Sometimes I wonder what kind of parents M and I will be (some day WAY IN THE FUTURE, MOM. Do not get your hopes up.). It seems like the majority of people posted here in London, and elsewhere really – have children, and I can understand how the kid timeline can get upped when you’re living this lifestyle. However, getting the kittens has been a good test (and lesson) for us. Having pets really is the closest thing to children I think you can get, other than actually having the kids. I would say babysitting, but that doesn’t count, because you always know they’re going home, so it’s never quite as real. With pets, they’re yours – forever. And if you get them when they’re babies, you’re basically raising them and teaching them your ways as though they’re a child. Or something.
So a few weeks ago, I got labeled “The Disciplinarian”, and M, “The Nice Parent.” Dammit. Here’s what happened:
Kitty #1 and #2 were having serious, urm, bowel issues. It was gross, a little scary at first, and then to make matters worse, they didn’t quite get the concept of being clean cats and appreciating a litterbox, so they were stepping in it while in the litterbox, and then running all throughout the flat while I chased after them with baby wipes. Picture that for a minute….ok.
So “Mommy” (that’s me) took the kittens to the vet for their first visit, and calmly told the vet that everything was great, except that something needed to be done about their stomach issues, because they were destroying my house and I was starting to think I should be paid for how often I had to mop the floors and sweep up the litter that was spreading everywhere since they insisted on catapulting themselves out of the litterbox to run away from me. The vet put kitty #1 and #2 on a special food for irritable stomachs. We were sent home with a new bag of food, a note on how much of it to feed them, and instructions to discontinue all feeding of wet and dry food of the other (crappy) brand we had been using. This would have been the end of the story, except this is my life we’re talking about.
M feeds the little guys in the mornings before he heads off to work, and we had gotten into a routine of him feeding them wet food, and me feeding them dry food for the rest of the day. This clearly made me super popular with them. Because of the stomach issues, M started feeding them the new, special, dry food only. He would complain to me every once in awhile that they looked sad and/or would look at him with huge, disappointed eyes for destroying their hopes and repeatedly coming out of the cabinet with the nasty dry food, instead of the yummy, delicious, diarrhea-inducing wet food. I encouraged him to continue on (meaning I threatened him and told him he could either ignore the looks and continue with the dry food, or go with the wet food and clean the litterbox for a week). That worked for awhile. The kitties were doing well, and I was no longer getting my daily exercise from chasing them around the flat several times a day.
Then one morning, I was cleaning the litterbox, and per usual, Chewie decided at that point that he needed to use the bathroom. I quickly finished cleaning and covered it – and him – up. A few seconds later, I heard “pfffffffffffft,” (that’s a farting noise, folks) followed by a quick “meoowww”. I kid you not. I kind of looked around, realized it had to be him, and then watched him come out of the box, with – well – let’s just say, I grabbed him and the baby wipes. Quickly. I thought it was strange that he was sick again all of a sudden, but just figured it was an off day. And then, I went into the kitchen and saw their food bowl. It was licked clean. I scratched my head for a second, and decided to give my sweet husband the benefit of the doubt, and assume that the little guys were just extra hungry that morning. I thought about calling him to make sure, but then decided against it. A few hours later, we were chatting on gchat, and I mentioned the morning’s episode. His response: “Oh nooo, that stinks. Is he ok?” End of story.
So M gets home later, and we get around to talking about the day’s escapades again (we have no lives, people. C’mon.). I mention how the bowls were completely empty, and he finally says to me, “…ok…I gave them wet food this morning.” Followed by, “Dammit guys, I told you not to tell Mom!”
I sh*t you not.
Instead of getting mad, I had to crack up. He had literally told the kittens that morning, while giving into their pleading looks and opening up a can of wet food, that they needed to not tell mom and be good because he was going to sneak them some of the good food. That obviously didn’t work. Chewie gave him away, just like the good little kitten he is.
I was later relaying this story to one of my friends, and her reply was, “I could’ve told you who was going to be the disciplinarian and the nice guy. Just saying.”
Sigh. Needless to say, kids are on hold for awhile. I’ve got my hands full enough.