One of the fantasies about retired life is all your time is your own. “Freedom!” you gleefully yell as you walk out the plant main entrance the last time: No more of that! Ever! Nope! Free at last to be me! Yep! ALL FOR ME, ALL THE TIME! Hooray!
Yeah, so I thought. Then…[duh-duh-duhhhhhhh!] I got a cat. Then another. One died. Then the other. I got two more cats, brothers, kittens that ate a “bad” (infected with amoebic parasites) grasshopper they and their two other siblings caught while at the veterinarian’s.
Kitty diarrhea is not a good thing, actually a serious thing, no less than in a human infant since they can become dehydrated very quickly. All the baths required to keep them clean don’t count for hydrating them, either, so suck it up and pop them into the wash water before they sit down somewhere and leave a little, cute “poop Cheerio” on some smooth surface, like a window sill or the kitchen table.
(“They’re only kittens, Doug! Only kittens! Sick, poopy butt little kittens. This, too, shall pass! I hope. And soon!”)
It was during this burn in phase with Andy and Dougy that I realized something about my retirement status: I’d become the appointment keeper for a couple of kitties! Thanks to digital “Post-It” notes to myself on my computer, Andy and Dougy make it to beautification appointments every other month, and to the veterinarian, as needed.
It gives me discipline and purpose at a time I thought I could sit back and become a burden on society, not work as a cat valet, business manager, social secretary, play supervisor, and chauffeur! 😉
Not complaining. It feels good to be useful, even if it just means keeping track of appointments…for my cats.