Cat Scratch Fever

My little knight doesn't creep in on cat's paws. My knight thunderously beats his feet against the floor at breakneck speed. Always. Ever.

One of the hardest parts of being separated is having to do far too many things at one time, all of them ending up half-assed. For example: after keeping the baby at my back while I scooped the cat litter - a nightly fascination for him - I then had to run his bath and put away the leftovers at the same time. (Don't worry, I washed my hands.) This requires me to leave the gate between the kitchen doorway and the two stairs to the bathroom open. While I was checking on the bath and pulling laundry out of the dryer, I listened to my son running his usual run up the mini-stairs, turn around, down the stairs, into the kitchen. For a full two minutes or more. And then I heard it. That soft little whisper of a sound that shouldn't be. What was that? Rice? Where would he get rice?

I dropped the laundry and ran to the bathroom door. Okay, I stepped quickly - it is a small bathroom. As I stood my sentinel, I noticed the change in color to part of my floor, but nothing actually registered until I heard the thunder of my little one's footsteps and turned ever so slightly to watch him run down the 'hall' to the cubby under the stairs which houses? Yes. The covered litter box. Where he ducked down to the front opening, grabbed two handfuls of cat litter, ran four or five steps and released them to the heavens so they might fall where they would.

It always seems like you stood there forever, doesn't it? When, in reality, it only took a few seconds. As opposed to the full two minutes of scattering he had achieved before.

At least I know when I bellow for the teen-ager in that particular 'death shall come to all who defy me' voice, she comes a-runnin'. (There's a reason her gym teacher was trying to get her to run cross-country.) I was going to have her grab the vacuum cleaner while I grabbed the Great Catsby, but then I remembered her housekeeping skills are somewhat on par with Koko, the Signing Gorilla. She got the job of carting Puss 'n Boots upstairs to the wipes (all sinks being temporarily out of service, of course) while I began the not as easy as you'd think task of maneuvering Mr. Electrolux into the crunchy between my toes mess. I quickly realized I hadn't been exactly thorough in my litter box cleaning. A fact noticed by the teen-ager as well as she came Ew! Ew! Ew-ing down the stairs with her little brother dangling from outstretched arms and proceeded to use the bathroom sink anyway, to hell with all rules of health and sanitation. It became clear that baby had shown her the evidence of Mommy's lack of attention to detail.

As I finished vacuuming and headed to the bathroom to begin the joys of bathtime, I told my daughter, "If you think this isn't going on the blog, you've got another thing coming."

"Are you gonna write about me," she asked.

"Of course I am," I told her. "I'm going to tell everyone about your heroic deeds."

She smiled and then thought for a moment. "And are you going to write about how I asked if you were going to write about me?"

"Of course I am. In heroic detail."

Then she laughed and thought a moment further. "And then are you gonna write about how I asked if you were going to write about me?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh, good. Now [the baby's] story is all about me."