Yeahhh... Well my week got off to a fine start.
First, I ate too much last night - treated to steak and French
fries which is a rare event in our household. So, I overindulged, even though I knew I should stop.
In my
defense, I also had grilled sweet onions and bell pepper, so I got some
veggies.
No matter, though, what can I say? I know better but I’m human and a glutton (sometimes). End
result, I was too full and didn’t get as much sleep as I would have liked.
Which leaves me wondering: why on Earth do I do that to myself? I do know better.
I’ve done it often enough to know better. So, why? All I can come up with is
the Homer Simpson ‘DOH’!
The end result is that I woke up at three-thirty and that was it. Tried
this and that until four-fifteen, a whole thirty minutes before the first
alarm when I gave it up as a lost cause. I laid there for a while, playing games
on my iPad, going to my writer’s websites and messing around. Finally, at
five-forty-five I gave in and got up.
I still had an hour before I had to leave, so plenty of time since I had set up the coffee and my mother-in-law’s pills last night. My only obligations were to get myself ready, which I did, then set up the coffee for hubby, which I did, then get Sam taken care of.
Oh, my poor baby! What a night he had! When I opened the door to his room, I discovered that he had "exploded" from
both ends, leaving little bomblets all over the floor, the table, the bookcase
under the window, behind the chair and in the catch-tray in front of his box.
Miraculously, nothing was left in the cat box - the one place intended for that
material. Thirty minutes later... the floor is cleaned up, the catch tray has
been hosed off and left in the backyard to dry, and I’m ready to leave - except
he’s thirsty.
Since he exploded, and since he was probably more dehydrated
than usual because of it, I couldn’t just leave. For ten minutes I stood at the sink while he
drank from my palm. When he lost interest and began to spend more time watching
the water than drinking it, I turned off the tap, put him back in the bedroom
and then my way was clear. All I can hope is that he didn’t have more trouble -
under or on my bed or anywhere.
For an eighteen-year old cat, he’s really pretty good. In
all the time we’ve been buds, he’s never once done anything unfortunate on my
bed or pillows. He’s had cause, believe me. After all, there were the trips
away, weekends up to Lake Tahoe, visits to Oregon to see my parents, leaving
him behind in the care and keeping of people Not Me, but he’s never once taken
out his ire on my bedding.
He’s a sweet boy and I love him so I just shake my head,
commiserate with him when he has troubles and get to cleaning. Thank goodness
for plastic gloves, though!
Well, the good news is that I got here “only” thirty minutes
late. The next bit of Joy in my life is hearing, repeatedly as I drove in, what
a “beautiful” day it will be. Sorry. Some people may like 100+ degree temps,
but I don’t. I’m very much a seventies kind of girl. So the top I wore, not
knowing what the day would bring when I got dressed, is going to be ‘warm’.
Rats. At least I’m inside, with the A/C, and I won’t cook until this afternoon,
when I get in my car to drive home.
C’est la vie, right? This too shall pass and it will be
something else. Now, after a start like that, my week has got to get better,
right? We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted (whiner that I am).
I hope your week is lovely - as cool and comfy as you may
like it with no exploding cats in sight!
Best~
Philippa
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