Going on a little vacay

Husband has recently fallen in love with the word vacay, mainly because I hate it. Even if I approved of the term vacay, I still think it would not apply in this case. To me vacay(tion) implies something that requires a bikini wax or new ski boots. This is more of a trip. We are off to spend eight glorious days in Arkansas. It was going to be seven days but we had to add a day because Husband's grandmother said we can't come on Thursday since that is the day she gets her hair done. We have chosen to find this adorable and not infuriating.

I am starting to feel guilty about leaving Dog. He will be staying at Grandma and Grandpa's house (a.k.a. my parents, who would not think that was cute at all). He used to have major separation anxiety and I am afraid he will regress. And also I just love him, in a way a childless woman loves the cutest baby-sized thing in her life. I feel it in my uterus. He is so handsome and he is such a good boy.

I am not so sad to leave Cat, or Fucking Cat as Husband likes to call her. It sounds mean, or at least trashy, but it is so appropriate. Here's a picture of her in our Christmas tree to illustrate. As I am typing this she just hopped up on the sofa with the sole purpose of hissing at Dog. And now she is under the table staring at me. She is like Chuck Norris, in that she doesn't sleep, she waits. Her favorite thing to do is knock over containers of liquid. And she is totally deliberate about it. Just when I'm about to throw her ass in kitty jail (the guest bathroom) she gets all purry and lovey. I have a very dysfunctional relationship with Cat, and it kind of makes me worry about my ability to parent actual children. But I am her kitty momma and I have had her since she was 12 days old and I used to feed her with a bottle and then she would have a drop of milk on her chin which was soooooo cute. So I guess I love her too, begrudgingly.

We will be blog incommunicado until next weekend. Enjoy working, suckers!