She wakes Studly Doright up at five every morning and makes him carry her to the kitchen for a treat.
After he leaves for work, she snuggles with me and insists I get up at six. While I shower, Gracie watches me from her ringside seat on the side of bathtub. She presides over my morning routine, ensuring that I take my vitamins, and calcium, and allergy meds, and well, you get the idea.
The day proceeds with Gracie allotting time for feeding, naps, and play when she’s not actively supervising my work. In the evening she lets us know it’s time to stretch out on one of the chairs on the screened-in porch by pawing at the patio door.
Bedtime routine with Gracie is reminiscent of my days of tucking in a toddler. She gets a bowl of her favorite wet food, a bit of playtime, then we snuggle into our bed. But Gracie isn’t ready to sleep.
She’ll jump off the bed in dramatic fashion and rush down the hallway to the kitchen. Soon she’ll come back toting a bag of treats in her mouth. If she can’t get to the cat treats, she’ll bring a bag of people food—nuts, trail mix—whatever comes closest to resembling her treats, so the gist of her message is clear—one last snack, please.
Once she gets what she wants Gracie disappears into one of the guest bedrooms for the night only reappearing in our room when it’s time to wake Studly up for work. And the routine begins again,
I wish Gracie had been around during the years I taught. I could’ve used a good scheduler.
Early this morning, Gracie, our 2-year-old rescue kitty, climbed into bed with me and snuggled down. I was just barely awake and stroked what I thought was her head. Surprise—it was her bum.
“Ew, Gracie. Don’t stick your butt in my face.”
Then I realized that something had stuck to my hand.
Fearing it was poo, I jumped out of bed, careful not to touch anything with that hand, and ran to the bathroom sink. And of course I had to look before washing. No poo, but what I saw looked like grains of rice. There were several on my palm. Hm. Not good. Not good at all.
I fetched a plastic baggie from the kitchen and deposited the little sticky things inside. After thoroughly washing my hands, I went to Google. And there it was. A worm that resembled a grain of rice. Gross. I’ll spare you the pictures.
I called the vet’s office as soon as they opened and took Gracie in for treatment. It was time for her annual visit anyway, so they got us right in and took care of her.
Surprisingly she was a model patient and they didn’t have to sedate my girl. I could have used some sedation after finding worms on my hand, but they didn’t offer that. It really should be part of their service, right?
As soon as it’s appropriate to do so, I’m having a glass of wine. That’ll have to suffice.
On Saturday afternoon I was minding my own business, sitting on the couch, and playing Words with Friends on my phone. It began as a peaceful activity. Then others intruded on my nirvana.
Studly Doright had a golf game going on the television while simultaneously watching a YouTube video on some aspect of a 1956 or ‘57 Cushman scooter he’s working on for a friend. The cat was engaged in an attempt to free a trio of small balls from a toy.
Between the tv, the video, and the racket the cat was making, I had to have a glass of wine. My coping skills might be a little thin, but at least I have good taste.