Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Kiddies + Kitties = Ketamine (or Klonopin... or wine).

The moments when our children are harassing our new kittens to the point where we hear squealing from human voices, and crying from feline voices, is the time when I mix myself a drink.  If I had Ketamine, I would take that fucking shit like it was part of my daily regimen.  Kids won't leave cats alone?  Ketamine time.  I don't have Ketamine, and I don't resort to drunkenness to deal with my children having selective hearing when it comes to the treatment of their new and only pets.  I wish I were drunk, I'll admit, and I wish I had Ketamine, although I have never used the stuff and I don't even know what it is really.   It just happened to be on our latest veterinarian bill for the kittens shots and their neutering and spaying.  Ketamine.  If it got our little kitty Luke through getting his balls cut off, and Leia through an invasive surgery removing her reproductive organs, than it sounds like it might be a fun time.

Hey.  I'm kidding.  Not really.  Hmmmm...  Can you figure out when I'm telling the truth?  I do find myself subconsciously looking for my bottle of Klonopin, or wondering if there is any alcohol in the fridge or cupboards, when I have said for the 10th time, "If the cat doesn't want to be picked up, put it back down and leave it alone.  It's a living being, not a toy."  Ha!  My genius daughter turned this around on me one time and said, "Mommy, how are we supposed to know how to take care of pets, you never let us have any until now."  Right.

You see, I'm allergic to cats and dogs and too much dust, and seasonal shit in the air.  I have had terrible allergies in the past, as I have written, and only surgery to open up my sinuses and suck the crap out of them that had been sitting there for years, I imagine, has allowed me to breathe right now, as long as I take my allergy medicine.  One pill, two sniffs up each nostril, and I'm all good for kittens and pollen.

Now I thought the biggest issue we would have with giving our children their God given right of having a childhood pet, would be my allergies.  But it's not.  It's the grating sound of cats meowing in peril, and our children yelling, "It's not me, I didn't touch the cats!"  Yet they did, and they are.  Liars.  My children don't lie, except when it comes to kitty treatment...  Until recently.

Two days ago both Luke and Leia Skywalker Coleman went in for their necessary kitten shots, de-worming, and fixing...  or de-reproduction abilifying.  The twins went to the appointment and saw the kittens being checked over by a veterinarian, just as they have been checked over many times by their pediatrician.  And they had to say goodbye to the kitties for a few nights, so surgeries and some recovery could be performed in the safety of the animal hospital.

The cats are home today.  The children are terrified of the cats.  They are fragile beings now.  Stitches that could be pulled or licked too much?  Her insides were extracted?  His balls were cut off?  Stella was wailing, "You are a bad, bad parent," at me because I told her that we didn't have to follow the kittens around for the ten "recovery days" and watch them every second.  I went outside to escape her crying that Leia's "Elizabethan cone" had come off when she was playing with her kitty brother:  "It came off, she'll lick her stomach and die!" Stella cried.

"NO, Stella she will not die.  I was cut open and you and Michael were both pulled out of my abdomen, and I was walking the next day and I didn't die.  If someone wanted to lick my stitches, I would not have given a..."
"Mommmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy, she'll die!"

"Nope.  She won't.  She won't die."

"I have to go play Terraria and get my mind off this," she signed dramatically.  Please watch Leia!"  And with that, she swept out of the room.

I drank a little Rum and Coke and decided to write. I am writing this, and I write other things, and that's what calms me down.  I calm down when I imagine someone is listening.  I write...  I was writing and I heard Stella skittering down the stairs.  She said, "Terraria really calmed me down.  Terraria always calms me down.  It's like the real world, but magic."  She talks very fast, sometimes, and then added,  "Hey a hummingbird!  It's drinking the nectar of the lilies.  Did you know baby hummingbirds are the size of the penny?  It's nest is the size of a quarter.  I think that's true fact."  I told her that was very interesting and wondered how she knew it and she brushed it aside with, "I read about it, mommy."
And finally, "I've gotta get back to the game.  Don't worry, if you want to play, you can play Terraria with us too.  You will totally relax if you play with us."

I sipped my coke, put down this darn computer, and went to play Terraria.  And I came back to add, that it is not only not relaxing, it's very stressful with falling down holes, and needing magic devices to live, which you must earn, and zombies and all that.   (And it is sure taken very seriously by two children I happen to live with.  "Mommy, you're going to die!").

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