Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the category “Pets”

Zooming through my Zoo

5:05am and wide awake again.  I think I may start trying to do the elliptical.  I hate to drive to the center just to ellipticize for 20-30 minutes but I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early with nothing to do.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

exploding-head-zone

You know, it’s fairly easy to find an argument on Google for whatever you wish to find permission to do, so I did use the elliptical at Killer’s on Friday for 20 minutes.  I actually did it for about 10 minutes, with a rest every other minute because I have, indeed, lost that much fitness in five weeks and had to stop and breathe every other minute.  We will not dwell on that.  I balanced on my heel with no pressure on the forefoot and it didn’t hurt.  I haven’t tried again; I don’t want to screw anything up even though, as I said, it didn’t hurt – I’ve been burned by the Injury Fairy so many times in the past 15 months that right now I’m gun shy.  However, from what I could find on The Great Oracle Google, it’s OK to do the elliptical if I’m stabilized in the boot.  Now I shall consult the other two Great Oracles, you, my two faithful followers of my world-famous blog.  Should I do the elliptical or not?

Remember, the safety of my family, the animals and my foot lie in your hands.  No pressure.

Meanwhile back at the Zoo, waiting for the Shrine to heat up, I let Murphy out.  Hubs said, don’t forget Murphy.  I said, it’s 5:15 in the morning and it’s cold and rainy, he won’t last five minutes out there before he’s scratching on the door.  On the way out to the gym hub’s final words:  just don’t forget Murphy.

So, of course, I did and now he is not in the yard.  dammit.  It’s 35 degrees and raining lightly and I’m out on the deck in the darkness (I tell you, I hear shuffling.  Do snakes shuffle?  Maybe it’s a fox.  Rabid racoon?  I know it’s not Murphy because his collar jingles.) yelling softly (and how stupid is that?  can you even yell + softly?  Isn’t that just talking?)  MURPHY MURPHY but no response.  I’ve had no coffee.  I really really do not want to go down the steps of the deck and hobble around the yard in the dark, in my sock feet sans boot, stepping on razor sharp edges of hickory nut shells which the squirrels constantly drop from the tress, littering the path.  I go to the kitchen door and stand in the carport MURPHY!  MURPHY! and the damn cat scoots out the door and under the car.

I do not have my boot on and I’ve had no coffee.  I’d intended to get a cup of coffee and then get ready for the day.  Now I don’t have time to get my boot on because if the damn cat gets under the deck the story is over and I’ll be crawling in rainy drizzly cold wetness in the dark where snakes might live and that’s going to happen exactly:  never.  I try to peer under the car to see if I can grab her, but I can’t see anything.  Oh, wait, it’s FIVE EFFING O-DARK-THIRTY IN THE MORNING and it’s pitch black outside in the dark rainy morning in which I’ve had no coffee.  Plus I can’t bend all the way over because then my forefoot bends *ouch* so I’m kind of hunched like some crabby old cat lady whispering dammit Chunk!  I hobble back into the house and grab the broom, meanwhile trying to intimidate Mo enough that he won’t go near the open door, which is open in the useless hope the damn cat will run from under the car back in through the open door and into the house.  Plus, intimidating Mo is like candy from a baby, there’s no need and it’s mean so now I feel bad.

I swipe the broom under the car and she scoots out … and directly around the corner to the front porch which is freeking dark as night because it IS night.  I hobble after her in my sock feet on the pebbly surface of the carport *ouch* *ouch* *ouch*.  I can’t see her on the black hole of a porch so I hobble back into the house and around to the front door and turn on the porch light.  Scurrying like a crab I return to see the damn. cat. scoot back under the damn car.  

!@!#$!!!   &^%$!!  *&(*&&^!!!!  and  @#$%!!! I mutter as I sling the broom under the car, swiping wildly.  Where is the damn cat??

Oh, I see.  There she is, so cute and fluffy, sitting in the kitchen doorway watching me attack nothing under the car.

“Whatcha doing, mom?”

Munker and baby

Look at that sweet innocent face, taking good care of her baby to show me how it should be done.

Then I drove  around the block twice trying to find the dog.  I gave up and went home only to find Murphy right there in front of our house, peeing on the neighbor’s bushes.  Tucked tail, ears down, he runs into the back yard and onto the deck.  OH, look, here I am!  Right where I should be!

I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early, forced to be responsible before I’ve had coffee.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

explodinghead

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Hmmmm. I see what happened there…

…when I left the house for thirty minutes to help a desperate friend in need.

Chunker and Murphy will be spending some hours in time out.  And I’ve taken away their phones so don’t bother trying to text them.

Becky and I both work from home, alone in our lonely, cold garrets, surrounded by wadded up Taco Bell wrappers and discarded K-cups, huddled in the chill in our pajama pants and Uggs, wearing our favorite sweatshirt emblazoned YIPPY SKIPPY RUN 2001, the fleece covered with pilled lumps of thread, talking to pretend people on Facebook and blogging with our animals who are treated better than any child ever was.

Becky’s job requires actual work, as opposed to mine, and she has to type many very big words that have a lot of the alphabet in each one and include many z’s, x’s and y’s – which are the hardest keys to find, you know, stuck down in the corner of the keyboard like an afterthought.

After 7 straight hours of transcription Becky sat back, stretched, and her eyeballs fell out onto her desk.  She managed to find them although she did accidentally knock one off onto the floor and it rolled under the credenza which took her a while; she finally slid it out with a yardstick.  She wandered crookedly into the kitchen for a cup of coffee to help wipe the cobwebs from her addled brain.

Her brain intoned, “I spy with our dusty little eye that we only have three K-cups.  This is nowhere near enough to fill the IV bag.”  Then her brain started to scream, “NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Becky wandered back to her desk, frightened and alone, all alone with only Brain and three K-cups in the house.  “I only have three K-cups to last me until tomorrow.  Good-bye.  I loved you all.” she typed to her imaginary friends on FB.

I’LL SAVE YOU!  I replied! and I leapt or lept or leaped in my trusty Explorer, Babs, and brought her coffee and saved her life and that of her family and probably several neighbors!  I was a hero!  News Channel Zippy wanted to interview me!  But I’m humble and loving and giving and told the reporter than I needed no reward or recognition for saving my friend, her family, the neighborhood and, probably, actually, the world.

And you know the rest of the story.  I left the computer open in my haste and apparently Chunker and Murphy had a little verbal sparring contest with my blog.  I apologize and I would make them write an apology too but I believe they would enjoy that too much.

Flush with her success, Chunk has become a terror today.  I heard a faint mewing and tracked her down in the closet, on a pile of boxes, trying to climb up and walk across the hangers.  When she saw me she jumped down and wandered regally down the hallway.  “What?  There’s nothing to see here,” her tail twitched.  She jumped up on the bathroom counter so fast she skidded into Mo, knocking him into the sink.  Ignoring him, she then tried to grab my arm to turn on the water, which I did just so I could watch her shove her snooty nose in the air and jump back down.  She’s terrorized Mo, attacked the bedskirt, tried to eat the fern then turned, jumped on the desk and slid to the other side falling off onto the chair, smacked Murphy on the nose for no reason whatsoever and then, when I came upstairs to work, I found this:

chunker 2.19.13

And her royal highness, seated on my laptop, was searching online:

print job

Apparently she either needs glasses or needs to dust her eyeballs because she had enlarged the screen.  And she doesn’t seem to know exactly how to spell oy vey, but I have a feeling I know what her next comments about me were going to be.

chunker is a suck up

i didn’t drool on mom’s shoes.  i just kinda licked them a little bit.

chunk thinks she is so smart but mom got out the heating pad to sit on and then chunk ran over and jumped up on mom’s lap and fell asleep in about 13 seconds.  i knew she would do that.  so now mom can’t get up because chunk is asleep on her lap.  so now i get to write stories.

this is a good story.  there was a bird that came in our yard and i barked at it and it flew away.  then, i peed on the grass where the bird was.

see? yeah.  dumb bird.

this is a good story too.  mom made carrots.  me and mom love carrots.  she chops them up chopchopchop and then she says ooops! and the carrot falls on the floor!  then i get a carrot and she gets a carrot.  then she chops carrots more and another one falls on the floor!  i love it!  i love it!  i jump and catch it and it never lands on the floor because i am so fast!  chomp chomp!

then i run in a circle and then i see momo and i chase him!  hahahaha we run and run and i bark and bark.

oops.  mom just said MURPHYTYOUDIPSHITQUITBARKING

which that means.  um.  i’m not sure.

i’ll just wag my tail and look at her.  i think that’s what it means.

yep.  that worked.  then she said, murphy you are so crazy.

that means i love you.

i love you too mom!

HI! It’s me, Chunk!

I thought mom would never leave.  she’s been hogging the computer all day.  then she had an emergency, she said oh my gosh this is bad Becky is out of coffee!  and she ran through the house and got in CAR which I hate, stupid thing.  I don’t know how she can help Becky when the only place that CAR ever goes is to the horrible vet that puts things up inside where things should not be put up inside a self-respecting cat and then pokes you with needles while the entire room stinks and reeks of dogs which drool.

I wanted to get on the computer because I have to google doctor krackurback and send him an email and tell him thank you for fixing mom’s butt.  I don’t really get it, since it’s mostly her head that gets upset about stuff, but humans are just funny things and you have to love them anyway.  So anyway her head is much happier now.  She doesn’t say oh my aching head I wish I could burn off some energy.

yesterday she came home and said oh sweet little chunker you are so pretty!  then she said oh my little MoMo you little sweetie you’re so sweet and then she said Murphy!  Do you want to go outside? and of course he’s such an idiot he said yes but then as soon as he was outside he wanted back in because he needed to smell mom’s shoes.  He said her shoes smelled like dirt and grass and moles and squirrels and all kinds of stuff.  He liked them a lot and then he rubbed his nose all over them and finally I said Murphy jeeze get a hotel.

Dogs drool.  I wonder if mom knows there is drool all over her shoes.  ick.

anyway she said oh Munker I had so much fun I ran cross country today.  Which I’m telling you, I love her but she’s so stupid.  I know that country is big.  I googlemapped how to get to Petco and it’s a long way across the country.  I don’t think she could run that far in one hour.  She said she ran ten Kays across country.  Whatever ten Kays are she was happy and said it was a pretty day out with the sun shining going For A Run like she did.  But I know her friend  Ms Kay and I don’t think there are ten of them.  Also Ms Kay doesn’t run.   So, you see how she is, even on her good days.  No wonder me and Mo have to take naps.  She wears us out.

Also it’s real nice she left for a while because she’s been singing again.  She has the radio on and she is singing and it’s awful.  It’s like that time she stepped on Mo’s tail and he screeched and yowled and ran and hid behind the dryer for thirtyseven hours.  Only worse.  Louder.  Screechier.  Endless.

I wanna ROCK and ROLL all NITE and PARTY every DAY
I wanna ROCK and ROLL all NITE and PARTY every DAY

Then later she should have put on a sweatshirt because she was

OOH OOH OOH cold as, cold as
I, i, ice, (you’re as cold as ice) yes (Right here she would give a little bounce in her chair and fist pump the air)

(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, cold as ice, I know
(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, yes I know
(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, you’re as cold as ice, cold as ice, I know

So if she knows so much she should turn the heat up.  I love the heat.  I love to sit on top of the heating vent.  it’s so warm and cozy and I love it.  I curl up on top of the vent and the nice hotness keeps me so nice and warm.  then mom is like, MUNKER!  no wonder it’s cold in this room!  But it’s not cold at all!  It’s wonderful and warm.  So again you see she’s basically an idiot.

Oh shoot I hear CAR!  I gotta go!

Also, HI MR. DAGUMMETT!!

Happy Sunday

this is really a great weekend.  mom said that she is not going to do any work all weekend, and then she went downstairs and started cleaning her office.  which she really needed to do because it’s a big mess.  she should not leave papers on the bed like it was a filing cabinet because it’s not fair to Mo.  Mo loves paper.  he loves to jump on it.  then if it flips up he tries to hide under it.  which that’s kind of stupid because he’s bigger than a piece of paper and I can still see him so then I jump on the bed and smack his head just to show him.  then he smacks my head and we have a really fun time rolling around on the bed pretend fighting.

then you know what she does?  she gets mad at US.  we aren’t the ones leaving her papers all over the bed.  she should yell at herself but she says HEY!  you SILLY CATS!  WHAT are you DOING!? and then Mo gets scared and hides under the bed for thirtyseven more hours.

anyway, she’s down there muttering like she always does so me and Mo are up in the sunporch and guess what?? she left the laptop turned on!  So now I can talk to everyone again!  Two days in row!  I’m so happy.  you have no idea how boring mom is.  Oh My Cat, she is boring.  sometimes I fall asleep right on top of her, bored out of my mind while she is still talking.

which also I found some more great dumb dog pictures

hey.  wait.  How did that picture of the cat get on there??  that just ticks me off.

dumb dog

I’ll hunt them down.

anyway, this morning was so nice.  I was all cuddled up soft and warm with my nose under my paws.  Hey, mom made a poem for me.  Do you want to hear it?  She named it Sheldon’s Song but I don’t know why because she made it up for me and also she doesn’t sing.  which that is a very good thing because she sounds like two cats screeching.  believe me, I would know.

Sheldon’s Song for Chunker
Soft kitty,
Warm kitty,
Little ball of fur.
Happy kitty,
Sleepy kitty,
Purr, purr, purr.

So that’s what I was doing.  purr purr purr and then all of a sudden the stupid dog is in the kitchen barking which totally woke me up.  If I were mom I would have said, dammitmurphyyoudipshit you’re barking at your own dad.

which actually that is what she said.

dad was standing outside the kitchen door, looking at us and Murphy was barking at him.  See?  I’m telling you, that dog is dumb.  Mo and me said, Murphy, you’re so stupid.  That’s dad!

Murphy looked up and saw dad.  he said, oh, sorry and sat down and started licking himself.

anyway, it turned out that the secret door opening thing is broke.  serves them both right.  they never let me and Mo outside through the door anyway.  it’s their turn not to get to go out the door.

altho dad did look sort of cold, standing out there in the dark carport.  So then I felt bad.  for like, a whole minute.

so the other thing that was fun is last night mom sat at the computer box downstairs and she started yelling for dad to COME HERE and she was laughing.  She told dad LOOK!  My review is on amazon.com!  then dad laughed too so I think it was a good thing.  One clue is if the word dipshit or dammit is in the loud voice.  If not, then you’re probably ok.

I don’t really get it.  I looked at her reviews and she doesn’t make any sense.  for one thing, we both know her name is not Hortence.  See if you can figure it out.  Also she told dad to please go like it so I don’t know what that means, because he laughed so I know he did but I guess I’ll ask you two to like it, too.

Tasty but deadly

Rabbit Stew destroys first floor of Shady Grove Nursing Home

OH!  I gotta go!  Dad just came home and can’t get in the door again so Murphy is barking and I bet mom will yell at him again!  YAY!  I’m telling you, it’s a great day!!!

Oh – also, Maya is a dog.  Dogs drool.  Cats rule.  Nanner nanner.

Meh.

Mom finally went outside for a run, I’m so happy!  I’m getting kind of tired of her hogging the computer, I haven’t gotten to surf online for days.  You have to go look at this page.  it’s my very favorite.  stupid dog pictures

the other day she went to Swim which is someplace she goes to that makes her mumble about ‘crazy’ and ‘stupid’.   I don’t think she’s really stupid.  she’s crazy, tho.  anyway, she finally went to Swim and I got to visit online with my new friend Mr. Daggumett.  Mom always walks around saying daggumett where are my keys? and daggummett where is my phone? and I never knew who daggummett is, or why he has all mom’s keys and phone and stuff, but now I know he lives in the computer box mom talks to all the time. I looked at the computer box and it is not very big. I don’t know how so many people fit in it. And cats and dogs, too. I know they live in it because I see their pictures. Mom got me and Mo and Murphy out of the computer box. She saw our pictures and said, I *heart* that kitty and then we popped out of the computer box and live in a house now. Mo is especially happy because before he lived in the computer box he lived all by himself in some trees outside on the Green Way and he could have been eaten by a bobcat. But he wasn’t.

I never met a cat named Bob.

Also Murphy got in trouble which made it an even better day. Mom said Murphy is a dipshit and also that whenever dad comes home Murphy has to show his co-hoenees. I don’t see anyone else around him so I don’t know who his co-hoenees are but maybe they are invisible. First he saw dad come in the house so he started barking like an idiot and made Mo run under the bed for thirtyseven hours. Then he ate my food and mom got real mad and said Murphy youdipshitthatfoodcoststwentysevendollarsabag.

I asked murphy what’s a dollar and he said he doesn’t know but he thinks they taste like cat food.

I love mom even though she is a bit challenged with communication.  the other day I wanted to play in the water at the Sink.  I love to play in the water at the Sink.  Sometimes I don’t play with it. I just look at it, so clear and smooth and soft and watery

sometimes I just look at it…

just looking at the water, so pretty….

mom says CHUNK!  dammit! and then she turns it off!  Then she mumbles about water running for the past hour and dollars.  What cat food has to do with water I don’t know.

so anyway I wanted to play with the water in the Sink and she walked into the bathroom so I patted her on the arm, HEY!  LADY!  I want to play with the WATER!

She said, oh, little Munker, your paw is so soft and you are so cute.

So I patted her on the other arm, HEY!  LADY!  I want to play with the WATER!

She said, Munker, I just love you, you are so sweet.

idiot.  she’s an idiot.

Oh rats.  she’s back, I hear her.  I’d better go rub on her leg and see if she’s been seeing other cats.

If you find any good pictures of stupid dogs send them to me.

They’re cute, odd, but lovable and make good pets.

Merry Christmas!

Mom is downstairs talking to her food.  She has also named it.  It’s name is Turkey Lurkey.  She’s planning to stuff it full, also.  You have to admit this makes no sense.  If the food is not fat enough by the time you plan to eat it, stuffing it at that point is useless.  We have no problem with eating a bird or a squirrel if you can catch one but we know enough, first, not to name something you plan to eat and, second, catch something that’s already fat enough.

Last night she, J and Grandma all were upstairs rapping.  They didn’t sing but they laughed a lot.  We though rappers sang songs but what do we know?  Lacking opposable thumbs we can’t turn on the iPod.  Also, they are not good rappers or wrappers.  You should see how they wrapped the boxes.  It’s pretty ugly, we can’t even see colors and we know it’s ugly.  Look:

wrapping

Now Murphy left and is sitting on the stairs pouting.  He’s upset because one of the twins is downstairs on the couch so he can’t get on the couch.  The other one is asleep in the bedroom with the door closed so he can’t get on that bed.  Grandma went to church with Dad so now he can’t follow Grandma around the house like a lovesick moron.  Grandma went to church with dad so mom could stay home and finishing stuffing Turkey Lurkey and put it in the oven.  Which, that’s also weird.  Have you ever seen a cat cook their food?  It ruins the flavor.  People are weird.  Cute, but weird.

Here’s something else just to prove that this Christmas stuff apparently makes people stranger than usual:  Dad, who is like the Security Police and always makes sure every light is off and every door is locked and everything that should be in its right place – Dad – left on the lights in the den.  Not only that, but he openly allowed some fat man to CRAWL DOWN THE CHIMNEY in the middle of the night.  Yes.  Then he let the fat man play with OUR tree.  The tree we’re NOT allowed to play with, the fat man gets to play with.  What kind of idiocy is that?  PLUS:  he did not let Murphy bark at the fat man.  See?  Odd.  Loveable, but odd.

You know what else?  He did not go to workoutattheY.  Nope.  Crazy.  He didn’t goforarun either.  Mom wentforarun last week.  She was really happy.  But, did she goforarun today?  No!  SEE??

Also, another thing – dad never lets a light bulb stay on a nanosecond longer than absolutely necessary.  It’s like a contest.  Can he get the light bulb turned off before the person is completely out of the room?  We think he has a scoreboard somewhere. And, yet:  he let mom randomly put lights all over the outside of the house – where you can’t even use them to read a book – and leave them on for hours.  Cute, but senseless.

So we’re just hiding up here, playing spider solitaire on the laptop and trying to stay out of the way of a bunch of crazy people.  We love them, they’re cute and they do make good pets, but sometimes you need to just let them run out the energy.  Later they’ll be all tired and in the den looking at the tvset and we’ll make our move then.  Turkey Lurkey may be too skinny and getting cooked in an oven, but we bet there will be some left on the counter.  We can force ourselves to eat some.

Merry Christmas to all you other pet owners, we hope your pets got fatter turkeys and that your Dad didn’t flip out and let a fat man just randomly roam through your den.  But we’re betting you’re all in the same boat as us.

You gotta love them, though.  They’re so cute!

We’re on a Crazy Train

Driving me insane, I’m going off the rails on a crazy train 

The children, apparently, are all off their meds.  Unfortunately I am not, and I refuse to look at the calendar to see if it’s been 11 or 12 weeks since I’ve run.  I don’t have that many fingers and toes.

As I noted on FB the other day, no one – NO ONE – should be filled with steroids four times in one month. Someone could get hurt, and it won’t be me. This could explain why Chunk ran out the kitchen door the other day and hid under the car.  Hubs was at one end of the car fishing for her and I was at the other, with a mop.  Instead of running back in the house through the nearby kitchen door, which was hanging wide open, she darted for freedom on the front porch where she played Cat & Mouse with the two of us, slinking behind the fern and then under the bench, back and forth, as we darted to and fro, grabbing and missing.  We finally captured her; she struggled but we re-inserted her in the house, only to have her shoot out the back door and into the yard – she was close to speed of light, she was across the patio, down two sets of steps, and in the yard before I could turn around – once again, she was captured and re-inserted in the house. She has pulled the lights off the tree, sat in a branch and broke it and meanwhile I’m considering duct taping myself to a chair. Just need to be sure the Keurig will be within reach.

I fixed the broken branch by using long twist ties to buddy tie it to the branch above.  It’s listing to one side but should make it through one last Christmas.  I bought the tree while the traitors were still in high school so it’s given its due.  When all four kids were younger we got real trees for a series of years.  I loved it, but hubs’ eyeballs rolling back in his head every time he entered the room and considered the possibility of the entire house going up in flames from shorted out lights finally wore me down.  He should have been looking at the fireplace and rolling his eyeballs since that’s where the lightning finally struck and the fire ensued.  And it wasn’t even Christmas.

The last time we got a live tree he came close to entering orbit when he had to try to get it in the house.  Granted, it was a bit larger than the door.  It didn’t look quite that fat at the tree lot, really, although the kids no longer really fitting in the van could have been interpreted as a clue.  I just told them it was actually not illegal to drive with three kids in one front (bucket) seat.   I’d already paid for the tree and anyway I think the lady hauling all the kids around the tree lot had quickly been singled out by Tree Lot Dude as a nutjob.  Not that my pride was impacted.  It was some other woman with a bunch of kids whose names she kept mixing up.

After that, feeling sorry for hubs – it had nothing to do with my pride – I decided that was enough and we’d make do with fake, which he could just slide down the stairs from the attic every year in a nice tidy box.  That last year, though, that tree was magnificent.  We named it Mothra.  Mothra The Christmas Tree.  We didn’t realize, when picking it out, that it was too fat to stand alone.  It had a hearty lifestyle before it came to live at our place; apparently it was a choice of becoming a Christmas tree or auditioning for Biggest Loser, which would have been going out on a limb, if you ask me.  I had to use two 4″ nails (one hammered into the window frame and one into the mantel – neither of which I was ever able to remove.  When this family nails something to the wall, it’s freeking NAILED.  Hubs hung an 8×10 picture on the wall in one of the traitor’s rooms and when we moved I had to saw the nail off at the wall and he re-plastered it.  Sucker. Was. Not. coming out.  He’d impaled it in a stud.  The wall was coming down before that nail did.)  We wrapped a thin rope around the trunk and tied the tree to the nails embedded in the wall/mantel.  You mostly couldn’t see the rope.  Especially when the lights were off.

HI!  I’m back!  Had to warm up my 3rd or 4th cup of coffee.  I’ve kinda lost count because it’s now about 6:45am and I’ve been up since 2:30am.  I hope no one counts the empty Kcups in the trash.  I’ve had plenty of time to ruminate about long ago, last year, and last week, and here’s the thing:  I don’t think either the tree or the “kids” are going to undergo any changes, and I really think it’s going to get worse.  I just don’t know.  Maybe the steroids are like a virus and I’ve sneezed some on them?

Last year when Chunk was an even earlier version of Chunklite, since she was still a kitten, I worried she’d try to climb the tree, but she never did.  She did daily strip the damn thing completely bare of ornaments as far as she could reach and batted them all about the den, but she didn’t climb it.  I found ornaments for weeks.  I moved a chair last spring and out rolled one last ornament.   Lonely, lost little ornament with its top missing.  Sad.  This year, one branch down on the first day.  I didn’t even bother putting ornaments on the bottom branches.  Three different Christmases when my kids were learning to pull up, stand, and walk I put the tree in the playpen.  That was uglier than some bottom branches without ornaments.  If we have company I’ll quickly move a few.

Last year Murphy ignored the tree pretty much, at least as well as he ignores anything in the house which he doesn’t want to eat or sleep on.  This past week he spent two days following me like I had a steak glued to my falling off butt but not looking happy about it, cowering behind the nearest piece of furniture he thought he could fit behind (rather like Mothra The Christmas Tree, he had a hugely optimistic opinion of the smallness of his stature, never realizing that an 18″ trash can did not fully conceal him) and while he cowered he shivered and shook, looking hang-dog at me (boy, they nailed that description of a look) (oh, haha – nailed).  I’m not sure, but I think he didn’t like the untree-smelling thing set up in the den.  He didn’t seem to want to enter the den and when he did he dashed quickly to the door begging for freedom.   It could have been the pet repellent I’ve been spraying indiscriminately all over the tree uselessly, as you’ll note in the photo below, where you just might glimpse Mr. Mo settling in for a long winter’s nap as more of the branches dip closer and closer to the carpeting and ornaments slide slowly downward and the tree reeks of chemicals never before combined.  But he’s so damn cute.

Mo in xmas tree

Apparently to Mo and Munker consider pet repellent to be as attractive as I thought my mother’s Chanel No.5 was when, in 7th grade, I wore it to school for weeks trying in vain to entice the attention of Kevin, an “older man” in 8th grade.  Hey, why would I think she’d mind?  She never used it – it just sat there on her dresser, another item to dust.  Or so it seemed to me.  She’d had it for years and it never got much emptier.  Wouldn’t you think she didn’t like it but kept it around so she’d have a purpose in dusting?  Which, by the way, I thought a useless and archaic waste of time probably invented by my grandmother on the farm, which was surely dirtier than living in town, especially since it was actually me that had to dust the bottle, giving me ample evidence of her disdain for the item.  Yeah, right.  Disdain until one day in a freakish accident she somehow discovered the visibly lower level of perfume in the bottle and determined it wasn’t the dog smelling so fine.  Lesson learned:  don’t use mom’s perfume.

Plus, it didn’t seem to work anyway, Kevin fell madly in love with some idiot girl at his stupid church.

Now, this evening, Mo is curled up under the Christmas tree, looking so cute and sweet and pretty, all white and black and soft against the red plaid tree skirt, while he evilly plots his next tree climbing excursion.  Chunker, meanwhile, is sound asleep in my chair and has been pretty much since 3:30am when, after a desperate search throughout the house and realizing she was nowhere to be found, I discovered the little sh*t OUTSIDE on the kitchen deck gazing at me through the window.  She’d been outside all night.  Her longest previous outdoor excursion was the aforementioned visit to the front porch.  AND she has not yet batted one ornament off the tree, which I think is a sick ploy to throw me further off my game.  Murphy lovingly and uncoweringly played all over the den last night and then curled up with the B’ster, who spent the night with us, and this morning I heard the hubster upstairs roaming around at 7am, he overslept by two hours and didn’t run this morning.

We’ve got to get back to normal around here.  I’m the one who’s crazy and they are making me insane.

The new normal

4am Saturday.  Apparently 36 hours of sleep out of 48 is quite enough.

The second SI joint injection, while it did make it much less painful to sit, has not solved the problem.

Natural Childbirth was newly the rage when I was having my first child.  It was all new news; if you took so much as an aspirin while pregnant you risked terrors unknown for your unborn.   My mom drank coffee and ate sugar and took aspirin and look how well that turned out.  What’s everyone worried about?

I slept, cocooned around the life in me, planning the joy of birth, all natural:  breathe innnnnnnnnn breathe ouuuuuuuuuuut.  Soon out would pop a pink face resembling the Gerber baby.  Labor and delivery revealed to me a different world.  And, yet, when my second child came along I repeated the process.  This time there was no rosy glow surrounding my daydreams but I knew it was probably best for the baby.

When the twins came along, rosy glow or no, it was epidural time.  One of them was crossways and he had two choices:  breech or transverse, and the doctor didn’t consider either option optional.  Loaded up with an epidural I gave birth pain-free.  (This could explain why the carpet, 14 years later, ended up on fire.  Small fire, quickly extinguished, but, still, fire.  On my carpet.  In the middle of the den.)

Cue the robins and rainbows and clouds:  la-la-la-la wow.  That didn’t hurt a bit.

For the intervening decades pain level for me has always been compared to childbirth.  Am I being torn apart limb by limb?  No?  Ok, give me some ibuprofen.  I may still hurt, and I may not be a happy camper, but just leave me alone to get through whatever’s going on, and I will.

It took me until this morning to put together this week’s clues.  Like the Sunday puzzler, right?

1.  Tuesday and Wednesday I walked 3 miles each day.  Agonizingly slow miles (and please, no one get offended if they are walkers, because taking an hour to walk three miles when I did 10K in that time ten weeks ago, including allowing for the limping to the finish line the last two miles of the race, is a blow to my ego even though I should be above that type of thing.  I’m a shallow, vain person.)  I’m also impatient and stubborn, which is one of the reasons I run.  Every time I walk I think, I could be done now…I could be done  now…  In fact, I’m going to admit something else that shames me.  On Wednesday as I trudged along I saw a guy running past me in the neighborhood.  I always try to make contact with other people out running and walking, a little wave, a little ‘hi’ if I have enough breath.  No.  I trudged along, head down, refusing to look up.  I was mad.  He was running.  I was not.  Nice attitude, eh?

2.  (Here’s where genius comes in, see if you can figure it out before I did)  Tuesday and Wednesday nights I had spasms in both legs – dozens, all night long – which would grab my legs and freeze them with electricity so hard that two days later my muscles are still sore.

3.  Thursday morning after a night of pain I woke, exhausted.  “I don’t feel so good,” I thought.  I started to sit up.  Ohhh, noooo …. and I hit a pace to the bathroom which would shame Usain Bolt, where I was immediately and completely assaulted with the worst stomach virus I’ve had in at least a couple of years.  This set the day’s pattern.  Sleep like the dead, awake, beat Usain to the throne.  Twelve hours later, both Usain and I exhausted with the intervals, the last of the virus had been exorcised.

4.  How sick was I?  I never had any coffee all day.  Yes.  Now you understand the seriousness of the situation.  Mere mortals fear to tread.

5.  Thursday night I slept like Eric Northman in daylight.  Another twelve hours and I woke, Friday morning, wondering why there was roadkill in my mouth and how I could possibly have actually melded to the mattress.  And, yet, initial consultation revealed both seemed to be true.  Further rumination revealed that I’d had no leg spasms.  None.  Oh, sure, twitches but that’s always there.

6.  All this meant that Thursday’s follow-up visit to the ortho was, understandably, postponed to yesterday afternoon.   After a lunch of Ramen noodles and sipping a Route 44 Diet Cherry Limeade, nectar of the Virus Gods, I headed to the Doc.  Driving was not very painful.  I didn’t find myself shifting restlessly in the seat, spasms in my hamstrings.  Odd.

7.  All Together Now:  Why did I not have spasms?

8.  Because lying around all day long is good for not having pain.

9.  I refuse to accept a lifestyle that includes that as an option without exploring every other option possible.  (see 1, above)

10.  This has nothing to do with my back, but I have to tell you both about Murphy Munker and Mo.  The entire time I was sick they would not leave me.  Ok, well, Munker and Mo ran down the hallway like their butts were on fire every time I jumped out of the bed and bolted for the bathroom but that was just the suddenness of movement.  Murphy, who will spend 8 hours outside in 40 degree weather if he can just find a squirrel to hate or a 24″x 24″ patch of sun to lie in, would not leave the bed.  He went outside for a couple of minutes twice in 24 hours.  If I moved to the couch, he moved to the couch.  Munk and Mo followed.  It was cute.  Like a sick little parade.  Me, wrapped in a blankie, shuffling downstairs, Murphy running ahead to clear the path:  Make Way — Make Way — Munk and Mo following, occasionally stopping to playfully bat one another in the head.  Once in the den they would put on a little cat show, running back and forth, hiding behind the plants or the chair, jumping out to pounce on each other.  Look, Mom!  Funny, Right?  Smile?  If you have an empty nest, I recommend you find some good used animals.  You cannot overestimate the joy they add.

New Normal continues as we continue to puzzle out my Falling off Butt:  My new BRDr.FF has scheduled me for another epidural which should happen next week.  She said we’ll give it a week or so; unless I call her singing the Hallelujah Chorus and already planning my next marathon training schedule we will move into Plan B, Operation Save the World from Terrilee:  visit the Neuro.

NEXT WEEK IS THANKSGIVING!  What are you two planning?  Regardless of my back and my whiny little tiny baby issues, I am blessed.  I have many wonderful friends whom I love, and who seem to love me even without their drugs, a fantastic, wonderful, supportive, loving family, a job that’s out of this world and, of course, Murphy Munker and Mo.  I could want more – and usually do – but I know the truth:  I’m incredibly blessed.

The Bobment. Happy Bobday!!

Yesterday was Daylight Stupid Time, in which some unnamed They people dork around with my hour twice a year, first taking it away in the spring and then acting like they are such great Good Guys by returning it, apparently unharmed, in the fall.   Every year the They people repeat this, touting the goodness of theft, arbitrarily removing and replacing my hour.

THEY ARE LYING:  there always remains 24 hours in the day!!!!

If anonymous They people can do such a thing, I, too, can create a movement:

The Bobment.

Everyone hates poor Monday.  Vilified, decried, despised.

I hearby declare Monday’s name is changed to Bob.

Now you can awaken after a pleasant weekend and, instead of dreading Monday, you can enjoy a nice cup of coffee with Bob.

Happy Bob Day!

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