An Innocent Walk Nearly Turns to Cat Murder

I almost killed the cat today and would have, without remorse, if not for the inevitable glares of disapproval and Andrea's likely emotional wreckage. I present to you a completely biased tale after which you can decide if my emotions were just.

There are few perfect moments during my day that allow an activity other than holding, changing, or feeding Oliver. Generally, those occasions are used to address my needs, such as eating and pooping* (probably too much info, but this is destroying my poop schedule). However, at around 10 AM, one of those moments arose. Swiftly, I took action. We're going on a walk! Ollie, myself, and Shasta** (who was outside at the time).

I went to the garage to put Ollie in the stroller and hit the garage door button and up it went (as it does) and in came Roxy, the cat that almost died. She scurried past as I was strapping Ollie into the stroller. My instinct were right: no signs of a struggle or fussing. I got his "Wubbanub" from the car (a pacifier with a stuffed elephant attached), for added peace security and grabbed the portable garage door device I keep with my bike. All this time, Roxy is inspecting the newly installed cat door that goes into the house. Standing just outside of the garage, I hit the appropriate button and Roxy bolts, spooked by the sound (which is ridiculous because the who mechanism is surprisingly quiet). In no time she is standing outside with myself, the boy, and Shasta. This is a problem because she will follow us on the entire walk. Not only would this limit where we could go (no crossing the busy street), but she has been known to take detours into unknown territory and lose site of the walkers leading to a game of Hide and Seek I wasn't prepared to play with a ticking time-bomb of tears and wailing in the stroller.

Collecting her was easier than expected and I raised the garage door about three feet, tossed her inside, and closed it right away only to have her scamper out Indiana Jones-style (though she lost her hat). This annoyed me because now she knew my intentions and planned on making catching her far more difficult. I went after her, Shasta in tow, but Ollie in the driveway, but she kept running away. I figured that if I scared her away far enough, she might now follow. But she did. I was going to have to catch her.

Fortunately, she became bold when she thought she was going on a walk with us and she passed right by me. Moving faster than than Roxy ever dreamed possible, I swooped down and grabbed her. My only option was to put her in the house through the front door which was locked. With Shasta's leash in one hand, Roxy in the other, and the boy in his stroller on the sidewalk, I tried to make my way back to the house and get my keys from my pocket. Simultaneously, Shasta and Roxy rebelled. Shasta didn't want to return to the house and planted, an action the led to her collar pulling off over her head. Roxy did he version of the death roll that alligators are so famous for and squirmed her way out of my grasp. Now both of my pets were loose.

At least dogs listen. Wrangling Roxy was even worse. Not only had I tried to get her inside, but I'd added stress to her life. She wasn't about to trust me. I put Shasta's leash on the around the fence and followed Roxy into the neighbors yard while in the back of my mind I pictured someone sneaking up and taking off with Ollie (who I moved from the sidewalk back to the driveway). For some reason, Roxy though she could hide beside a bush and not INside and once again, with ungodly speed, I caught her. Two hands wrapped around Roxy. No amount of struggling or clawing would keep me from getting her in the house. Or so I thought.


Turns out, cats are insane. She didn't swipe at me much, but her freakout was enough that I couldn't get my keys from my pockets and unlock the door without dropping her. In an instant, though, I had her pinned to the ground... You know how in horror movies when people can't seem to remember how to use keys during times of great stress? How absurd it all seems? Well, it's true. For the life of me, I could not contend with opening a door and holding a pissed off cat down at the same time. I can only hope no one walked by or was watching from their window to see this bizarre seen unfolding.


At last, success! I literally bowled Roxy across the floor as far from the door as possible so she had no chance of getting back out. By this point, I was hot, sweaty, and pissed. It was ten minutes from when I put Ollie in the stroller and wouldn't you know it, three houses into the walk and he starts to cry. I try to power through it, but no Wubbanub would sate him. Shasta stopped for what I assumed was to sniff some garbage and I pulled her past leaving her no recourse but to walk and poop (sorry Shasta!) and for the first time since I was about 13, I didn't clean up the dog poop because Ollie was in tantrum mode. Instead, I picked him up and walked him back to the house, all the while thinking about how I want to kill Roxy for ruining my perfect moment.


We returned home and I wanted Roxy OUT of the house. I didn't want to see her because who knows what I'd do if I did. She was understandably freaked out and propped the door open so he exit would be as simple as possible. But instead of heading out the door, she retreated into the house. This action infuriated me and no amount of herding led her to the door. In fact, she hid amongst our mixing bowls in a cupboard to foolishly made too much noise. She ran to Ollie's room and I followed her in and shut the door. Trapped. She tried hiding behind the Pack 'n' Play, but I moved it. She tried leaping past me, but the door was shut. I grabbed her, squeezed her hard (seriously, I can't believe he ribs are intact after all the struggling) and I threw her into the yard (again, hope the neighbors weren't watching this crazy new guy toss his cat).


Roxy didn't come inside the rest of the day until Andrea and I returned from her parents', but I saw her around the yard, so I knew she didn't run away. After all of that, the first thing she did when we both got inside was sit on my lap. There's literally nothing I can do to make her leave me alone. I hate cats.

*Interestingly, the very same needs Ollie needs me to address. So basically my day consists of finding a way to put food in one end and dealing with it coming out the other.
** I can't stress enough how badly I feel about the lack of walks Shasta gets to go on these days. She was used to one a day at the old place. Now she's lucky for two a week.

Daddy Day Care Begins

Andrea went back to work today meaning my tour as house-fiance officially began (I'll be getting promoted to house-husband in a little over a month). There are no plans to turn this space into The Wonderful, Fantabulous Tales of Ollie and Nate, but I figure I at least have to write about day one, which actually starts the night before...

I stayed up until after 1 AM painting shelves (admittedly, not the night before, but they were started then) believing that if I waited until the morning, I'd either have time to paint them or install them, but not both, due to my upgrade in responsibility. I rolled into bed, promptly fell asleep and was soon gently awaken by Andrea stirring. I don't know what time it was, but it was early. She fed the boy, fixed herself some food and came back in to feed the boy a little more when she heard him get a little fussy. I laid still in bed hoping she would do just that because lord knows I didn't want to get up and prepare a bottle for him. Andrea finished getting ready for work when he fell back asleep and before she left, she came back in and topped him off with food from the source. Another desire that had played out in my mind achieved!

Finally, Andrea left and the boy dozed for about ten minutes and started doing a little cranky bed dance which entails him flailing his arms and legs around willy-nilly. Realizing my efforts for more sleep were being dashed, I got up and checked the time. 8 AM. Christ. Not only did the boy make it impossibly for me to get more sleep, but the little so-and-so went back to sleep for another hour! He just wanted the bed for himself.

At least if gave me time to make breakfast and do the dishes. I called my mom to wish her a happy birthday and during our talk, Ollie awoke. Took him to the changing table, put my mom on speaker phone, and Ollie promptly peed all over the changing surface the minute I got his diaper off. Annoyed and unable to find another waterproof pad, I sopped up the urine with a towel, cleaned him off, and prepared his diaper. He peed again. Wash, rinse, repeat. This time, I get his diaper nearly on and somehow, he lets loose with more pee. What's he think he is, a dog? Holding it in to dispense at strategic intervals? Lucky mom, she gets to listen to all of this happen.

My greatest fear about having Ollie all day is if he'll take the bottle. I've had varying degrees of success in the past and I do feel it's far more stressful for me when he doesn't want to eat than it is for him. My mom and I end our phone call just as I'm about to feed him, which was for the best since no matter how hungry the boy may have been, he did not want to be fed from the bottle. Truly, save for one brief, shining moment where he drank almost a whole bottle without objection late in the day, Ollie would have rather sucked on anything that the nipple of that bottle. My finger, a blanket, his toys. And not one of those things even tried to give him what he actually wanted. Being stuck in a room with a being that has three needs (eating, sleeping, and diaper changes) and two of those are met and the third is occurring but that being wants it to happen in a different way is highly unpleasant. Basically the only thing to do is stop and try to console the being no matter how much you want to bite it.

Fortunately, Ollie did sleep a good deal of the time and occasionally, I slept too. In the moments I didn't sleep, I watched a movie and tried to put him down to get to work on those shelves, but damned if the boy totally rejected the idea of being detached from me, so I was stuck on the couch most of the day. At least it was quiet and if you count watching a few episodes of a TV show you've been slowly working through (The Larry Sanders Show) as productive, then it was mildly eventful. At least there was a Red Sox game today to leave on in the background, even if it started after 4 PM.

There was some joy in Mudville, too. Shockingly, his happiest moments were on the changing table which is the site of some of Andrea's and mine most heinous crimes against the boy (at least as he perceives being changed). And he had a pretty good time practicing his standing. I'm sure these days will get easier and more fun. Ollie will get used to the bottle and I'll send Andrea pictures to make her jealous of our good times. But right now, my main consolation is that one day, I'll get to tell him what a pain he was on mom's first day back at work.