Dear Teacher, Please excuse my child from school today. The tail fell off our kitty last night at 8:30 p.m. and we were at the E.R. until 11:30.
Yes, it's true. It did fall off. "Oh, look," said my big kid, "Windy is chasing her tail all by herself--Oh, My God, it fell off."
And it did. Along with some bones.
Okay, it had been losing hair for a bit. We'd all noticed it. At bath time, she seemed to like to stick the tip of her tail in the hot water. Which seemed odd.
We aren't idiots. We're just busted financially. We looked on the internet and they said it could be a fungal infection. Who worries about a fungal infection? Who thinks that the tail of the kitty (or maybe two inches of it) might fall off? The lovely, expressive, curly tail of the sweetest of all kitties, adopted like her sister, (or cousin), from an Historical Reenactment Farm, where they were cuddled and pawed by every visiting child from the time they were old enough to wobble away from their mother barn cat.
Who is also in heat.
Now, the kitty would not be in heat if I could have gone on a trip to a town near us that has a cheap spay clinic. I would have gotten another cat carrier last spring when the kitties first went into heat if it hadn't been for the fact that all hell was breaking loose with my special needs kid last spring, and nobody had the energy--or the money--to do more than survive, as we raced from doc to doc trying to figure out how to cope with said hell.
And yet, frankly the kitty, who is now ensconced in a clear plastic cone of silence, seems far more interested in having one of us mate with her (yes, she is in heat) than worried about the two inches of tail that she has lost. My youngest, who has some kind of inner gyroscope, keeping her steady, said, "Let's pretend she was born this way," and has nicknamed her "Half-tail."
So, I decided to start this blog, to detail the parts of life that are too ridiculous to keep to myself. Like the long-awaited, much saved up for, massage at a religious women's retreat, which was interrupted by the masseuse first intensely marketing her monthly services to me, and then, when I asked her not to, explaining that her first job, at age 14, was milking thirty-eight goats. O-kay. Maybe she was explaining the strength in her hands. I know not everybody has a special needs kid, and I know not everybody has a more or less insane mother, and I know other people are much better at keeping house than I am, and I would imagine that not too many people's cat's have tails that have lost that little quirk at the tip, but perhaps everyone has their own particular crazy life, perhaps other people, too, feel like they are striving with all their might for calm, to remain the eye of the storm.
This blog, then, is for you guys. Welcome to the land of special needs kids and goat-milking and the cat's tail falling off. Welcome to The Eye of The Storm.
Yes, it's true. It did fall off. "Oh, look," said my big kid, "Windy is chasing her tail all by herself--Oh, My God, it fell off."
And it did. Along with some bones.
Okay, it had been losing hair for a bit. We'd all noticed it. At bath time, she seemed to like to stick the tip of her tail in the hot water. Which seemed odd.
We aren't idiots. We're just busted financially. We looked on the internet and they said it could be a fungal infection. Who worries about a fungal infection? Who thinks that the tail of the kitty (or maybe two inches of it) might fall off? The lovely, expressive, curly tail of the sweetest of all kitties, adopted like her sister, (or cousin), from an Historical Reenactment Farm, where they were cuddled and pawed by every visiting child from the time they were old enough to wobble away from their mother barn cat.
Who is also in heat.
Now, the kitty would not be in heat if I could have gone on a trip to a town near us that has a cheap spay clinic. I would have gotten another cat carrier last spring when the kitties first went into heat if it hadn't been for the fact that all hell was breaking loose with my special needs kid last spring, and nobody had the energy--or the money--to do more than survive, as we raced from doc to doc trying to figure out how to cope with said hell.
And yet, frankly the kitty, who is now ensconced in a clear plastic cone of silence, seems far more interested in having one of us mate with her (yes, she is in heat) than worried about the two inches of tail that she has lost. My youngest, who has some kind of inner gyroscope, keeping her steady, said, "Let's pretend she was born this way," and has nicknamed her "Half-tail."
So, I decided to start this blog, to detail the parts of life that are too ridiculous to keep to myself. Like the long-awaited, much saved up for, massage at a religious women's retreat, which was interrupted by the masseuse first intensely marketing her monthly services to me, and then, when I asked her not to, explaining that her first job, at age 14, was milking thirty-eight goats. O-kay. Maybe she was explaining the strength in her hands. I know not everybody has a special needs kid, and I know not everybody has a more or less insane mother, and I know other people are much better at keeping house than I am, and I would imagine that not too many people's cat's have tails that have lost that little quirk at the tip, but perhaps everyone has their own particular crazy life, perhaps other people, too, feel like they are striving with all their might for calm, to remain the eye of the storm.
This blog, then, is for you guys. Welcome to the land of special needs kids and goat-milking and the cat's tail falling off. Welcome to The Eye of The Storm.
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