Cat Woman

Patrick's mom managed to somehow get a chipmunk trapped in her bedroom. We went over to attempt to catch it and spent about two hours chasing it about.

Normally I'm excellent at catching small animals (growing up with lots of cats I had to learn to catch them to re-release them once the cats got them in the house/cornered outside), but being 6 months pregnant kinda puts a damper on my abilities. I couldn't jump and chase and crawl about on the ground or lay on my stomach like I used to so I had to rely on Patrick, who is not nearly as stealthy or quick.

When we got there we had no idea where the chipmunk even was in the room, and his mom is in the process of getting her house ready to sell so it was kinda cluttered in the room with boxes and papers and various things. After about 15 minutes I laid on the bed since I was exhausted (I'd meant to nap but didn't get to) and told Patrick to be quiet while I listened for any hint of noise he might make. After a few seconds I told Patrick to look somewhere off to my left. There was a blanket on top of a bag and some other things and as soon as he moved the blanket the chipmunk shot out. We chased him and attempted to get him out of his new hiding place but we never could seem to catch him even when we ran him out, there were too many good hiding places. We'd lost him several times and about three or four times I had to stop and listen for him again (and he wasn't loud). Finally, I accepted that I was exhausted and of little help to Patrick. I was hungry as I'd had a light lunch and my stomach was aching (I ordered belly bands the other day so that should help with some of the aching (from my jeans being a bit tight), if I had thought it wouldn't be a terrible idea to chase a chimpunk about a room while pants-less I would've totally done that). We left and got dinner and I went to bed as soon as possible.

Patrick and I joked when we started dating how my cat, Dumbledore (Dumbles) is our child from the future since he's a tall, lanky, ginger-blonde cat. I'm a blonde and Patrick is a tall, lanky ginger, but I'm also a cat. The fact I could hear the chipmunk moving was impressive to Patrick as he couldn't make it out (and I often worry my hearing got messed up in cosmetology school). I can hear quiet noises for some reason, perfect mom ears. I can even tell when my pets/children in my care are up to something because it's too quiet. I have great vision, notice small details and move quickly despite what my size might make people expect. And of course currently I have the smelling abilities of a drug dog. My personality is also pretty cat-like, although I won't go into it today at least. Needless to say, this just reinforced my assertion that growing up with so many cats has basically turned me into a cat.

And now, because I love photos and have a million, I will show off our beautiful son, Snumbles.

Found him in my sock drawer one morning.

Mommy and Snumblesnore

Proof that he's a ginger.

I guess I should give more of a backstory on Dumbles--he found us and at first my mom tried running him off for fear he'd beat up our cats. One day she was out and he came running up to her and after that she just couldn't help but feel sorry for him. When I finally saw him we sat on the porch and petted him and I wound up bringing him in the house and pulling several ticks off him. We fed him and decided to take him to the vet in the morning to be sure he didn't have feline lukemia or anything (he was missing fur in places and we thought it might be mange but it was just he'd had a rough life 'til then). We were holding our breath waiting for the results of the feline lukemia test to come back as we'd lost our beloved cat, Bamboo, to lukemia a few years prior after we had been late on his booster by just 3 months. Thankfully it came back negative and the vet was so impressed with Dumbles that he even offered to fix him for half-price, just to ensure he found a good home with us (he didn't want him spraying or causing trouble and getting taken to a shelter... which he still does these things two or so years later but we still love him). Dumbles was very skinny at the time, but we didn't realize it 'cause he's just a big cat. They told us he'd weigh about 12lbs once he put on some weight (the majority of our cats have always tipped the scale at approximately 6lbs) because he was so skinny and they were absolutely right. He's a gorgeous cat, though... fur like a rabbit's. And all this happened right around the time when Patrick and I started dating (shortly afterward), so mom teased that Dumbles reminded her of Patrick because he was a tall, lanky ginger (he actually got his name from the Harry Potter character--which was my mom's suggestion (surprisingly) because his face reminded her of the pictures of the character she had seen somehow. I agreed because Albus Dumbledore had auburn hair himself and it just seemed perfect to me to have an excuse to name my pet after a Harry Potter character). We joked that he's our son from the future, come to keep an eye on us (and now we tease mom if he disappears when the baby is born it's 'cause he's our future son). 

Oh, and that fear that he'd beat up/bully our cats was totally uncalled for. He is the biggest wuss, a total lover. Here's a picture of him with my baby boy that passed away after getting hit by a car, Tucker.

Dumbles and Tuck, bff for life.

Our First of May

So Tuesday I went swimming with some friends at one of their parent's homes. The house is really nice and we had a great time, then we decided to go and get some dinner and come back for an evening swim.

When I got there I was wearing my wedding band and engagement ring. I took them off and put them in the bag I had my change of clothes in because I didn't want to risk losing the rings. Admittedly, I wasn't very careful with putting them in, but I remember them going in the bag.

So I get home that night, exhausted because I've been swimming and hanging out for about seven hours at this point. I realize I can't find my rings and I do my best to look through my bag, even clearing it out, but can't find them. At this point I'm struggling to stand so we give up for the night and go to sleep because I told Patrick I felt certain they have to either be in the bag or in front of the pool house. Either way, they should only be either at our apartment or at the house we swam at. We did go out to eat, but at that point I put the bag in my car and rode with a friend, so the rings shouldn't have left that area.

Of course, that night I had a stomach ache from the onion rings I ate plus all the activity, so sleep was not restful for me.

I message my friend the next morning (yesterday), tell her if she thinks it'll be alright that we're going to go back to the house and check out around the pool and just make sure I didn't drop them out there. She responds later with that it should be fine and if we need to get in the pool house then it shouldn't be a problem, the alarm shouldn't be on as far as she knew.

We tried to call her while we were on our way there just to let her know we were headed that way, I really just kinda wanted to be sure I could get in touch with her if need-be.

Well, I couldn't get her, but we carried on with checking around the table outside the pool house and were looking desperately for it out there when we accepted that it wasn't out there. I looked at Patrick and said "Well, it may be in the pool house and she said it would be fine..."

As soon as I open the door the alarm goes off. I quickly close it, thinking maybe it'll shut off (I don't deal with alarms so I'm in hopeful mode at this point), but it keeps going. I look at Patrick and tell him to run (because in my head I'm thinking how while we're not doing anything wrong, her dad has no idea we're there and what we're there for (to find my rings I lost) and I currently can't get a hold of his daughter for her to let him know. I also don't foresee the police being super understanding and Patrick has to get to work in a few hours and, well, I'm pregnant and didn't exactly love the idea of possibly being detained by the police after telling them the truth about why we're there all because I want to find my wedding rings).

We run back to our car, with me in the lead despite being fat (and while I used to be in shape and fat, I am currently not as fit as I once was), starting to get a cold and pregnant and Patrick being the skinny one with longer legs and no baby in him to slow him down. I'm snapping at Patrick to go as he's trying to put on his seat belt (discussing it later he says how in situations like that he tries to play it cool and I tell him "Patrick, people that don't know you recognize you. You're easily recognizable with your bright hair!" When discussing it with a friend later, I realized how much we stand out as a couple. Me being fat and pregnant and him skinny and with bright, noticeable hair... We're just not your typical looking couple, we stand out). We get out of there and as soon as I've caught my breath I try to call my friend again, see if I can't get her so she can let her dad know it was us and it was an accident and we're really sorry, I just wanted my rings. I can't get her so I left a voice mail, we got home and I basically curled up in bed for a few hours trying to get over all the physical exertion I just went through.

So a few hours later I realize Lupe still hasn't gotten to go potty, I'm still worn out but I'm trying to get myself to at least walk thirty minutes a day so I leash her up and we start to walk up to her potty area she likes further up in the apartment complex. As soon as we get there I hear frantic chirping, it's right by the fitness center of the complex so it's hard to hear over the air conditioner, but with Dupe's help I spot a fledgling mockingbird.

Now, every time I've had the privilege of coming in contact with a baby bird, it's been because my mom's indoor-outdoor cats get a hold of one and I'm left to nurse it and take care of it until I can get it to the local wild bird rescue to see if they can't save it.. I have my wild (feral) cats I feed at the other end of the complex so I worry that maybe they, or another cat, could wind up finding this sweet little baby who I'm not sure if he's hurt or not. Lupe is a total terrier, though, and I'm struggling to keep her away while I figure out how to get the baby. In the past, I'd pick the bird up without a thought (it's a myth that a momma bird will abandon it's baby if it smells like a human)--but I'm pregnant, and apparently that toxoplasmosis (no idea if that's right or how to spell it, Patrick and I cal l it the "taco disease") disease that they tell you to avoid cleaning the litter box for or eating unheated lunch meat because of is found in cats that eat wild birds... so I pretty much just assumed that if I hold a wild bird I could possibly get the disease. I decide to run back to the apartment, which was like murder. I wasn't wearing a bra and I'm a big girl with a relatively large chest and... it was not pleasant. When not pregnant, maybe I could manage, but pregnant it was hell. I find a bag, dump out the contents and run/walk/wheeze back to where I found the bird. I coax it with a pine cone into the bag and take it home while I decide what to do with it (take it to a wildlife rescue, etc). I call the rescue I usually take them to and leave a message for them describing the bird and saying how I don't think he's hurt and I'm not sure if I should just put him back. Then, I remember my upstairs neighbor told me she had worked at that same rescue, so I tell Patrick to hurry home from work so he can go upstairs with me to ask her opinion. When he gets there, we go and she tells us he looks fine and he's old enough we can just put him back. We walk back up the hill, me feeling like I'm about to die, and Patrick does the honors of replacing him under the bush.

I get back to the apartment and am exhausted at this point. I've pushed myself too hard in the past couple days. I'm worn out and I feel the cold getting worse. I go to bed and hope it will go away, only to wake up in the morning unable to breathe. It's gotten worse as the day has gone on, my throat is sore from breathing through my mouth instead of my nose and I'm still tired. Then, of course,  figure I should be semi-useful and instead of making poor Patrick bath Lupe I think I can manage it... and that's when my last post about my poop saga begins.

I am a sick, sad little pregnant lady right now.