Vets, Soggy Dogs and Not-So-Gray-Anymore Hair

It must be Monday...still don't quite have that 'feeling awake' pep in my step and it's 2:15pm. Must be that Aunty Flo came to visit. Even at my age. That must also be the reason I deleted all the photos that were taken of me yesterday for my work website. The unsightly bags had to go. Bags that even the software on my computer couldn't get rid of. Aging is a drag.
Even more than that, is the impatience that comes with it. I left the vet's office today. I no longer see the value in an appointment that is for 11:40 (an odd time in a way) and at 12:05 I am still sitting in a room with 4 stainless steel walls (read LOUD) with 2 barking Labs. So, off we went. Down to Soggy Dog to get a washing - on a rainy day. Clearly I didn't screw my head on this morning. Anyway, Grandma was looking after the little one while the owner was off doing his dog walking duties. As it's a 'DIY' dog wash, I'm not quite sure why I put this on today's agenda given my state of mind, but it turned out to be kind of fun. And once the beasts were washed, dried and fluffy, I spent the afternoon with my nose on both of them taking in big breaths of vanilla almond (Gracie) and mango cherry (George). Sometimes the simplest things can make the day better. It's too bad it didn't stay that way. At 9:00pm my client calls to tell me she arrived at her unit to find the door open and all the lights on. I can never understand agents leaving a showing and forgetting to 'lights off/door locked'. The stress made my bags grow a few more centimetres. I've also been feeling a bit sluggish and tired. Lack of iron? B12? Is my vegetarian life coming to an end? This happened to me once before about 15 years ago in an attempt to cut down my eating (always on the food reduction plan it seems) and I found myself nearly passing out for several days in a row. When I went to the doctor he said, 'Go home and cook yourself a steak'. I did and snapped out of my napping phase and feelings of lethargy. Instead of steak-eating, I decided yesterday to sign up again for a 3 month package back at Bikram Yoga. I've been off the regular exercise regimen for about 3 weeks now and when the urge hits, I usually get back on the wagon. Somehow today I just didn't have it in me. I felt fluey, tired, and as though a little leprachaun had jumped on my face with an air pump and breathed more life into my bags and decided against returning to class today. Instead I think I ate a loaf of bread; the first half with butter, sugar and cinnamon and the second half with tomato sauce and cheese. Both childhood favorites. Initially it was kind of nice cozied up on the couch with the dogs, snuggled in for the night with my cup of hot lemon and honey and unbridled indulging. THEN....at 11pm I went to the bathroom to ready myself for bed when I looked in the mirror. Aghast, my bags had taken over my face and my gray hair was messed and awry. Add 'no make-up' to the equation and insert loud screaming. I briefly saw the reflection of my father in the mirror - at the age of 70. That was too much of a quantum leap given my state of health and mind and I quickly grabbed the box of Brown Herbatint in the cupboard. So, as I write, with head wet and gooey, I say goodbye to my gray hair - for now. I'm not sure this will shrink the bags, make me not want to eat meat tomorrow, go to yoga and stop sniffling, but one can only hope.

3's The Charm?

Not so. Who came up with that saying anyway? Right now, I'd say 3's the 'uncharm', if there was such a word. Perhaps the universe and I aren't currently aligned... or the 'law of attaction' is giving me a sign. I do believe we live in a world that works strongly on that principle. I'm pretty sure the 'sign' would be to focus more and get organized.
Maybe if I did that, I wouldn't have RevCanada sending me love letters with the words 'investigation' and 'audit' in them, attract clients who answer the door to prospective buyers in their bathrobe or done the regrettable task of tallying what I've spent on trying to remedy poor George's licking obsession. I've succumbed to the general concensus that he has 'anxiety' (mmm, wonder where he got that from?) and decided to go that route - naturally. Oh, I could go on....but this would just set me back in terms of universal law making, so I vow from this day forward to think positively, stop eating (daily) pints of the yummy ice cream from Film Buff, not mind the 4 solid days of rain we've had with 2 big labs who love rain and wet snow and get on with the business of feeling lucky and privileged; after all, I'm not currently in Japan where an earthquake and tsunami are wreaking havoc, I'm not the Habs hockey player who currently lies in hospital with a broken vertebrae and concussion, and I'm not in Libya fighting a war of all wars, or anywhere near where anything is being said, written, tweeted or YouTubed about Charlie Sheen. As my good friend Joanne always says when I'm feeling crabby and confrontational...'Di, do you have 2 arms? Yes. Do you have 2 legs? Yes. Can you see? Yes. Can you hear? Yes. Then life isn't TOO bad!
Despite all things being relative, then she's right. So today, I go back to hot yoga, eat only fresh foods, trash the leftover ice cream, greet the day with a smile and stop reading the papers.

An Oldie But a Goody....

(Original Story written March, 2010)
Note** Apologies to Stacey, even though she did find this funny....

Recently a friend asked me to take care of her 2 cats while she and her hubby went away for a week. I immediately said 'NO', especially as I have 2 dogs who don't like cats and I'm not a big fan myself. Then I felt kind of bad, as she's a good friend, and said 'I'll do it - ONLY IF YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY DESPERATE'. Of course she called me at 3pm the day they were flying out with this message..'WE ARE DESPERATE'. So she brings the 2 cats (Zucchini and Squash) over and sets them up in the loft while I'm out walking the dogs so they 'won't notice'. Ha. We get home this Sunday at about 5pm and immediately George & Gracie run into the office sniffing and staring up from the bottom of the stairs and start barking. Animals. Too much 'nose power'.
On top of this I've just had the floors refinished and the place is in chaos as it's also in 'mid-paint'. Everything is everywhere. So there's that, 2 dogs and 2 cats, me trying to work. live etc. A nightmare.
Today I thought one of the cats got out and ran away and naturally I was in a complete PANIC. I have no real idea about the nature of cats, what they like, what they do, where they go. I'm sure I heard Stacey say 'they're indoor cats'. She did, then added this. 'They'll just stay upstairs but...be careful when you go in an out of the doors - JUST IN CASE'. Well, they did not stay upstairs. One of them anyway - Zucchini, the green one (well, blackish/green?). The first night they were here, she comes sauntering into the living room! Well, you can imagine that scene. Dogs jumping/barking/tearing after cat kind of scenario. Tables knocked over, lamps falling on their side etc. Fun. Zucchini disappears into the fray (I'm assuming back upstairs, but who knows - maybe under a bed, in a cupboard, etc). This is Day 1 of taking care of the 'cats who won't leave upstairs' . It's now Tuesday and I realize I haven't seen the orange one since they arrived - 2 days ago. I've been going upstairs to top up the food/water and clean out the kitty litter and ASSUME they are both up there. Meanwhile, not knowing cat behavior at all, I consulted a few cat 'experts' about where a cat might be who isn't showing itself to me. They said 'don't worry, the cat you haven't seen for 2 days is probably hiding, they don't like being moved'. So, I took the cat consultants advice and thought just that. I couldn't bear the thought of telling Stacey (and Andrew) that I thought one of their little babies did a dash. I was certain I was careful with the doors....or was I? I started replaying every move I made since they arrived in my head. As I'm starting to get somewhat paranoid, I decide to focus on something else and take the dogs for their walk before I have to go to work tonight. As we exit the back door, there's an orange cat, just like Squash, sitting on the back gate. Our eyes meet. I thought, 'Oh NO...this is Squash - the missing orange cat who I haven't seen for 2 days'. He wasn't hiding, he had escaped!!! As I slowly approach the gate, he takes off - up onto the roof and then...gone. I came running back into the house where Chris was painting; 'Chris, I think I just found the orange cat, Squash, and it jumped onto the roof and out of sight'. He said...'Uh oh. Indoor cats going outside - looks like he's gone for good'. Thanks Chris. But, neither of us could think how the cat got out. Immediately I go upstairs to the loft tearing the place apart and calling out 'Squash' in a high pitched stressed out voice - not exactly calming and endearing to a cat who doesn't want to be here to start with. I am crazed though, as I'm thinking of the real possibility that I'll have to tell my friends their cat is 'gone...forever'.
Anyway, it's now 5:30. I have to go to work. I have offers on my listing tonight so while all this is taking place, my phone is ringing off the hook with agents/questions/the office etc. A typical offer night in this busy market. In between all this chaos with the offer, I'm now rehearsing my speech - the 'How to Tell Your Friends One of their Beloved Pets Is Gone Forever' type. I am serious. I'm imagining us face to face, me telling them their pet of 8 years is history. I'm now driving to the townhouse but my mind is on the 'speech'. I have 3 near accidents on the way. I can't even think about how happy my clients will be when they find out there are 4 offers on their property. I'm picturing the argument with Stacey and the dialogue - how 'irresponsible I was' or me saying 'but you knew I didn't want to take care of your cats' fight, and then the end of our friendship. Meanwhile, I shift my focus to my clients. They get 4 great offers and decide on the one that will set a record in the townhouse complex for the highest sale ever. Beers and congratulations all round. As I'm toasting the sale, I'm REALLY picturing the memorial for Squash and decide I have to go home and email Stacey with the bad news.
I get back here, see my precious doggies, take them for their nightly walk and decide I'd better go upstairs and see Zucchini, who will now be all alone for the rest of her life.... I creep up the steps to the loft so the dogs don't hear me and pray - one step at a time - that by some miracle, the cat has come back through the chimney (even though I have a gas fireplace so I'm REALLY grasping at straws here) and reach the top step. I have treats in my hand of course. And, miracle of miracles - they are BOTH sitting on the bed!!!
I literally jump for joy teetering on the top step of my shaky loft staircase and come running down the stairs twirling into the kitchen. I can't believe my luck. I actually felt sick with relief. Clearly the orange cat outside was just a very freaky coincidence - having never seen one in the seven years I've lived here. I decide it's a message from above. Not exactly sure what I'm being told but a message of some kind.
Then I turn around to hug the dogs (who had to experience my crazed erratic behaviour all day) and as I go to hug Gracie, she pukes all over the newly refinished floors. I gleefully clean it up singing as I do so...
Funny how things can seem so trivial compared to telling a friend you lost her pet.
I've decided now that I'm going take a month long trip to somewhere exotic and Zen-like to regain the 3 years I lost today fretting about that damned cat. And I know the perfect couple who can babysit the doggies..

AND PLEASE.... DON'T EVER ASK ME TO SIT/WATCH/TAKE CARE OF YOUR CAT .......