Flights of Fancies

Is there such a thing as too much caffeine the night before a major art show? Anyone? I’ve had three cafe’ mochas while at the car dealership (Betty got a check up before we head to TN) a soda on my way there, and a soda now. 

We’ll be here (http://nashvillepaganprideday.net/) tomorrow and I still have a TON of prep to do, both for me and for J. I’m the detail chick, the display chick, etc. 

I also have some sewing to try and get done and am planning on a four pack of Monster Absolute Zero when I swing by the market for show snacks. 

And pricing, lots of pricing. 

Sigh.

I need interns.

Ran by to snag the run and tequila out if mom’s liquor cabinet — I mean, to feed the She Beast. She was no where to be found! Not even when I brought out her daily portion if roast chicken (yeah, mom roasts whole chickens for her).

I admit, I was a bit concerned. I’m Skyping with mom this afternoon and really didn’t want to admit I had lost her cat after only four days. Not even having presented her with a grandchild would have saved my ass!

So, I started a methodical hunt. Ok, ok. I ran through the house, fully convinced that she had either a. Put herself in the dryer and turned it on or b. been catnapped.

I saw a profusion of my mom’s jewelry scattered on the floor around her dresser. There may have been a moment of “Oh crap, she’s been robbed and the cat got outside.”

Until I heard a little cat chirp. There she was, on top of mom’s dresser, curled up against my dad’s urn. I can’t blame her, really.

And since no one was looking, we put aside our differences and curled up in dad’s chair for a bit. Neither of us will admit to it and tomorrow our détente will be forgotten. But this morning, it was good.

My mother is on a wonderful trip to England to see a dear, dear friend. She’s having a blast and it’s just what see needed after this year. And on the six month anniversary of Dad’s passing, it’s good that she’s fulfilling a dream they both shared.

Now, since she’s gone and since she lives just down the street, guess who is on cat duty? (And I mean dooty, but that’s further down the story) Mom’s cat is four pounds, a gorgeous stripey tabby cat. She looks all sweet and cuddly and innocent.

Those looks are lies. Damn lies.

This Cat is named Sara. I call her The She Beast. Several years ago, Mom had to go into the hospital for shoulder surgery. This time, I wasn’t cat sitting. I stayed with Dad. Every night, the She Beast broke into the guest room and would wake me up by licking and eating my hair. Every. Night. And then she would puke. A lot. Sigh.

So, the She Beast is alone and she’s not pleased. I entered to feed her the first time and was greeted by four (count them, FOUR) piles of cat vomit artistically displayed across the cream-colored carpet. Of course, there’s no carpet cleaner in the house. 

My mom left me two pages of type-written instructions on the care and feeding of the She Beast. She’s a four pound cat. I don’t even leave two pages of instructions for my kid, the Schnoodle, and the Turtle combined. We started the routine of the Feeding of the She Beast. It takes fifteen minutes — again, I can feed my kid in less time. 

While the She Beast was eating, I wandered in to clean her facilities. Did I mention that the She Beast is only pounds? I cleaned six pounds of crap out of the box. I can only guess that the She Beast has a TARDIS in her gut. And the smell… She’s got a TARDIS full of dead and rotting Daleks out of their armour in her gut. 

So much for cute and cuddly. 

I need to go over and feed the She Beast this morning. I can’t wait to see what she has in store for me. More vomit? More crap? I’m slightly worried and we still have three weeks to go.

Watching “Teen Wolf” now.

Dammit. I shall be mocked.

Again.

Good thing I love you.