It Could Have Been the Litter

“Do you see her?”  Missy shouted from the common room.

YEH-es,” I tersely replied from down the hall.  “She’s fine.”

Now pause.

Can anybody tell me what’s wrong with this brief exchange?  Not yet?  Ok, then first, some background information.  It was Saturday evening.  Aunt Shannon was home from school for the weekend, so Miss and I thought we’d take advantage of having the extra babysitting help around so that the two of us could catch a movie.

Missy had gotten dressed and ready earlier in the day, so she was occupying the babes in the aforementioned common room, which is basically an upstairs lounge with a TV and couches where we spend most of our time with the girls.  Since they’ve started to move, we’ve cordoned off the main passage ways and stairs in an effort to keep them as contained as possible.  Needless to say, our barricades consist of a suitcase full of outgrown baby clothes guarding the stairs to the main level, a baby gate guarding the stairs to the loft (third) level, and a heavy-duty plastic folding table blocking the main hallway to access the rest of the upstairs.

I had just showered and was heading down to get ready myself.  However, before I went down to our room, I slid the hallway barrier behind the couch so that Rowan could crawl down the long hall to “get” me (as this is one of her new favorite activities).

Rowan comin' down the hall.

I began to dress as she made her way down the hall towards me, eventually arriving as I was at the closet choosing a shirt.  I scooped her up and plopped her down in the middle of the room.  As I briefly looked away, she quickly made her way over to some power cords, and had almost started chewing (as she unfortunately tends try and do far too often) just as I looked back.

Yikes!”  I said, snatching the cord from her.  I picked her up and briskly set her back down in the hallway.

Chaos ensued.

Rowan began to scream her feral, untamed cry that she has perfected, the likes of which few things short of Missy’s loving embrace can subdue.  I helplessly tried to calm her down, but I had not yet found a shirt to wear.  We needed to be out the door soon to catch our flick, so I bounced her on my hip as I continued my search.  It was at this point that Sienna crept around the corner and through the open passageway to investigate.


“Do you see her?”  Missy asked.  In my mind, she obviously meant the screaming Rowan.

“YEH-es,” I replied, frustrated that Rowan was set off by such a small confrontation. “She’s fine.”

Meanwhile, unnoticed, Sienna slipped through the open “gate”…

Sienna through the gate.

…and into Aunt Shannon’s room through her open door…which would normally be closed, except that (yep, you got it) she was home on this particular weekend.  Aunt Shannon’s room is also Cuddles the Cat’s lair, complete with a litter box and half-eaten dishes of cat food.  So in Sienna’s mind, what’s not to love?

Let’s just put it this way: at least she found the food before she reached the litter box.

I don’t know what made Missy get up from the living room to check on things (probably the fact that Rowan was still screaming), but it’s a good thing she did.  Sienna was having a grand ol’ time with a month full of (wet) cat food, and another fist full for the chaser…Missy yelped, snatched her up, and held her out in from of her like smelly garbage bag as she ran down the hall towards me.  I grabbed the food left in Sienna’s hand and threw it away before Missy whisked her back down to the bathroom to exhume the remaining pieces from her mouth.  It’s hard to guess how much was actually ingested, but in all likelihood, we caught her red (brown) handed before she was able to inflict too much damage.

Now can you tell me what was wrong with our first exchange?

Well, let’s just say that we both will be a little more specific when referring to “her” in the future.  And Sienna, please…lets just stick to baby food and bottles from now on.

Afterwards, Sienna was all smiles.

Ok…and occasionally feet, too.

Feet for dinner.

This entry was posted in All by Tom Hardinge. Bookmark the permalink.

About Tom Hardinge

Loving husband to my wife Missy, loving father to my four daughters Sienna, Rowan, Jovie, and Lola. I'm a chronic over-packer who loves good coffee, good music, running, waffle tee's, fleece pants, and Jesus Christ!

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