I've always been a dog person. I love that dogs want to go everywhere I do. I've taken dogs hiking and swimming and to the park. I've sat at the computer for endless hours with dogs curled at my feet. Dogs are great!
Then I had kids. Dogs knocked down Kaylin when she was just learning to walk, prompting Gene to call 911 (she was fine.) Dogs chewed her toys and dirty diapers. Dogs licked her bottles and pacifiers. Dogs were eventually moved outside (to the huge yard with access to the heated/AC garage.) I felt terrible about that move, but kids come before pets.
Over the past several years I've been learning to appreciate (gasp) cats. Cats require so much less attention and care. Cats can easily be left for a short weekend trip without having to be boarded or cared for. Litter boxes are gross, but easier than hunting around the yard. Cats don't crave attention like dogs, but it's very enjoyable when they decide to spend time with you. Working with tigers for the past year sealed the deal- cats are the pet of choice for me.
That is, until a few days ago when Molo came to stay. Molo's a nice enough cat. He's not mean or a biter. He's a yowler and a puker. Our family is making him miserable. Especially the kids. And our cat Tess. And Gene. And me. Yeah, he pretty much hates us all. Molo hides most of the day while the kids are around and then keeps me up all night with his gagging and puking and then with his yowling and hissing at Tess. When I manage to fall back asleep, he leaps his fat butt onto my stomach and startles me awake. Molo is not happy here. If he continues to vomit I'm going to have to take him to the vet. Fortunately, he's not dehydrated and he's fat enough that he can go a few days without eating. Molo's only supposed to be here for a week, but I'm afraid it may end up being longer. Much longer. Hopefully we'll adjust to each other...
We have a broken water pipe under the house. Gene managed to locate where it is last night and thinks he can fix it, but it will require him to either dig a "tunnel" through a mound of dirt while belly crawling in the disgusting crawl space or else rip up my brand new carpet and cut a hole in the floor of the playroom. Since he's pretty sure he can salvage the carpet, I think he's going to cut the hole in the floor. As long as the carpet's ok, this does sound like a much safer and better option. I called my boss last night and got the day off work to "help" him. (He wanted someone else here.) I'm sure it will be a lovely, fun-filled day listening to Gene complain about how much he hates this house and how he wants to move to an apartment. On the bright side, I will have time to move our bed so I can clean Molo's latest pile of puke! :)