any life at all. They are aggressive and angry. They are mean. They attacked Jeff and one attacked a lady at the Human Society. I would bet money she will be put down after her ten day rabies watch is over. Or she can become coyote food. Either way, she never had a chance. How could he take away the chance for a life for these kittens? For at least four of these kittens, he has taken away their chance to be domestic well loved cats. And for the rest, he’s just sad we took them away from him, but has yet to show me he cares what actually happens to the cats.
Where is the consequence? He was allowed to take the original two cats to his new apartment and move on with his life. Jeff has lost days of work, time with his family, money for traps and fees to surrender the animals to the shelter, and sleep over all of this. I have lost too much time, I have put my children at risk by taking them over there, and I have spent so much emotion on this I am beat.
I don’t know where to go from here, but I am so saddened by this. They were beautiful cats and wilder than those big cats I have seen at the zoo. Where is the consequence? Who treats their mother like this? Where is the respect for life? Where do we go from here?