First off, thank you for the kind words regarding my meandering, rambling blog.
Second… This Monday STINKS!
Originally I’d planned on featuring a lengthy, detailed account of my sewing adventures from yesterday. Many hours were spent meticulously measuring, pinning, ironing and sewing panels so that A2’s skirt would be perfectly pleated. Once the pleats were set then a quick four-inch chain stitch down the top of the folds held them in place. They aren’t visible in the pictures, but my hands are spotted with burns from the iron.
After attaching the waistband A2 wouldn’t even let me press it again before trying it on. She wanted it to be shorter. I didn’t.
My inability to line up the plaid on the waistband with the plaid on the skirt vexed me to no end. A2 grew impatient waiting for me to correct this though, so I finally gave up and told her to keep her shirt untucked so nobody would notice. Other than this taking forever to make and the disappearance of my black thread, the sewing was mostly uneventful.
Fast forward to this morning. Since Steve had his operation he’s settled down considerably. He still loves to frolic and partake in standard cat antics, but he no longer races around wreaking havoc throughout the house like a squirrel on crack… usually. This morning while my DH was getting ready for work I heard him ask, “Where did I set my coffee?”
His inquiry was followed by a loud crash and an expletive from my DH. The latter of whom had set his travel coffee cup on the floor to put on his coat and then forgotten where he left it. Steve, who for some odd reason was racing around the house like his tail was on fire, had slid into the cup and sent coffee flying everywhere, in spite of the lid. I shooed my DH down the road with his half a cup of coffee and wiped up the mess (which needs mopping because DH drinks his coffee with sugar).
Steven continued running round the house like a nincompoop. I’d had enough. As he ran down the hallway, bouncing off the walls, I chased after him to put him in a “time out” to calm down. It was while following him I noticed that he was being chased by a mouse! At this point panic set in. I’m not afraid of mice, but I really don’t want one running up my leg, nor do I want to step on it, squish it and have mouse guts everywhere. So I went back to the kitchen, grabbed some paper towels and a broom then gingerly resumed looking for the cat and mouse.
Steven was found “doing his laundry” (translation, his leg was hiked up over his head and he was licking his nether regions) on my bed, but in the shadows of my dungeon-like bedroom I couldn’t see the mouse any place. Stealth and grace are NOT adjectives used to describe my actions, ever. So when I stepped on something warm that mashed between my toes I panicked, thinking I’d just killed the mouse. Instinct made me jump and I fell into a heavy marble table. This hurt like hell and triggered some unsavory words. The loud expletives roused the girls, who came running to check out the commotion. Them all running at once into my room startled Steve, who flew off of my bed, wove between their legs and scampered down the hall. As he disappeared, the mouse I’d stepped on moved too. Oh holy crap! Dead, squished mice do not move. Horror turned to disgust as I realized that it wasn’t a mouse, but rather a turd. And the turd was attached to a long, black thread coming out of Steve’s butt.
Mayhem ensued. The girls chased the cat, the string wrapped around chair legs, table legs, etc. while a series of little turdlets were flung (flinged?) randomly throughout the house. I yelled at them to, “Stop chasing the d*%$ cat!”, at the same time scalding the heck out of my foot in the bathroom sink because I forgot to turn on the cold water faucet (note to self, reset the thermostat on the back water heater). I gathered a wad of paper towels then hobbled, with my pink foot, to and fro gathering up the turdlets. The trail led to Steve sitting in the middle of our dining room table, again, doing his laundry. Cautiously, so he wouldn’t run off again, I got close and then pinned him down. Then (this is so gross) I grasped the black thread and pulled. Only a little bit came out, but then the thread broke with a 1/4″ tail hanging out of his little pink butt. He screamed bloody murder when I tried to retrieve the minute tail of thread, so I left it and just cleaned up the carnage.
I don’t know if his yowls were out of protest due to the indignity of the entire episode, or if the thread is bound up inside of him. The veterinarian’s office doesn’t open for another 45 minutes, but my guess is that taking him in won’t be fun. Or cheap. He’s exhausted and resting. I’ve taken some Advil and will wait with one ice pack on my foot and another on my head until I can call.
Perhaps this is another sign that I shouldn’t sew. A3 wants a pleated skirt too, but we may just go buy one. Oh, and I need an eye exam.