The Things Mothers Do

I love my daughter – really I do! I enjoyed raising her (well, there were a few times during those delightful teen years....), and I have thoroughly enjoyed interacting with her as an adult. I love her kids and look forward to my time with them. I love her husband – he is so totally a part of this crazy family.

But, alas, Jenni also has cats. She’s down to two now, but even two cats need to eat and drink when Jenni and the family go on vacation. And good old Mom gets “cat duty.” It’s a little easier these days with just two cats. The third one, while he did have an interesting personality, had one serious flaw – man poops (as Jenni called them). Made litter box duty much more challenging.

So yesterday was my first day of Cat Duty while Jenni and family make a trip to Tucson for Spring Break. And such a fun day it was. I didn’t get home until around 6:45 and immediately got into my sweats and cozy, fuzzy socks. Started working on dinner and talking with Ed. He asked something about the weekend so I checked my calendar and saw “Cat Duty” in bold letters! Shit! I forgot! It was now 7:20pm and I knew “the girls” would not be happy. So I removed the cozy fuzzy socks, put on my tennis shoes and bolted.

Jenni had told me that she was expecting a package from UPS and had left instructions for it to be placed in the gardening box in the back yard because other packages have been stolen from her porch. So my first stop was to open the fence and find the garden box. I finally figured out which container it was and I opened it. Nada! No packages. Just a lot of tools and pieces of yard decor and unidentifiable things. I looked carefully to be sure I didn’t miss it and then closed the box. Almost. It wouldn’t close! Crap – now I’m rummaging through all the stuff trying to figure out the problem. Turned out to be a combination of some tool sticking up too high, and the hinge thingy not working right. I finally got it closed and proceeded to the mail box.

Nothing there, but I saw Jenni’s UPS sticker still on her door – the one with the instructions on it. Drat, they must not have come by. I went up the stairs and noticed a note on the UPS sticker saying the package was left next door. Back down the stairs and up the stairs next door. I rang the bell, heard a lot of commotion and kids, then the door opened. And I was face to face with a Pit Bull!!! Now, I am NOT a dog person. Never been a fan of the whole barking, crotch-sniffing, jumping thing. But this was no ordinary dog – it was a pit bull! My life flashed before me and I thought, “Great, I’m going to die in my sweats and tennis shoes while Ed is home waiting for dinner.” Thankfully the dog ran past me down the stairs while the lady of the house yelled after him and a young boy ran out into the street to try to catch him. The lady gave me the packages and I juggled them back down the stairs and up Jenni’s stairs as fast as I could with bad knees and two bulky packages in my arms (not to mention fear in my heart). I was getting ready to unlock the door when that damn dog came back and started running towards me!! Of course, the lock chose that moment to be a bit sticky but I managed to open it, throw the packages in, break a nail, and slam the door shut.

The cats were happy to see me so I fed them, watered them, cleaned their “bathroom”, and told them I’d be back tomorrow and they better damn well appreciate it!

The big win

I haven't won many things in my life. OK, there was that plastic lace tablecloth that I won when I played Bingo with one of my old aunts. And the $5 I got from Reader's Digest in the early 70's for something.

But nothing much. At least not after my first, ever big win. I was 11 years old and we had just moved into our new house in Tucson. Yessir, had it built for us in one of those new-fangled sub divisions. My grandfather was very upset because we had just moved to Tucson the year before and now we were moving out of town again (our new house was 10 miles away!!). I can still remember my first day of 6th grade at Kellond School. Since we had just moved in, my parents drove me to school and were going to pick me up in the afternoon. I hadn't learned the route to walk yet. Had a fine day at school then the bell rang and I ran outside to find my parent's car. Not there. Oh, well, they're a little late. No big deal. So I waited. And waited. And waited. By that time all of the other kids were gone, the school crossing guard was calling it quits and I was left to fend for myself. Oh, god - they finally found a way to get rid of me! It was all a trick! They dropped me off and never had any plans to pick me up! And they purposely didn't show me how to walk home! This is probably all because of my little sister who they like better than me and I probably did something to her that made them mad and they decided that since they had another kid, they didn't need me anymore..... So I sat on the curb, folded my skinny little legs, pulled my Ozzie and Harriet lunch box close to me and I cried. No, I sobbed. What would I do, where would I go (OK, a little Scarlett O'Hara thrown in here). I was too young to get a job. Sob, sob, sob. Then I heard the horn honk and saw my dad. They got tied up moving some things and he was sorry to be so late. Had I been crying, he asked? Of course not. Why would I be crying? Just had a lot of dessert dust in my eyes.

But I digress. Over the next few weeks we put the house together and my dad got totally excited because a new store opened up down the street called Handy Andy. It was a do-it-yourself store which was all the rage back in the late 1950's. I mean, you could even buy big containers of bug spray and not need to hire an exterminator! It was very cutting edge.

One day I went there with my folks and, while they were shopping, I walked around. Noticed these large yellow stars painted on the floor and then heard someone over the loud speaker talk about a contest where they played music or something and if the music stopped and you landed on a winning star, you'd get a prize. So I deftly pranced from star to star waiting for my big moment. And, lo and behold, I actually won. I was beside myself, ran screaming through the store looking for my mom to tell her the good news. We went up to the counter to gather my special prize - it was a canary.

Now, my mother was not big on pets. She was raised in downtown Chicago so they never had pets. And as an adult she was a fanatic about a clean house so pets just couldn't be in the picture. Her excitement over this win wasn't quite at the same level as mine. But she agreed to let me keep the canary if I took care of it and kept everything in pristine, spotless condition. Of course, I agreed. By the way, do you know how messy birds are! Yikes, I had no idea. I fell down on the job after about a week so the bird had to go. Luckily I had a good friend down the street who had a COOL mom and who was allowed to have pets. So she took Sparky. I would go over every day after school to visit. Until that fatal night when my friends younger sister thought it would be great fun to sneak up on Sparky in the middle of the night, lift the cover off the cage, and yell "Boo!!" Also, did you know birds can literally be scared to death? Apparently this one could. He dropped. Gone. Kaput. I was sad. My friend was sad. Her little sister thought it was the funniest thing ever. My big win, my special moment, my triumph - lost.

Oh, well, I still have that plastic lace tablecloth.

No Lions, but.......

Ed and I watched the movie Flyboys last night and one of the characters had a pet lion. I always wanted a pet lion - a male with a full mane. But my Mom said no. She wasn't much into pets. When I was two we rented a house from Mrs. Otto - she and her husband also lived on the property and they had a dog named Sandy. I thought it was great fun to have a dog with the same name as me! (Hey, I was two!!) We only lived there for about a year and a half but Sandy and I were a team!
Except for Brownie, the turtle, I didn't have another pet until my pre-teens when we got Sheba - a white Spitz. She had one puppy who we named Solomon. He was, by far, the dumbest dog ever! The birds would chase him across the yard! This is a picture of Sheba taking a rest on our 1960's butterfly chair. Looks peaceful, eh? When my brother, Tony, was born in 1964, Solomon and Sheba were jealous so we had to give them to a couple we knew who had a big house on a lot of land. They loved it there! Of course, there were times when Tony was a kid that we wished we'd sent him to the farm and kept the dogs!! But over the years we realized that we probably made the right choice!

Jenni always wanted a pet, but living in an apartment pretty much prevented that. Except for the occasional snail, lizard, or June bug. Finally the kids convinced me to get them hamsters. I was thrilled - who wouldn't love having furry rats around the house! So one Christmas I got two hamsters along with their little plastic houses and those dang running wheels. Those rodents ran the wheels all night long!! But the kids were happy. Until Joe's hamster got "wet tail" (don't ask!!). He apparently died while the kids were at school. I was at work and my brother called to tell me that the kids found Joe's hamster dead, and it had rigor mortis. His little claws were stuck to the bottom of the cage. Since I was at work, it wasn't clear what Tony and the kids expected me to do. But I finally told them to bang the cage on the dumpster in the back until the feet released - Hey, that was the best I could come up with!!! Charlie, Jenni's hamster, lived to the ripe old age of 1- 1/2. When he turned one, we had a birthday party for him! Complete with cupcakes and a little hat! As we were sitting there watching Charlie eat the cupcake, my mom said, "Oh, my god, I'm at a party for a hamster - and I brought a gift! I really need some friends!!!

When Charlie finally died, we were getting ready to go on vacation. We put him in a sandwich bag in the spare freezer in our garage so we could have a proper burial when we returned. Except we forgot! That is until my brother and some friends were over a couple of weeks later and wondered if we had any ice cream in the outside freezer. I told them to go look. As soon as I heard the scream, I remembered little Charlie...........

But finally Jenni got a real pet - Toby the cat. He was a really cool cat (!!) - very calm and very loving. He was also pretty big and Joe's friends used to call him a "hairy puddle" because he was always laying right in the middle of the floor. As I said, he was cool. Loved to sit in his recliner and catch a few Garfield cartoons.

But I still never got my lion...................

Brownie, we hardly knew you

My family was never big on pets. Their early days were spent in the middle of Chicago during the Depression so there were no nice back yards, places to take dogs for walks, etc. - everything was mostly brick, steel, or concrete. Also, the women in my family are absolute house-cleaning fanatics (which slowed down at my generation almost skidded to a stop with my kids)! Everything had to be spotless, shining, squeaky clean. They loved to say "you could eat off the floors." Not that we ever actually had our food served on the floor, but for some reason that was a badge of honor.

And pets, of course, are messy.

So, when my Mom decided to let me have one, I was ecstatic. Of course, there were limits as far as size and mobility. But, there I was, in the pet store, about to purchase my brand new turtle!! What a find - tiny little hard shell, cute little head that occassionally came out, four little lizardy looking feet. His name was Brownie (okay, not very creative, but as long as he answered to it, I was fine). We knew it was a male because he had a deep voice (!!)

I also bought a little red turtle dish for him - shiny plastic, little plastic hill for him to walk up, little plastic palm tree. Put some water in the bottom so he could watch his hands, cool off, surf - whatever turtles do. Had special food for him, supplemented with lettuce. He lived in my room and I would occassionally take him outside for some fresh air.

Then one day we went to visit my grandmother and I brought Brownie with me. Put his little red dish on the side table and fed him. Then went out in my grandmother's front yard. About 30 minutes later I heard this scream and someone yelling, "Sandi, get in here!" I went inside only to find my little red dish empty! Brownie had escaped! In my never-had-a-pet grandmother's house! I was doomed. We looked high and low (mostly low) for Brownie but couldn't find him. My grandmother was almost hysterical worrying that he would crawl on her bed at night or that she would step on him with her bare feet. My mother had visions of him dying in a corner and smelling the place up. I was worried that he would go outside and get hit by a car (I said I was a kid!!).

Well, we never found him and I'm not sure my grandmother every forgave me. I brought my little empty red plastic dish home and that was pretty much the last pet I was allowed to have for a long time.

Be safe, Brownie!!