I woke up this morning at 6am to a buzzing alarm clock that was across the room and no idea where I was. Ahh yes, the beginning of Day 1 of the actual finishing of the floors. I rushed, umped in the shower, got dressed, ran out the door stopped at Starbucks and got an iced passion tea lemonade(yum) and a morning bun(yum yum) and drove like craz to get to my house to let the workmen in. And...nothing. I was a little early. I went downstairs where we are keeping the cats and opened the door and, in a flash, Jasmine was up the stairs and trying to find somewhere to hide. But there wasn't any furniture about and SJ's door was closed. I scooped her up, put her back in the room and fed and watered the cats.
Ring Ring! I hear the phone ringing. Now you have to understand that the only operational phone in the house at this point is in the kitchen. Sounds really easy EXCEPT there is a sectional sofa (apart) a dining room table(legs off) an easy chair and various other sundry items stacked higgidly piggidly in my kitchen. My shoulder was still sore from the day before moving all aforementioned stuff, I took a dive , leaping across the furniture, grabbing the phone on the way down.
"yeah" I say
It is my husband sounding annoyed. I don't have my cell phone (which is why he is annoyed). He is lucky I was conscious enough this morning to get dressed! But he wonders aloud how I mangaged to get to the phone in the kitchen. I tell him I took a bullet for the team. He is noot getting my early morning humor. He tells me the workmen will be 30 minutes late.
To their credit, they do show up on time, 30 minutes late. I show them around, explaining how there was no way on God's green earth that we could move the hutch. No problem he tells me.
I head back down into the cat room, turn on the tv, and sip my iced tea. I hear the sounds of thunder, explosions , I can't even explain it coming from above. They are sanding the floor. The smell of wood and whatever else they are using fill the air. I open all the windows in the cat room,(with the air still on), open the sliding glass door and turn on the fan. Better.
But I haven't actually seen Josie (cat) and I start searching the room for her. Under , over , around, behind, on top, underneath. No sign of her. She is houdini like in her ability to escape into cat space. I figure she has got to be somewhere in the room.
I am just drifting off into sleep when I hear SJ at the sliding door. I let her in and we begin anew in our quest for the missing cat. 30 minutes later (this is not a big room we're talking about) we find her wedged up and under the couch, refusing to move. Fine.
I want to leave the house in the worst way but my guilt about leaving the cats to endure the noise, smell and rumblings overtakes me. If they have to go through this hell then I should have to also. Finally I hear the men go. But maybe I shouls stay longer in case they need some talk or pet therapy for enduring this. It is at this moment that I finally get a grip on myself. What am I? The Mother Teresa of cats? No. I just need to go home (mom's) and double up on my meds.
