Edgy Mama

We’re hoping the city permits for our construction work come through today. Already I miss the noise and bustle from the workers. Strange, I know.

Otherwise, I’ve been single parenting while E-spouse is in D.C. explaining to the powers-that-be how screwed we’re are by our own hubris and dominating natures. In other words, human-induced climate change bites–on all our heinies.

Funny that E-spouse has been in this field for over 20 years, but only when people get frightened do they actually start listening to him. If you’re interested in what he’s presenting to in D.C., go here. Then take a Prozac.

In other news, the pets have been more work than the kids recently. The thin cat, Houdini, seems to be bulimic. Each time he’s eaten anything for the past two days, he’s vomited it back up. On the oriental rug, of course. Eighty percent of my home is hardwood floors, but everybody (human and non-human) throws up on the rugs. I think the kitty has a bit of a virus. Hopefully, his symptoms will clear up soon and I won’t need to engage in feline intervention. Actually, I read somewhere that humans are the only animals that willingly deprive themselves of sleep and food. See what having big brains does for you? It makes you tired, hungry, irritable, and power-grubbing. Thus inducing climate change.

While we’re talking pets, the Dorkie Poo is in the dog house. SOMEONE left the gate unlatched, and when I let him out to pee at 2:30 a.m., he escaped and ran barking through the woods. Typically, he returns after a few minutes of chasing whatever he needs to chase, but this time, he didn’t. In fact, he stopped barking rather quickly. I immediately imagined a predator–a bear or mountain lion–swooping in to snack on my obnoxious 12-pound dog. Of course, when I say “woods” I mean the copse of five trees behind my neighbor’s house. I grabbed a flashlight and the dog cookie jar (he hears the top come off the jar and runs straight home–usually). Then I wandered down the street in my jammies and my motorcycle boots, feeling like a crazy person. After I slammed the top of the cookie jar around a few times, Biscuit came running–from the front of the house, where I imagine he’d been sitting on the porch waiting for me to open the door. I was angry and told him so.

This morning he’s been pitiful pup. He crawled over to me, shivering, when I got out of bed, and gave me the “you yelled at me” look. Even though I’ve been loving all over him, he’s still giving me the sad brown eyes. Of course, him feeling guilty now doesn’t mean he won’t run off into the night again. I know he’s torn between minding me and doing what he thinks is his job. I guess I need to find a new career for him. How do you take a dog who thinks he’s a security guard and make him something else? Like a pastry chef.