Metal Meredith

I swear I left it right here a few years back…

Wednesday is my birthday. I will be 33 years old. I am neither afraid of turning 33 nor excited. I am pretty apathetic about the day in general. It didn’t used to be this way. This has me asking, where did my birthdays go?

When I was little, my Mom made this a day last forever. Better than Christmas, your birthday was the most special day of the year. After all, you were the only one born on that day (which I wholeheartedly believed until I was 6 and met Young Bin Yim in Elementary School, who shared my birthday).

By high school and up until I met Phil, I would have a birthday week. I started the Monday before the day and celebrate through the following weekend. That gave enough time to see all of my friends and all of my relatives and get presents from everyone. Sometimes, we were lucky enough to get a present weeks afterward!

When I met Phil, I was lucky to have Ronni in my life. During Phil’s breaking in period (which all men go through – I am not picking on you, promise), I had Ronni reminding him and making sure all the things I needed were present; balloons, cake, gift, card, flowers (sometimes), etc. For years he never forgot more than one thing in that long list. Then, the change happened.

Sometime in the last three years, thing changed. I got pregnant with Vivienne and it all went downhill. I stopped reminding people that it was my “Big Day”. I stopped feeling like I had the right to a whole week. After all, time wasn’t going to stop so I could have a nice, relaxing day. With all of my focus on the family, I simply forgot about me. My big day really became the “It’s alright, not a big deal” day. Sad, isn’t it?

This year is no better, but with the knowledge of how I got to this point, surely soon I will celebrate in style again. I am thinking that by 35, I should have time to reclaim my birthday as the most special day of the year. But for now, I will have to settle for an hour or two.

Happy Birthday to Me!
Meredith

She wasn’t smart, but she was ours

Just 10 months after saying goodbye to Griffon, the need has arisen for me to say another farewell. This time, it is Kitcha, who we lovingly refer to as the dumbest cat in the world. For those of you who had the pleasure of meeting Kitcha, you know this was said in all honesty, but with much love.

We inherited Kitcha from my sister when she moved to Texas. I had to take her; she just seemed so clueless and freaked out. I wanted to protect her from owners who wouldn’t get her. I should have known that she was just stupid.

There are a few great stories about Kitcha that will never be forgotten. We will always laugh and shake our heads when we remember the time I climbed a 40 ft ladder between electrical lines to pull Kitcha out of a tree. You think the fire department does that? Think again.

Kitcha loved feet. Anytime she would see a foot bare exposed, she would come over and lay on it, rubbing her head on your toes. It was always good in the winter, the perfect foot warmer. Who needs slippers?

Kitcha snored when she slept, she loved to have her stomach rubbed, she purred louder than any cat I have ever met. When you scratched her chin, she would lick the palm of your hand.

But best and most puzzling, she loved to move the water bowl. It took Phil and I a week or two to realize that neither one of us kept moving the water bowl inches, then feet away from where it should go. It was Kitcha. She would walk up to the water bowl and then pull it closer to her with her paw. Sometimes, it would be 6 to 8 feet from where it was put down. To this day, we never figured out why the Kitcha Water Relocation Project was so important to her. Maybe had she told us, we wouldn’t have thought she was lacking any intelligence.

She was the young one, always wanted attention, always was social, and always came to greet you by jumping on the back of the sofa when you walked in the door. She would regularly let me know Phil was home by running to the door and squeaking (her version of the meow). She loved cat nip bags and would often put her head on them and drool so much they were completely soaked when she walked away.

If you had the privilege of meeting our goofy cat, please take a moment to remember her.  We will miss her so much.

Until next time,
Meredith, Phil, Vivienne and the last kitty standing, my 17 yr old Shakespeare.