A year and half and one purloined used condom later, we had this.
1994. Chloe was such a good baby that I decided we needed another. I started making advances toward MathMan who insisted that he liked the kid we already had. I assured him that we could keep her, too. The hospital didn't have a trade-in program anyway.
After some "convincing," we had this.
1998. Back from a misguided attempt to go home again, MathMan and I moved the furniture back into our house in Illinois and tested out the mattress thus producing this before we even discussed what we'd do next....
Later that summer, Chloe, who had begged for years for a cat, finally got her wish. We visited the Chicago Humane Society and brought home the only cat that was younger than a year old. Mean, territorial. Vicious with her claws, but Chloe loved her and named her, ironically enough, something soft and beautiful. Daisy. Daisy the Hellcat. From Hell. Of course the cat fell crazy in love with MathMan.
2003. The move to Georgia. Daisy remained in Chicago with our wonderful neighbor Dan and his cats until we got settled because we didn't know where we were going to stay when we got here.
November 2003. Daisy was retrieved and settled into her new home with all kinds of cool windows to gaze from and a stunning array of wildlife visiting the bird feeder aka The buffet.
Nathan and Sophie felt left out of being owned by a cat. Chloe made it abundantly clear that Daisy was her cat. A want ad. Free to a good home.
We'll take two.
2004. A pregnant cat is treed by a dog. A sucker brings her in because the tails of hurricanes have been passing through and it's miserable outside. Four kittens are born behind Sophie's bed.
Of course we keep the runt.
|Who are you calling a runt?|
MathMan is disgruntled. Enough, he says. This is insane, he says. It's madness, he concludes.
He's all bluster in the face of this face.
July 15, 2011. MathMan, Chloe and I arrive home from seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 2. Sophie and a couple of the Covered Bridge Springs Tarts are on the back porch squeeing about this.
Please, People of the Internets, save my marriage. Free to a good home. Not the husband. The cat. He's precious, affectionate, has a high tolerance for cuddling. Needs a place to live because six cats? That would be crossing the crazy line. Five cats may be crossing the crazy line, but six? We'd be outnumbered.
And yes, I did just conflate cats with kids. At some point, both are just as darling and just as annoying. True, the cats won't care for me in my dotage, but there's hardly any guarantee that my children will either. I assure you though, when it's time for the tough choices to be made, I'll play dirty. I'll remind them that they and the cats are here because I insisted on making it so. Left to his own devices, MathMan would likely be living a wonderful, carefree life with a hot car, a hot girlfriend and more money than he knows what to do with. See how I ruined it for him with my bright ideas?
That's what he gets for drinking tequila shots on October 1, 1987. A lifetime supply of Lisa.
Listen, if you know of anyone who needs or wants a cat, please email me at lisa h golden dot gmail dot com. We'll figure out how to get this kitty to you even if it means I drive him to you. In fact, he's so smart, he might even drive himself.
Until then, he'll be soaking up the love and leaving gifts in the litter box.