Major Problems

In my lifetime, like all of you, I have faced my share of issues.

I have finished graduate school.

I have overcome a 6-pack-a-day Diet Coke addiction.

I have lost thousands of pounds.

Ok, so maybe not thousands, and maybe I gained most of them back, and maybe I’ve lost the same 20 pounds over and over, but it’s been no less traumatic.

I have moved.

Alot.

I have raised a child into her double-digit years.

I have worked through a very disturbing situation with the Return Lady at Lowe’s.

I have taught myself how to can stuff.

I have taught countless children how to read, write, add, subtract, and generally live.

But never, in all my years of experience have I faced an issue as serious as the one of which I write today.  It is a crisis if epic proportions, one that stands to turn our entire household on its ear.

Prepare yourself for “the sitch” (sorry, I’ve been watching that nutty Jersey Shore guy on Dancing with the Stars) you are about to see. Consider yourself warned.

This! This is to be my undoing! He/she walked up on our deck Monday evening. As Big Daddy came home from work, we walked out to sit there and look at the leaves, and there he/she was. Crying for food, looking generally pitiful and oh, so cute.

Big Daddy gave him/her a piece of bologna.

Oy.

I call he/she, he/she because Big Daddy and I are still in “discussions” about his/her gender. He says girl; I say boy. There’s a definite thing there.

Does anyone know how to determine the gender of a cat? Please send help.

The real problem, however, is not the fact that the cat has found us, but rather this:

You may remember that I have already been snookered into supporting one animal as a result of the Diva’s and Big Daddy’s love for them.  I’m already bitter and disgruntled about serving a life sentence on that one. Cats live even longer.

We’re in a complete quandry here. On the one hand, Big Daddy’s co-worker needs a mouser for his barn, but his wife wants a male cat.  I say it is a male cat and give it to them. Big Daddy swears it’s a girl, so they won’t take it. On the other hand, our lease doesn’t allow for pets, so we can’t bring it in the house. On the third hand (stay with me…no I don’t have three hands), we may need a cat related to a little situation we had here the other evening about which I will tell you in an upcoming post.

What’s a mom to do?

First things first: I’m taking it down to the animal hospital to find out what it “is” in the hopes that (a) Big Daddy’s coworker will take it, and (b) I’m right.

I wonder: what should I bet Big Daddy before I found out its gender?

Victimized by the animal population once again,

AinW