Sunday and Ginger Need Psychiatric Help

"I'm going to a conference in San Antonio," my husband announced four months ago. "Will you be okay for a few days?" I assured him that I could, in fact, manage without him for a few days.

Before leaving, he gave the children their assignments for taking care of the house and Mom.  The first day, all of the children took their assignments seriously and soberly.  The 9 year old boy checked that the dog had food and water every morning.  He took out the garbage to be picked up and brought it in after school. He didn't tease his siblings as much. He started out as gold and stayed 80% so for the duration.

The teenager cleaned up after dinner the first night, folded a few clothes, then pretty much left the rest of us alone for the next few days.

The 11 year old continued with her pre-pubescent identity crisis but tried to do what she was told.  When she didn't plan on doing what she was told, at least she had the integrity to inform me.

The 4 year old talked. Non-stop. I would find him draped across me sometime during the night, in the king size bed, like every other night.

Pretty much, it was business, as usual. We went to school, came home, argued a little about homework, had a doctor appointment, ran out of lunch money, a huge meteor lit up the sky in the middle of the night and may concerned me with the sonic boom a bit, but I continued reading my book. We did fine.

But nobody told the dog and cat.

The dog followed me around the house all the time. When I backed up to open the refrigerator, she was right there.  When I walked into the bedroom to pick up a book, she followed me.  When I put a child in the tub, she stretched out in the doorway like she would be staying for awhile.  When I stepped over her to find a towel, she followed me to the other bathroom, to the laundry room, and finally back to the bathroom with the naked boy where she would lay her head on paws again.

Every night the cat would walk around in circles and talk.  Loud.  She wanted someone to show her where we kept her food even though we've not moved it in the 8 years we've had her. I'd have to drag myself up from wherever I was reading (do you see a theme here?), pick her up, and plop her right in front of her food, which was 2 feet from her face, and stand there until she ate something and let her leave on her own terms.  She'd then start it up again 15 minutes later. She threw up three times that first morning.

And then they'd fight.  The cat would walk back and forth in the dog's line of sight, baiting her, sticking her tail up in the dog's face until the poor 60 lb. dog could stand it no longer. She had to pounce on the 8 lb. cat.  She'd nip at her while the cat swiped at the dog's nose, not once turning to run away to safety. Sad as it is, the dog was always the loser in the ring.

After four days, the kids and I picked up the Dad at the airport. They all had something incredibly important to tell him about what he missed like that the 9 year old got a crampy tremor in his left butt cheek or the 11 year old is writing a story in her special notebook but when he heaved his suitcase onto the bed, all children were at attention for souvenirs (except the four year old who fell asleep on the way to the airport).  Goods appropriated, the children wandered off to bed.  The cat sniffed the man's feet. The man grabbed the dog, gave her a good whiff, and announced that he missed her smell and he went to bed.

The cat remembered where we keep her food.  She stopped throwing up. The dog is curled up in the corner.  I've left the room no less than 8 times.  Alone.

Crisis is over. Next time I will put anti-anxiety medication in their food.