I have a real problem in my household. The problem is this: I love too much.
I think that was actually the name of a self-help book. But in that case, I’m pretty sure it was referring to a sort of person who gives and gives at the expense of their own sense of self.
Okay. That’s not what I’m talking about. Ask my son or my husband if I give too much and they’ll probably say, “Well, um, I mean, I guess. Sometimes.”
I like to take me time. I play Candy Crush, I have my own zen room, and I get to to what I love for a living. Not a bad life all in all. And with one kid, the sacrifices aren’t too many.
Here’s where I love too much: PETS.
Those damned furry creatures that tug at my heartstrings and then pee all over my carpet. And then I have to put litter boxes all over my house hoping that I’ve picked the right litter box, the right litter (in just the right amount), in the right location. And then hoping my newish cat Beamer doesn’t totally harass my older cat Josie when she simply wants to go potty in peace.
I think of how much easier life would be without them.
No litter box drama. No pet food that I have to buy at PetsMart or Petco because I won’t let my dogs and cats eat the cheap stuff. No vet bills, especially to specialty veterinary ophthalmologists who must secretly have a whole fleets of yachts based on what they charge. No walks in the rain and the snow. No cat hair in my dinner. No “surprises” on the floor because my dogs decided to raid the litter box for a “snack.”
So if you were thinking about planning to get a pet anytime soon, I’ve probably changed your mind. But know this. My pets are damaged goods.
Emma was a puppy mill breeder dog. If you were forced to live in a smal, cramped, dirty cage for five years and then suddenly placed in a nice suburban home, you might be a little confused and suffer some anxiety issues. (She does).
Josie is a fat but timid cat, which has never quite made sense to me. She’s afraid of most people and pets yet she always seems to find the quiet moments in the day to COMPLETELY GORGE HERSELF. She’s my little blimp of a cat.
Roscoe is probably the most normal, which is a relative term in our household. We got him y way of a Baltimore City animal shelter when he was a year old. I like to imagine him wandering the inner city ghetto and bringing cheer to even the bums on the street corner. He never lets anything break his spirit. But he will badger you until he gets what he wants (breakfast, dinner, a walk, playtime). And then when he’s done for the day, he excuses himself and put himself to bed. In our bed.
Beamer is an alpha cat. If you look up alpha cat, it’s like they were talking about him exactly. He knows what he wants, when he wants it, and doesn’t care if it involves him jumping up on to the dinner table while you are eating dinner. He’s definitely one of those animals that can gracefully leap a tall building in a single bound but if he falls, he’ll turn around with a look that says I totally meant to do that.
And he likes to harass poor Josie.
Just last night, I woke up around 3:30am to the sound of extremely heavy rain. I went to check on some things and found Josie had actually come out of hiding!
She looked on edge and as I got closer I realized why.
In case you can’t see it, look at the red bag on the floor.
That’s Beamer making sure that Josie never quite gets too comfortable. He’ll always be there. Waiting. Watching.
So why do I do it? Why do I love too much? How do I deal with the pee on my carpet (that’s another post in itself)?
Because they are all pretty awesome in their own way. And they all love me unconditionally. It’s so damn true. And it’s that last bit that hooks me every time.