The older I get, the more I treasure the little things that, in my youth, I wouldn’t have given a second thought. Now don’t get me wrong; If you’re considered young and are reading this, you likely have no idea what I’m talking about. But if you ask me, enjoying the little things is one of the few perks of aging.
Now that I’m 70, I find I don’t sweat the small stuff like I did in my youth, aka, back when I had collagen and nary a gray hair. I barely recognize myself today from when I was 40, and not strictly by looks, although there’s that too.
Number 9 of my 10 pets is Taffy. Here’s her story...
I imagine many people awake in the morning to the scent of coffee brewing, the aroma of eggs and bacon wafting throughout the house, thanks to a thoughtful significant other. Now don’t get me wrong; none of that describes my mornings. For instance, take Thursday morning last week.
You know that sound people make when they’re about to vomit? Sort of a dry heaving that comes in three second rhythms until it’s no longer dry? You know what I mean if you’ve ever had food poisoning or possibly one too many Moscow Mules. So I immediately recognized what was happening on the floor of my bedroom.
Go easy on these
You see, my latest mutt, Taffy, has taken to eating cat litter. Just another non-endearing trait from this adorably obnoxious canine. At least it’s corn-based litter, which might be the attraction. But her obsession with it is unwavering and my attempts to block her from that room (while giving the cats access) have obviously proven unsuccessful.
So you probably know about my trials and tribulations with a leaky kitchen faucet. Trouble was, the insurance inspector couldn’t say for sure if that caused my hardwood floor to buckle but they refused to replace it just the same. I griped about it, threatened to go elsewhere, and the funds miraculously appeared in my checking account.
So off I went to look for new flooring, deciding on Luxury Vinyl Planks because it’s practically bullet-proof. That’s fine and dandy but what I wanted is flooring that’s pee-proof, water-proof, scratch-proof, and one that cleans itself. I got three out of four. Not bad.
You see, Taffy misses her pee pad almost daily. Callie, who is 13 this month, physically can’t make it out the dog door most days and try as she might to hit the pee pad, her foggy eyes mean her aim isn’t stellar. Then there’s Oliver with his luxurious long fur (which means constantly cleaning up hairballs) and Fat Jack who overindulges then promptly vomits his meal. Consequently, as much as I like it, hardwood flooring in my house is dumb.
Now don’t get me wrong; what I’m about to say may give the impression I don’t adore my 10 pets, all rescues. Yes, they, like humans, are uniquely flawed beings. But accepting flaws are part of any relationship, right? We take the good with the bad. Besides, I’ve determined I was meant to have each of these critters because certain aspects of their not-so-endearing qualities might not be tolerated by some.
My cat with an amputated tail, Savannah, is determined to put me in traction. When it’s time to eat, she’s like a magnet and my legs are metal. She zig zags between them like a slalom skier. Everyday I warn her she’s going to trip me but she pretends not to hear. No doubt one day I’ll be sporting a cast on a body part. But Savannah is the sweetest, gentlest of souls. Not a mean bone in that body.
Wally, my Dachshund mix, barks incessantly whenever someone walks by the house while he’s positioned on the back of the sofa with a perfect view. He’s still not entirely house-trained, even though I pretend I’ve won the lottery whenever he uses the dog door and returns triumphantly, having just relieved himself. Apparently, however, my enthusiasm doesn’t persuade him to use it on a regular basis. But Wally, like one of those poor circus bears, sits up with arms elevated when he wants my attention. It’s endearing and he knows it.
I imagine many people awake in the morning to the scent of coffee brewing, the aroma of eggs and bacon wafting throughout the house, thanks to a thoughtful significant other. Now don’t get me wrong; none of that describes my mornings. For instance, take Thursday morning last week.
You know that sound people make when they’re about to vomit? Sort of a dry heaving that comes in 3 second rhythms until it’s no longer dry? You know what I mean if you’ve ever had food poisoning or possibly one too many Moscow Mules. So I immediately recognized what was happening on the floor of my bedroom.
Go easy on these
You see, my latest mutt, Taffy, has taken to eating cat litter. Just another non-endearing trait from this adorably obnoxious canine. At least it’s corn-based litter, which might be the attraction. But her obsession with it is unwavering and my attempts to block her from that room (while giving the cats access) have obviously proven unsuccessful.
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 