Another day, another story!
Me and my dear Mama. We are still learning to live together - again. When she cooks she takes a loooooong time. Even if she is just microwaving soup. This is why her microwave soup is better than mine. I want everything in a hurry. Because I am busy with other things. Many other things.
We like to watch different things on television. She likes Fox news. I prefer the BBC. She likes Family Feud. I like Orphan Black. But we both seek to find common ground there as well and we do. Like Grantchester. Since the season finale. I'm searching for a new weekly place we can call a truce and break bread together good old american style in front of the television.
So I was on my way home from running fourteen hours of errands. The last of which was to stop by PETSMART and buy an ELECTRIC LITTER PAN for mom's fat cat. She says changing it breaks her back. Changing it makes me angry. I'm the one that has to drag in the forty five pound box of cat litter weekly after wrestling it into the buggy and then out of the buggy into the car and out of the car into the house and by the time I get to the cat pan I am A LITTLE PUT OUT.
The cat hisses at me and swipes it's claws at me every time I walk past the bed after giving mom her morning medicine. This is the truth. My mom even says - why does she do that? I say I do not know. But it may be because I 'assist' her to go into the bedroom and close the door behind her when she is trying to throw herself down on the floor and NOT GO.
I have had cats and kittens all of my growing up life. Kittens are one of my first memories. My cat Moses that finally had to say goodbye was 21 years old because I kept him alive and alive and alive. That being said - when I walked into the Pet store and wrestled this 200 pound electric cat pan box deluxe edition with hood and auto scooper poopy thing into the buggy, a woman that worked there took one look at my disheveled tired beyond belief face and said -
"You are tired. Can I help you?"
"I hate my mother's cat."
This might not be the kind of response she expected.
"It hisses at me and swipes it's claws at me every time I walk past it."
She said she was sorry again and asked, "Has she been declawed? Sometimes that can make them mean and angry."
"No, we can't do that because we did it to a white Persian we had when I was a kid and she got out and then never came back and my mother knew she couldn't climb a tree or defend herself so it was a tragedy. It has always been a tragedy. Everytime declawing comes up we have to have a moment of silence for Beabea."
By now I have made it to the dog food aisle and appear to be wandering aimlessly. Lost in tragic memory.
"Beabea was a fine cat. My mom's cat is just a - - -"
"Mam, you are in the dog food isle now."
She thinks I've lost my mind.
"Yes, I know what aisle I'm in. We buy my mother's dog food here."
"Oh, what do you get?"
"Blue stuff. I don't remember. Maybe purple stuff."
"Does it look like this? Or this?" She is doing anything to 'assist me' out of the store.
"It doesn't matter. We just bought his food."
Her face goes from perplexed to perplexed on steroids.
"I'm looking for food for a rescue dog."
"Ohhhh, that's nice. Let me recommend this big chunk on special protein no gmo all natural 40,000 dollars a bag for a fifty pound bag."
"The rescue's name is Kevin. Kevin has heart worms."
She pauses. I'm her saddest lot customer of the day.
"Let me see if I can find you a coupon for you that will work."
"Yes, please. A coupon would be very nice."
She finds a manager to override the expiration date on the coupon.
I load the automatic cat litter cleaner with the fifty pound bag of dog food in the car.
After all of this I call mom to tell her I was finally on the way home. AND NOT TO COOK ANYTHING. Because I just wanted to unload the car and pour a glass of wine and watch Grantchester without the sound and distraction of cooking. It was too late. When I called she said I'm cooking chicken thighs. I told her - "Okay fine. If you insist on cooking Then I'm going to church."
I turned the car toward downtown and went to the Breaking Bread at 6 at Christ Cathedral. All because I just couldn't stand to go home and be homey. The service is CASUAL. Last week the priest said - if you have children with you - and then I expected the normal get up and take them to Sunday school but, No. He says just let them be children and make noise if they need to and wander around the sanctuary. They need to feel welcome. I'm thinking - HA! One trip with my precious little Damon will put an end to those rules.
Then we have communion up at the alter and the little children are comfortable being themselves. We get to the point in the service where the Peace is shared and everyone shakes hands with EVERYONE so there is a lot of peace going around. Then we move into communion and everyone is standing in a circle. There is a little girl screaming peesse peesse peesse over and over so I just close my eyes and look down and try to tune her out but she keeps screaming peesse peesse peessee in a two year old voice. Then the woman on my right taps me and says - she's trying to give you peace. I look up and it's the two year old in her mothers arms screaming peessee at me with her little hand stuck out wanting to shake. I shake hands with her, say Peace and she snaps her hand back. Business taken care of. No more chit chat.I go home. Have a tiny glass of wine. Then unload all of it in the house. I open the four thousand parts to the litter pan and begin to read the instructions.
They are too complicated. I leave it for tomorrow.
I pour more wine.
It's time for Grantchester.
Me and momma sit down and break bread over chicken thighs and rice.
The fat cat is locked in the bedroom. The dogs do not eat their expensive non-gmo dogfood. They stared at us with superpowerdogeyes and practiced their hypnotic mind games.
My hate for the cat downshifted to dislike. My like for that Granchester priest grew and for an hour something like peessee settled about the house.
Hope you are finding a little Peace in your corner of the world because it sure is something we need a little more of right now.
*Post script - The FAT Cat has used the auto box 57 times. It's suppose to last a month. It lasted a week. I changed the box last night. It weighed 10042 pounds. I hate that cat.
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