I use up patience reserves dealing with my older kids’ inane questions and selfish petty concerns. I use up patience reserves helplessly trying to keep my younger kids from screaming bloody murder because they want to break things and I won’t let them. I use up patience reserves cleaning up completely unnecessary messes all over the house which everybody makes but me but no one seems to understand they could have either not made or dammit-cleaned-up-after-themselves. (Babies can’t help themselves. Kids we’re trying to train but that takes even more patience reserves. As for the other adult in the house, I shouldn’t discuss that in a public forum. She has a side to the story too I’m sure.) I get the babies bottled and bedded finally. I banish the kids to their room for the evening and let them fuck up whatever they want to fuck up up there so long as they’re quiet about it. I get some modicum of housework maintenance done, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make me feel overwhelmed enough to be grudgingly okay with allowing myself to feel like shit about how lazy I am. I sit down. I begin to maybe turn on a show or play a game. I start possibly to relax.
“Meow.”
Oh yeah, the other mammal needs something to. God. Dammit. (Except by this point she’s already been fed and she just likes to try to see if she can trick us into feeding her again.)
And it’s not fair to her. And even as I wish death upon her–actually, seriously wanting her to die, not an exaggeration–I also feel a kind of compassion because it’s completely not her fault. She’s just a damn cat. But god damnit, could she just die already? She’s 17 years old and in perfectly good health, says the vet, even in spite of her obesity. (Seems to be “hormonal,” vet has even signed off on that claim after we documented her diet.) Why can’t she be dead like most normal 17 year old enormously obese cats?
Giving her away would be cruel to her and our children. I’m stuck with her. And my wife loves her very much and is very affectionate toward her so I just leave her alone and hate her from a distance, and I really, actually, want this cat to die.
I feel ya. I had a fish once that I really wanted to die. I bought it for the express purpose of watching it die, in fact. Our cat was getting elderly (and yes, obese, but otherwise healthy) and I knew she wouldn’t live forever, and realized that my daughter’s first experience with death was probably going to be this beloved damn cat. So I got a betta fish to kill for her first - less emotion attached to a new fish than an old cat, right?
“There was an old Frylock who swallowed a fish,
he swallowed the fish to catch the cat
(why fancy that! an annoying cat!)
he swallowed the cat so his wife wouldn’t cry
perhaps he’ll die…”
I had a cat when I was little. She lived to be 21 and I was devastated when she died. She was my companion as I grew up. I just hope you can get some cat-enjoyment from seeing the enjoyment the ones you love get out of her.
Put the cat into the kids room and close the door. Rotate nights if necessary to satisfy all the children.
I totally get the frustration. CeltDog is my first experience with a companion-bred dog. I have always kept working dogs - German Shepherds and Huskies and such. With a German Shepherd, you sit down and pet it for 15 minutes ro so, and she’s ready to go do something else. Thanks Mom, nice little bonding session, I need to go check on that bone.
With CeltDog, you could pet him for 2 hours, and when you try to stand up the. world. has. ended. He literally tries to keep his nose attached to the back of my left knee as I walk around the house. He needs to lay down on top of my legs any time I sit int he arm chair. He needs to be between me and any exit at all times, so any time I sit up or leave a room, or get out of bed I have to wait for him to wake up and get out of the way.
I have trained more than 30 dogs in my life, but I’ve never run into anything as intransigent as this instinct of his to keep me close. I don’t want him to actually die. Yet.
The mama and the kids love the kitty. You love them, so you need to be good to the kitty. It’s not a brain-sucking devil-spawn sent to make your world a living hell on earth. It’s just a kitty.
I know where you are comming from frylock, my cat is 17 also and in excellent even robust health. She almost died a few months ago and I was kind of wishing she would but I did not want to see her suffer so I nursed her back to health kind of hoping I was just making her final days easier.
My cat drives me crazy too. I have a toddler wanting attention all day, and the goddamn minute she’s in bed the cat comes out from her hiding place wanting loves. I just want to knit.
You seem to be in a bad spot right now. Not the first frustration-about-home-situation thread you’ve posted this week.
My neighbors have a cat of similar age, who in addition has diabetes. They love the cat, and treat the cat’s condition with injected insulin and frightfully expensive prescription foods. Their vet has been saying for about three years that she’s going to go any minute now.
After a few glasses of Jameson one of them has admitted to me that she wishes the cat would hurry up and croak already. And then she feels awful that she says it. But really only that she said it out loud. These were supposed to be their pet-free easy to travel on a whim years.
For my part, my ex moved out two years ago and left a fish tank that I’ve never wanted. For the first eighteen months or so I kept up with water changes and cleaning andpH testing and all the tank chores. When my son was a toddler and had goldfish I couldn’t keep them alive. Now I have two tetras and a blue gourami that are at least 4 years old, and seem to be thriving despite months of half-assed tank care.
I am less of a dogs-are-my-substitute-kids person and more of a kids-grow-up-and-leave-but-I-will-always-have-dogs person. But still, when I had a new baby and two dogs, suddenly my dogs hated each other because I had less than zero energy for them. I could not blame them but I did anyway. I gave one away to my sister (who had older kids – perfect match) and the other, who was my favorite and no trouble at all, lived out his days with us. Then I didn’t get another dog until my daughter was eight.
As for cats, my blind deaf incontinent but still ready to yowl or vomit whenever it was least opportune 20 year old cat who could not be brushed much less her claws clipped without bloodshed (mine), well, she got a little boost into cat heaven. I told her 20 was my limit and I meant it.
Hah. It sounds like one of the (sometimes) secret curses of middle-age. Everybody needs you. I can relate. You are the meat in the sandwich and squeezed in there pretty tight.
Then the day comes, sooner than you expect, when you’ve got time for yourself. What they don’t tell you comes along with all that caregiving is that by the time you’re done with it you are conditioned. Not only is it a habit but you NEED it.
You go on vacation and find yourself following families around hoping the toddler drops her toy or binkie so you can hand it back and get a babysmile.
You sit alone at night and wonder why nobody needs you. Didn’t you do a good enough job? Were you being taken advantage of? Where’s yours?
You find yourself wandering around in libraries looking for homeless people seeking shelter from the cold, sidling up to them and saying things like, “Hi, uh. Er, do you need any help or anything?”
You make a nuisance of yourself with your friends at the senior citizens center by complaining about all your aches and pains but nobody cares because they’ve all got them too.
You volunteer at the Human Society and all the kitties there hiss and claw when you try to clean their cages.
So, you lucky person, hug those kids and direct those little lives and pet the damn cat and count your blessings.
When you’re all done, try to go out and play. Just try.
You may be right Tethered but I won’t believe it til I see it. This solidly committed introvert (and his solidly committed introvert wife) intend to enjoy our fantasized isolation 20 years from now like we’ve never enjoyed anything else.
I mean, we love our kids of course. But we’re kicking 'em out at the slightest hint that they can fend for themselves.
