I wouldn’t dare include a full body shot of JD. He would be horrified to know that I ever portrayed him with any kind of weakness. JD likes to be a very dominant and in control kitty. I mean cat. He’s certainly not a snuggly little daddy’s boy. Yes, I said it. Daddy. He’s not my son, per se, but I am his dad. And JD can be hurt and, as you can see, he really got himself into a mess.

But that’s not really where this story begins. It begins with this post about children that I made a couple months ago about whether or not to have children. And it got everyone up in arms. Or at least a few that commented. And the conversation surrounding to be or not to be parents continues. But really, that’s not where the story begins either. It’s starts somewhere around the idea that cats are like children.

I think it’s safe to say that cats are like two year olds that are capable of going to the bathroom and clean by themselves. They are kind of cognizant of the world around them, yet they run in front of cars because I suspect that aren’t able to understand death—not as we do. As in, the emotional turmoil of JD becoming a road pancake.

So this story actually begins last week when we let the cats out at 9:30 (PM). Most cats, come summer time, would stay out all night. However, our cats are on an eating schedule and those fatties don’t miss a meal. So I know that by 10:00 they should be knocking for their bedtime snack.

10:00 JD comes in. No Elly. And if either of those cats are fatties, it’s Elly by a mile (or 6 pounds). No problem. I’ll wait.

10:30. No Elly. I call a couple times. Nothing.

11:00. No Elly. Now this is just getting crazy and I am worried. So I put on my shoes and walk around the house. I look for Elly-sized lumps on the road. Check the usual spots. Nothing.

11:30. No Elly. I remark to Leah that I am never going to have children if I get this upset over a cat. I put my shoes on and get my flashlight. I walk up and down the alley, calling for my cute little Elly-burger. My Elly-bear. I walk a block over and search the school ground. Leah checks our neighbours yards and the frontyards.

11:40. I get back from my expansive search of our neighbour. And Leah yells She’s back!

Now, I didn’t want to admint it in the timeline. Because timelines are for being tough. But I was scared. My heart was pumping. I was imagining the worst. I was actually pretty upset. And when I got back to the house I just wanted yell at her for making me so worried, but I was so happy to see her that I just hugged her and told her not to do that again. But she’s got the intelligence of a two year old and was hungry. So I fed her.

Which brings us to JD. If Elly is the fat one, JD is the smart one. But with JD there is no story. Or at least no story that I know. He came home on Saturday with a giant open wound in his back right leg/paw. I don’t know how bad you think it looks in that picture, but when I look up close I am pretty sure I can see bone. Or at least tendon. It’s gross. He was bleeding when he got back. So we cleaned him up. Which indcluded peroxide. He did not enjoy that. Then I rushed to the store and bought bandages and tensor-like wrap. I put Polysporin on the bandage, wrapped up his leg and secured it with electrical tape.

Monday morning I removed the bandage. The wound looked okay, but not great. So I took a couple hours off work (for my dumb cat), drove to JD to the vet (he peed in his crate on the way there, yum) and got the good doctor to take a look. As you can imagine JD was not too anxious to let anyone near that huge gash. The doc gave him a two-week shot of antibiotics and some pain-killers. So infection shouldn’t be a problem. Plus we have to wash it out every day. Oh and not to mention the $200 vet bill.

Frankly, the emotional and financial toll is too much for me. And I know that it would only multiply with children. Who needs this kind of aggravation? It can’t be good for the heart. JD seems to be on the mend. But he’s not allowed outside and I presume he’s only going to get crankier and/or start peeing all over the house.

For intents and purposes, these cats are my children and for now they are all I can handle.

I have a bit of a confession to make. I have had a few posts outlining some of the steps I have taken to live a more environmentally friendly life. But it wouldn’t be fair to openly admit that sometimes I do a few things that aren’t favourable. It’s sort of like Fluorescent lightbulbs are a lesser evil. They use a lot less energy, but they contain mercury. Similarly, I sometimes I have to choose a path that leads me to pick a lesser evil.

And if you don’t believe that spin you can take Brendan’s approach:

You talk a good game on environmentalism. And then you Monsanto your lawn. Judas.

So I sprayed Round Up all over my lawn. I need to kill it. We are doing several things to our yard and it’s on a tight time line. We needed to kill the lawn for a number of reasons:

1. Putting a 10x15ft garden (raised bed) in the backyard. Can’t have grass growing amongst the carrots and tomatoes.
2. We are going to seed a different type of grass in the backyard—sheep’s fescue. It’s a prairie grass that doesn’t require watering and you only need to mow it a few times a summer. It’s hardy and much more friendly to our ecosystem.
3. The lawn is lumpy or we have dew worms. Apparently dew worms are just like earth worms, but they are bigger and they cause lumps all over the lawn. I don’t know why. Maybe because they are jerks. I can’t stop the dew worms, I believe there are a few techniques to stop the lumping action (still researching this). In any case, I’m going to till it and rake it flat.
4. I am the destroyer.

Round Up binds with the soil and presumably (though I have actually heard Curtis argue against it) is competely harmless. So it’s an unfavourable choice to eliminate the horrid kentucky blue grass in my yard that requires a lot of water and care. But in the long run I will have a garden plus a hardier, more environmental friendly grass.

Update: I am pretty that my lawn is actually getting greener. I sprayed it more thoroughly yesterday.

I spend a lot of time thinking. Probably too much time. A lot of it is spent remembering. Today is May 5th and other than it being Curtis’ birthday (one of the few birthdays I am capable of remembering) it is an anniversary of a day that is not remembered by anyone except me. Thirteen years ago I was confirmed at Christ Lutheran Church in Regina. And that feat—for those who don’t know—was two years of weekly classes, retreats and a host of other events. But it was also a lot more.

For all the time I have spent remembering, I rarely think about my early Christian self. Part of me doesn’t believe it ever happened anymore and part of me just doesn’t want to remember. Part of me is embarassed and other parts are sad. But in every way, those early experiences have everything to do with who I am today.

I was going to write out my entire Christian history, but it wasn’t that interesting. What I can say is that I don’t know what to do with Christianity anymore. What I mean is my thoughts are so far from where I started that it’s hard to keep that same definition of Christian. In some ways, I have changed but the term hasn’t. Or not enough, anyway.

I am not saying that I don’t have faith, but I am saying that I don’t know how to reconcile that faith with even the loosest definition of being a Christian. That being said, I won’t be going to the Unitarian church (sorry Adam), but—as always—it’s all still very confusing. Or perhaps I should say mystery.