I'm still here, chugging along post- big word-vomit. I'm not sure how I feel about sharing the whole Hotter situation. Part of me is all "well right now this is my life and I've never flinched from writing about my life and y'all's perspective is valuable to me" and part of me is like "dude, they all see you as 'poor MFA Mama with the jerkhold husband AGAIN and you are destroying any remaining credibility you have by admitting that this is your life (again)." I mostly just hate every single goddamn aspect of the situation. Like today, when I got home from work and grocery shopping; before, a Friday when the boys were headed to the XY's would call for cooking and eating a special meal together, maybe tackling a project or two, I would make at least a token attempt at some kind of seduction, and then we'd fall asleep together in a heap with the cats. Today I got home and coordinated with the boys on unloading groceries, Hotter and I tag-teamed the after-school routine, the boys left, and I wandered into the kitchen to try and find something my stomach would accept (oh, right, I don't think I've told the blog yet that during the height of my sickness I asked Hotter to make me some macaroni and cheese and he lost his shit on me and then I didn't ask him to make me anything else for three days and also didn't feel well enough to cook or go anywhere, so I spent three days taking antibiotics, steroids, and narcotics on an empty stomach and gave myself an ulcer because JESUS FUCKING CHRIST that is JUST WHAT I NEEDED IN MY LIFE). Not wanting to tie up the kitchen if Hotter had some kind of plan in mind, and uncertain as to whether he would be in "cook something as currency of forgiveness" mode or whether HIS stomach was tolerating food today or whatever I was like "hey did you have any dinner plans?" And he was all "no, but if you want I could make something...?" And we were both just...being good housemates, I guess. Which is depressing as all HELL.
So hey, who wants to hear about my kitten? Chigger is awfully damn cute, and I'm afraid I have become a cat lady. Chigs, Mr. Chigglesworth, Baby Baboona, Foona-bits Junior...he's spunky and fiercely determined and thinks the world rises and sets over my arse, and I am SO enjoying his tiny adoration! When he plays on the bed he gets carried away and makes sounds like a tiny snarling mountain lion. His tail is about 1.5x longer than a normal cat's, and still floofily be-tasseled in such a manner as to be utterly ridiculous. He's determined to learn to jump from the floor to our shoulders the way Skeeter does, but generally only makes it to his intended target's hip, where I've gotten pretty good at catching him. He lets me hold him on his back like a baby and tickle his belly, and wraps his little paws around my hand and just holds on. He's made friends with Poppy and runs to play with her any time she's out of her crate. Their love for each other is the funniest and sweetest thing ever--Poppy greets him by seizing him between her paws and appearing to maul the hell out of him, and Chigger eats up the attention (Poppy is very gentle with smaller creatures and even play-barks in Chig's face slowly and at a whisper, as if she's afraid a real bark would scare him or blow him across the room).
When I am sick, Chigger stations himself in the crook of my left elbow while I'm computering, and purrs mightily:
Kittens are pretty great.
And how are all of YOU?