Eric was away for a three day seminar this week. That leaves me with three kids and a cat all day and all night. Our regular sitter is out of town this week as well, so I keyed myself up to be on top of everything.
Figuring it's only a few days, I expected to manage just fine. Not that I don't miss Eric's company as well as his help at home. But an able-bodied person ought to be capable of managing for a few days without a partner, right?
Yet, when I am the only responsible adult around the house, I find that I get a little anxious about the pure volume of work to be done. I don't feel comfortable letting the dishes pile up, for example, because I know no kind person is going to wash them for me. It's all up to me. The thought is more oppressive than the work itself.
So, when Friday morning rolled around, and I knew it was my last day without peer support, I felt both proud of myself and relieved. Everyone had been fed and cleaned as appropriate. I took out the trash and the diapers for the diaper service. The sink was free of dirty dishes.
Strangely, the cat spent a lot of extra time with me on Thursday night and Friday morning. "How sweet," I thought, "She must know that I could use some extra support."
Wrong. I went downstairs to feed her and found that the night before, I had dumped the food and medicine (which she takes for a kidney problem - another story entirely) into her bowl and left the spoon on top, failing completely to mix it up. Being the finicky creature she is, she couldn't bring herself to eat any of it in that condition. So, she had spent the entire evening and morning trying to tell me to hurry up and take care of her food. She had nary a thought of consoling me!
I obviously should not have attributed such positive intentions to a cat.
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