I was prompted to resurrect my blog after the following events unfolded last night at 11pm, 1 am, 3am, 3:45 am, etc..:
9pm: Brent heads to sleep early because he's been very sick and is leaving early in the morning for a work trip that will take him away for a week.
11pm: I decide to give up the ghost of reality TV (I mean, we won't really know what's going on with Jon and Kate until after the Monday night one-hour-special episode anyway...) As I go around turning the lights off, I realize the side door is open and one of our cats is still outside (we had to start letting them outside during the day time due to excessive bouncing off the walls, sitting on our baby's head, and kitty litter issues we won't discuss, you're welcome) As I call out "kitty, kitty" I am answered with extreme howling and the sounds of possible raccoon-on-cat mauling that chills my blood and I enter extreme 'my cat is dead' panic mode.
11:03 pm: Like a thoughtful wife, I immediately wake Brent up and started screaming that the cat has been mauled to death and we have to go save him but I'm scared of the blood and gore and he has to do it for me, I explain to the pillow he's holding tightly across his face in a feeble attempt to block me out. I tiptoe outside, BY MYSELF, and hear very faint meows coming from across the street. The cat has climbed the world's largest tree and is too terrified to come down.
11:10 pm: It's raining. It's pitch black. I drive my car across the street and turn the lights on so we can begin the process of extracting the cat from the tree. We are fearless. Brent is in flip flops and climbing the tree (which is on a slanted hill by the elementary school's playground. The cat is just beyond his reach. Brent's flip flops fall off. I offer to get his tennis shoes.
11:15pm: Brent is wielding an 11 food ladder and swinging it wildly in an attempt to land the right angle against the tree. I am being very helpful and giving direction and creative ideas for ideal ladder placement, Brent suggests I may be a person who "talks too much". A few minutes later he is gently cajoling our cat, Philly, into his arms and maneuvers his way down the ladder with the offender splayed across his back, claws dug in. I am convinced my husband is a hero who should be chronicled on local evening news: "West Linn Cat Owner Bravely Risks His Life Through Sickness and Extreme Weather to Save Pet Stuck in Huge Tree"
1 am: This is when the Cops arrive. I hear the door bell and think it's a dream. I go back to sleep. The door bell rings several time. I am convinced someone has come to murder us but is being polite enough to ring the doorbell first. I frantically wake Brent and steer him toward the door, there is no way I am opening the door myself. Outside is a baton wielding police officer who informs us a car is parked in the middle of the street with the lights on and he's wondering it it's our car, or someone trying to break into the elementary school across the street. We have no idea where the keys are so THAT search ensues, I move the car and turn the lights off. I stumble inside and search for sleep.
3am: The baby wakes up, I wake up, no problem, very routine. Back to bed.
3:45 am: The toilet is running. I open my eyes and see my hands in front of me, inside the toilet tank, unhooking a caught chain that is tangled beyond recognition. It seems to be taking a long time to fix. I'm not sure how I came to be here. I realize I have never tried to fix a toilet chain before, but I am doing it now, close to 4 am. I am determined not to wake Brent up again.
The rest of the night I have strange dreams and when I finally start my day I see that Brent is already awake, playing with Baby J. How will I make it the next seven nights without him? What if the doorbell rings?
