So. Back on that theory that my kid might eat somebody one day. . .
We feed the cats at the top of the basement stairs to keep the dog from scarfing down their food. This comes with all the fun you would expect a basement venture to contain – eerie lighting, cobwebs in my hair.
I left Quinn in the kitchen to pull out some apples for pie while I laid out the food. I had barely cracked open the cans when I first heard the sound.
Vaguely familiar. But I was more worried about the 2 cats figure eighting between my ankles at the top of the stairs. Every day its a test of will – do they want their food more than I want not to plummet down the stairs.
I have to focus, because they really want their food.
I collect the empty cans and stand up to ascend the stairs.
I step back, onto a cat’s tail, mrrrrrrrrrrrrauw.
Ahhhhhhhhhh! Don’t fall down the stairs!
“Quinn, buddy,please put those down, those are very dangerous.”
Gage, from Pet Sematary in my head. Now I want to play with youuuuuuuuuu.
“We need a sharp knife to cut the apples.”
Step forward to retrieve the knife. Step on the other cat’s tail.
Mrrrrrrrrrrrrauw! But this cat has claws and he used them, as well as sinking his evil little feline teeth into my ankle.
I nearly went down the stairs in a heap, but managed to grab the rail and pull my fall forward to land at Quinn’s feet instead.
“Ow! Shit! Buddy! Please put those down. We don’t use that kind of knife for pie.”
He laid the weapons on the floor and helped me up.
“Mama you should be careful on the stairs. You could get hurt.”
This little snapshot of time came right before reading Erin Margolin’s piece about her twins – Apples and Oranges.
Then this morning, I read Leanne Shirtliffe’s Worst Toys of 2012: The Skankification Award
Then I thought about all of the other parenting blogs I read. And I realized that, as a parent, we may not stand a chance of escaping with our sanity intact.