And by “big girl”, I don’t mean granny panties, either.
As I’ve mentioned a trillion times, I live a peaceful, unfettered life.
For the most part, I do what I want, when I want to and all is well. Suffice to say, I am spoiled.
Because when I have to do things I don’t want to do, oh my. I get myself into a huge ass tizzy over it.
Case in point: SophiaKitty’s health
I don’t like to see my pets feel poorly. (Who does, amirite?)
So, I’m already sad about her health (which is partly my fault for being inconsistent with her thyroid meds on top of which applying them (gel) in a way that wasn’t getting into her system even when I was consistent) and now I’ve got to do all kinds of icky medical stuff to her to get her well including but not limited to giving her a pill twice a day (against her will) and stabbing her with a needle to inject some fluids.
I despise this. Not because I don’t want her well, of course. I just hate having to do things that she doesn’t like and fights me on. I get all spastic and anxious and I know she picks up on that, making it worse.
This ‘having to do shit’ stuff is dragging me down.
(All you moms out there are saying “Shut up already! Do you KNOW what we have to do 24/7??” and to that I say, I know. Tiny violins for me. This is all piddly baby stuff but I have to whine somewhere and why not here?)
Yesterday, I had to have a “Come to Jesus” with myself. That this is making me unhappy is just ridiculous. It is. I know it. I have got to get the fuck over my tiny princess self. Suck it up, pill and water the cat and move on.
I’m trying. I keep thinking of all the parents who are so tied down (with love) to their kids and this is just a cat and whatthefuckeverjustshutuplisa.
It was a better day yesterday because I put on my BGPs and just dealt.
I’ll do the same today.
And tomorrow.
Because it’s what is in front of me to do.
Sorry for the whining. Maybe one day I’ll show my penchant for writing snark again on here. I think I’ll change the blog name to WhinyPants.com. (Oh shoot. It’s taken. BOO!)
Actually, having raised two kids, and now very involved with taking care of two grandchildren AND cat-sitting for my brother’s cat, who required a pill … I am here to tell you that giving a cat a pill is HELL.
My brother and sister-in-law eventually perfected a system. First, no talking or music or radio or TV. In other words, very calm. Second, my brother folds cat into a soft blanket and murmurs into her ear, then, from behind, opens her jaw with pressure on both sides, at which point my sister-in-law SHOOTS the pill (with a pill shooter, of course) into the way back of her throat. They close her mouth and hold it closed until they see she’s swallowed.
This is a two-man operation. Can Duty help?
Anyone who reads this and actually thinks, “this is just a cat and whatthefuckeverjustshutuplisa” should go fuck themselves. Sideways. Really.
And you’re selling your friends with children short. You act as though shoving a human being out through your birth canal precludes you from loving a pet. It doesn’t. My love of animals was encouraged by both my mother and her brother, both of whom were parents in their own right but who never, ever had a home without pets they doted upon. (In my uncle’s case, he had dogs and cats and sheep and fish and parakeets and a turtle).
I just don’t like seeing you whip yourself up like this. It upsets you and you’re right, I’m sure Madame Soph picks up on it.
You’re already doing better with her than you were a week ago. It will be easier a week from now. I promise. I have faith in you, and so does your cat.