It’s a Metaphor

Okay– so it’s no secret that I’m going under.

That I’ve got a stack of deadlines on my computer that leave me tearful at least three times a week.

That I’ve got kids in the house who need my attention, full time.

That everybody is staying up until one in the morning, and not just me, so getting work done then is not an option.

That my computer periodically decides that it’s going to spazz out and that the cursor is just going to be possessed while I try to actually accomplish shit.

That the dogs have so much a run of the house that the cats have just fucking given up.

That my kitchen table is the slough of despond.

That nobody wants to clean the kitchen, least of all me.

That my bathroom is going to be declared a public health hazard, and I’ve given up.

And that I will drop everything to go with my husband anywhere he asks.

So, with all of this in mind–

Tonight, Mate took me out to eat with his friends, and we had a good time. We got home late, and omg– there was Steve the Cat, in our driveway, and I was so happy I could have cried.  Steve!  We locked the dogs up so we could get Steve inside and proceeded to spoil the shit out of her.  No dogs, new food, fresh water, lots of pets.  Oh Steve! We’re so happy to see you!

So Steve, after making much of the food choices, finally convinced me to get her a new bowl of food.  She eats on the kitchen table, on top of all of the shit that accrues there, in the far corner from my laptop, which is squatting in the disaster.

Finally– finally– with The Soup playing in the background, after sitting with Mate and Squish for some television and mom time– I sat down to my spazzy computer, just as Steve wandered to her new bowl of food.

And then…

Fell off the table.

Seriously– she turned the wrong way, and her back end slid off, taking a month’s worth of mail with her, as well as some Target bags.  Her front legs flailed, like she was trying to climb the mountain of crap as it fell down on her head, and the food went tumbling down, spreading doggy treats everywhere!  (They’re not supposed to eat the cat food– ergo, dog treats.)

Chicken got here just in time to see Steve’s mouth, opened in a silent meow, as she went under in the avalanche.

And she fell apart.

She started to laugh, and I fought tears, and she’s all, “Why are you crying?”

I was looking at the mess, and she just picked it all up including the cat food (dog treats)  and swept it up.

“There.  Now can you laugh at the cat?”

“Yeah.  It was sort of funny, wasn’t it?”

“It was fucking hysterical. God I’ve missed Steve.”

Yeah.

Me too.