chemical warfare

I recently read a blog about picking your battles.  Well, I actually read it in June, but I re-read it about once a week, so, technically, I recently read a blog about picking your battles. 

If you haven’t read it, you probably should.  It’s quite gifted.  If anything ever happens to my husband, I’m going out to TX to find this woman and proposition her.  Uh, propose to her.  

They mean the same thing, right?

Anyway, I’m a fan of picking my battles.  Some battles just aren’t worth winning.  I don’t care if my kid wears pink socks and a red shirt, because she likes pink socks and really, I’m secretly doing a little cheer that she is wearing socks at all.

I am also a firm believer that sometimes it’s OK to just look at your spouse and say, “Sure, whatever.  Buy a new XYZ”.  Even if we already have two.  Even if we never needed one.

Because a husband with a new XYZ is often easier to manipulate than a husband who’s wishing for a new XYZ and as long as the cost of the new XYZ doesn’t interfere with the new item on my wish list, then I’m generally in favor of going ahead with the purchase.  

cute and furry and orange

Right?

So last December, when my husband informed me as I was walking out the door for a Christmas Jingle Bell Jog that we were "getting the new cat tomorrow" (WHAT did you just say?) … I only argued for a brief minute. 

It was too much work.  I was already late for where I was going.  And really, let’s be serious.  During the 13 years we’ve been married, I brought home 2 puppies and a pony (ok, *technically* it was an off the track thoroughbred, 16.3 hands of hot craziness).  

In other words:  I didn't have a leg to stand on.  If he was hell bent on having a cat, then fine.  What’ev.

“But I’m not cleaning the litter box EVER.  Not ONCE.  So if you want this cat, you damn well better make sure you keep the box clean.  Got it?” to which he agreed.  I have yet to clean the box, and somehow even manipulated him into cleaning the litter box that belongs to my 14 year old cat.  See above note about XYZ.

Now.  There are only really two rules I care about in house pets.  

1)  Personal Injury.  There will be none.  If it bites, scratches, claws, or harms anyone in the house in anyway (including severe allergies), it goes.  No matter how cute and furry and orange it is...

2)  Personal Property.  There will be no destruction.  If it bites, scratches, claws or harms anything in the house in anyway, it goes.  No matter how cute and furry and orange it is…

And it is a cute cat.  Undeniable.  If you dig cats, this one is hilarious.  He appreciates being held, cuddled and played with, and let’s my 4 year old tote him around like a rag doll.

So let me tell you a story about my Teal Brooks Adrenaline GTS with less than 200 miles on them…  I love these shoes.  They’re the shoes that are supposed to get me through the next 3 to 4 weeks so I can open my Pink Marathon Shoes (already purchased & ready to go) in time to break them in for a few weeks.  

The teal Brooks have had some adventures already. They ran several miles and then volunteered at a Triathlon their first day out of the box. They’ve run in San Franciso over The Golden Gate Bridge, and alongside a freeway.  Yes it's true, many Clif Bars have been consumed wearing these shoes.  They’ve run in Providence RI through a FLOOD WARNING. 

They've been soaked completely and dried in front of a fan with careful loving attention paid to the "change newspaper frequently" method to prevent "funk smell" or "shoe damage".  These are some well cared for shoes.

They’re just perfectly broken in the way I like them so I can enjoy them for the next 3 – 4 weeks on a full time basis.  And then, as is only fitting for such well loved shoes, as they inch their way on toward retirement, they'll move to a part time basis for about 2 weeks while I ease into the next pair.

Yes, there are still about 200+ miles left in these shoes…  already planned out.

In case you can’t tell, they’re nice solid little shoes that have served me well and I am quite fond of them.

Or I was, at any rate.

Until my husbands Christmas Cat pee’d on them. 

W.T.F?

I guess I should've picked the battle a little more strategically...  perhaps this was one of those times it would have been wise to put my foot down and say no.

Husband thinks the cat is trying to claim me, or send a message of dissatisfaction, or something.  Oh, or “maybe the cat’s got a UTI or is sick or something!”  He’s very concerned about the health and well being of this cat.

As he should be…

I was very fond of those shoes.