Wednesday, January 3, 2007
I have been told by my wife to write this post. The majority of the posts will be from Sara because she will say all of the sweet motherly things that you want to share with family and dear friends. This event, however, was mine alone to bear and therefore I must be the one to tell it.
I have never liked cats. I have never been what is refered to as a cat person. They are sneaky and quiet and I like to know when something is about to take a swipe at my ankles. For Sara's accomplishment of finishing law school we agreed that a just reward would be getting an orange cat for HER (notice emphasis) enjoyment. We named him Aslan after considering Leroy and other catty names. He has brought much joy to Sara and therefore I endure him. But Warren, one might ask, how can you be so certain in your disdain of cats? Please continue reading.
Two nights ago Eason woke up for his 4AM feeding. Sara had her first day in court the next morning so I did the honorable thing and fed Eason his bottle. It was a relatively quick affair and Eason was asleep and content in his crib at 4:45. Throughout the early morning hours I had heard our dog Murray barking at something in the house. I have learned to completely ignore and give no value to any noise at night that is not a screaming child. When I was walking back to our room from Eason's nursery I again heard Murray going nuts in our bathroom. I walked into our bathroom to see Murray and Aslan standing on either side of the dark wood shelves where we have a clock and books and candles and all other sorts of things appropriate for a bathroom set of shelves. As you have read earlier in the blog, Aslan has a love for bringing in lizards as presents to us. At least this is what Sara says to keep me from letting our dog eat our cat. So I bend down to view this lizard, take account of the size, surroundings, etc.. and make a plan for a proper exodus for this newest present from our cat. When I get a good view underneath the shelves I see a tail hanging down but the body of the lizard was out of sight, stretched up the wall behind the first shelf. I have to decide wether or not to grab the tail of the lizard or to move the shelves and grab the lizard off of the wall. I decide to do the latter as lizards are prone to drop their tails in defense. When I move the shelf their is a flurry of movement and I see the big gray mouse. Let me say that again in case you missed it. It was no lizard but rather a big gray mouse. It is the grace of God that stayed my hand and kept me from throwing the shelves to the gorund and smashing every breakable thing in the bathroom out of shock. Do we live in a barn? Are we in Egypt during the time of the plagues? Do I have to keep the cat? Anyway...upon my pulling back of the shelves, Aslan allowed me to witness the suprisingly quick death of our intruder. Murray was barking at the top his his lungs as the cat just looked at me in complete satisfaction. Sara was sleeping. I proceeded to spend the next 45 minutes cleaning the bathroom floor like it has never been cleaned before. If you had lit a match our entire home would have been an ash heap.
Later on during the day, call if you want the full story, Aslan brought in some sort of grasshopper/locust hybrid that I was forced to deal with. Capping it all off, however, was when Sara was feeding Eason late the next afternoon. While sitting on the couch with our newborn son, the picture of tranquility, Sara hears a chirp. The chirping then begins to grow in volume. Sara then sees a shadow moving toward the pet door and is thinking that the bird is going to fly into our house. She was wrong. The bird was being carried into our house in the mouth of HER cat. With the proper amount of screaming by Sara and crying by Eason the cat never fully made it into the house and was forced to relinquish the bird. I promise I am not making one bit of this up. Seriously.
I do not even know how to end this post because it is all so over the top. But maybe that is a fitting coupling with our arrival as parents. I think that it is safe to say that while I am adjusting to the schedule and duties involved in being a Dad, I am not so adjusted to the role of cat owner.
Christmas Eve was not all pooh and spitup. That morning while we were getting ready for church, Eason shared with us his first honest-to-goodness laugh. Twice in fact. His daddy was dressing him and Eason was lying on the bed. They were playing a game that his grandmomma often plays with him when she keeps him. Warren goes "clap, clap, clap," in front of Eason. Then he takes Eason's hands and repeats the sound and action. Warren let go of Eason's hands, which Eason promptly flung apart, and Warren cheered. For some reason this morning that game tickled Eason enough to muster up a true chuckle. I was walking out of the room when I heard it and ran back to the bed in time to witness a repeat performance! Oh, what a wonderful Christmas present! Those sounds are so precious!