I'm having a minor-to-possibly-fatal case of writer's block this week. After tackling a Real Grown-Up Type Article (That Required Me To Read Science-y Stuff And Talk To A Fellow Grown-Up On The Phone And Everything) for AlphaMom on Tuesday, I was left with an unjustified sense of AND MY WORK HERE IS DONE-style accomplishment, and decided to spend the rest of my day staring merrily into space, mostly thinking about cats.
The CATS. I also blame the CATS. Who are not here yet, but are almost all I can think about, along all the cat-related accessories that I can't stop buying.
(I bought one of those freaking cat scratching post/condo/tower things, people. For my living room. And I purposely picked the one that was the most IKEA-ish, as if that makes it any less embarrassing.)
This morning I pulled over to the side of the road to rescue what I thought was a tiny injured black kitten. It was a bag of dog poop.
If you're wondering about our cats-to-be's names, GET IN LINE. Jason is passive-aggressively avoiding the discussion with me. Me and my long list of name possibilities I have typed up on my phone. I've sent it to him, read it out loud to him, and he remains firm in his refusal to make any final decision. I think he wants to wait until they're here and we get to know them a little better, which okay I GUESS, but it's driving me crazy. (He did this EXACT THING during each of my pregnancies, by the way.) Plus I'm afraid that without the grown-ups making an executive, preemptive decision, the kids will claim naming rights and we'll end up with Spooky Girl Cat and StevefromMinecraft.
And that's all I've got. And probably all I'll have until Monday, when we officially bring Spooky and Steve the cats home. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a ridiculous cat tower to build using nothing but a hex key.