Cats and Kid. Wait. Switch the plural and the singular around. There ya go.

Both of the kids are in bed and I have 15 minutes to type this before my last pumping session of the day. Quick, Marcoda! Type and for the love of god stay focused.

My cat. Remember her? Yeah, she’s still around (poor neglected thing). After bedtime with the kids I came out to check my bank account (which we will not discuss. Filthy nasty thing.) and some blogs. Polly came up from the basement and stood at my feet crying for attention. I was in a loving mood due to my wonderful bedtime with the kids (which I should start capitalizing as I refer to it so freaking much) so I loved her up real good.

Then I saw my account balance. And needed a hug. Polly, quick! All of your months of crying for attention are finally being answered. Cuddle cuddle cuddle. I sat up and she got down. Well tried to but somehow slipped off the couch and snagged her claw into my itty bitty pinky. “Mother fucker!” sprang to mind but not mouth (yes, yes. I’m the picture of self control). It was not her fault. So I rinsed off the wound, yes wound, because oy. The blood. And stuck a band aid on it and went back to the lap top while Polly laid under the coffee table.

Then she suddenly came out and stared at the wall. Stared it down good. I looked and wondered what the hell she was looking at because I sure as hell didn’t see anything. “Polly, come back here.” Then I saw it. A tiny bug, basically an ant I think, crawled on an article of clothing in the clothes basket. So of course she is still looking at the basket of clothes 15 minutes later every once and while darting forward like she sees something and pawing at said clothes.

The cat. She’s insane.

OK, I spent too much time on what is, in hind sight, a very boring cat story. Have I sunk that low? NO! Because I will redeem myself with (gasp) a cute kids story!

Matt is off galevanting in NE Minneapolis so it’s just the kids and me. That’s ok because I was snuggled between a smiling and cuddling 7 week old and a three year old who repeatedly told me she loves me while playing with my hair.

My life. It’s good.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: