L.R. Burt

Two nights ago I dreamed I had a baby.  Actually, I think it was more that I dreamed I was about to have a baby, and as dreams so often go, or at least as my dreams so often go, the anticipation of the blessed event was the focus of the dream.  I was having contractions, and running around in a state of panicked excitement (or maybe excited panic?) telling everyone I was going into labor and needed to get to the hospital ASAP.  The strange thing is, I didn’t have much in the way of a baby bulge.  Maybe that was why the contractions weren’t painful; there wasn’t much baby to, erm. contract.

Anyway!  Despite the fact that Mr. Burt and I  aren’t planning to start having babies for another five years or so, this was quite a nice dream and got me in one of my occasional Aw, I Want a Baby moods.

Now, before anyone starts encouraging me to have a baby, I’d like to say that the Aw, I Want a Baby mood did not stick around for long.

My cat saw to that.

(Kayla Berry, I saw that eye-roll.)

Dorian Gray, our adorable black Burmese mix kitten, with whom you are all well-acquainted, is rather a finicky eater.  Mainly we feed her dry kitten chow, but occasionally she gets bored with that so I give her a half a tin of turkey and giblets for breakfast, just for variety, then mid-morning I put out dry food for the rest of the day.  (Incidentally, I tried giving her tuna and salmon and discovered that Dorrie is, apparently, the only cat ever in the history of cats not to like fish.)

Yesterday was turkey and giblets day.  While Dorrie was eating that (or more like picking at it) from one set of bowls, I washed her other bowls, then set them out to dry so that after my shower, I could put out dry food for her.

That afternoon, I moved Dorrie’s bowls so I could mop the kitchen floor.  And, seeing the barely touched turkey and giblets I’d set out for her that morning, realized I’d never put dry food out for her.  Immediately, and feeling very very guilty for starving my kitty, I rectified this, and felt even guiltier when Dorrie immediately chowed down on her chow.  As penance, I paid special attention to Dorrie’s bathroom, the one where her litterbox is, with the Swiffer.

To my chagrin, this, too, led to kitten abuse.

Dorrie’s got this bad habit of following me around when I mop and licking the floors.  Not wanting her to get poisoned by floor cleaner, I shut her up in the master bedroom while I mop downstairs, then I shut the upstairs bathroom doors while they dry.  They dry very quickly, but…

I mopped  at around two o’clock in the afternoon, and never went back upstairs until nearly midnight.

Dorrie’s bathroom door was shut.

The instant I opened it, she meowed noisily at me, then bolted upstairs and proceeded to use the litterbox for about five minutes straight.   Not only did my poor kitten not get to eat for half the day, she then had to hold it for ten hours!

At least we know that Dorrie should be okay if we ever need to take her on a car trip.

I just wish I knew if this absent-mindeness is something I’ll grow out of in the next five years before I venture to bring children into the world…

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absent-mindedness, cats, dorrie, dreams, potty humor