A bump in the night

Disclaimer: I love cats. I love most animals. If I weren't allergic, I'd have a house full of animals.

but I digress...

I almost laughed so hard last night, but I knew my hubby wouldn't understand.
When I got home it was sweltering in the house, so I opened the doors and windows (since it was cooler outside!!!) and went in the backyard to relax for a few minutes. I went back in eventually, closed the outside doors, and went on my way about my evening.
Fast forward to 12:45 am.
My hubby turns on the lights in the bedroom and leaves the room, muttering something about getting rid of the cat.
We don't have a cat.
It's obsurd.
I believe he's sleep walking or only half awake and thinking about his dream still. He comes back in the room and starts poking around under the bed saying "come on kitty, here kitty." I'm now awake and seriously concerned for his sanity.
"What ARE you doing?"
"I told you, getting that stupid black cat out of here."
"We don't have a cat."
He gives me a look like "no duh."
"Well somehow it got in here and it was walking all over me while I was sleeping."
I give him a look like "suuuuuure."
Then out of nowhere a black cat streaks from under my side of the bed out into the hall and across to the guest room.
Oh.
I guess there was a cat in the room.
Which would explain the weird sounds upstairs when we were watching tv earlier.
I attempt to go back to sleep, but my hubby is still determined to get the cat out of the house pronto. After listening to him bumble about the guest room, talking sweetly to the "stupid cat," I get up to try to help. We eventually got it out from under the guest bed, then the hope chest, then from behind the bureau. My hubby carried it down the stairs and THREW it out the front door!
I was a little concerned.
Poor cat.

In Memory

The seventh anniversary of 9/11 was last week. It's not that I forgot. I purposely waited to post. I wanted to really think about what it means to me. You know, beyond the heightened security and general inconvenience of it all. It's not that I'm annoyed by these things, it's that I'm annoyed by the fact that it seems many of my fellow Americans have forgotten the reason why we are abiding by new rules and regulations.
I am not nearly old enough to remember Pearl Harbor, but I remember every year when it comes and goes. I am ashamed to say, it's not because of a relative's death, a military attachment, a reverance for what those men stood for, the turning point in our country's history that day. No, it's because it happens to coincide with the day I met my husband. Yeah. And how many other great, historical dates come and go without pause from the people of this great country and our busy lifestyle? Hundreds, if not thousands.
Then I wonder...how long will it be before I completely forget? How many years will go by before that day in Two-Thousand-Something that 9/11 comes and goes and I don't even think once about the significance of the date and what transpired in 2001? It saddens me to think that what we experienced, what we grieved over, and what took me weeks and months to stop thinking about every day may now be put into a text book and memorized without passion and kids will learn about it with even less passion and once the test is over, it will be promptly forgotten.
I don't have an eloquent way of closing this post. "Never Forget" is both cliche and unrealistic. To say I'm saddened both by the events and by the fact that it's become just another day is both cliche and maybe a bit naive. Any trauma that we experience will eventually heal. But healing is not forgetting.

Babies. Sigh.

Another friend is pregg-o. They're multiplying. And the ones that are multiplying are multiplying. I mean, it's like, epidemic here! {sigh}

And I am tempted to jump on the bandwaggon and say "let's give it another shot" with my hubby, but we've only been in counseling a few months and he's only been alcohol free for a little over a month. I'd be a fool not to anticipate detours in "recovery" ahead, and yet I also think it's foolish to think we're ever going to "have it all together." We are a work in progress. And my hubby's recovery is a work in progress. Heck, I'M a work in progress.

But the synical side of me says my hubby could just be waiting for me to say "let's do it" and then he can start drinking again. And what makes me the pregnancy police?

Looks like we have something to talk about in counseling, huh?