Bumpy Day

Hump Day. Wednesdays are the middle of the work/school week. It’s the day that sends us sliding down the hill toward the weekend. Wednesday is a metaphorical bump in the road. Sometimes, Wednesday is less of a playground equipment ladder to climb and more of an obstacle course.

It began with a ringing phone, except that it was a melody instead of a ring, but everyone already knows that part of the story. The caller ID on the phone shined brightly. “Nurse Mary”

Sweet, wonderful Nurse Mary spoke in her soothing voice as she explained the thirty minute nosebleed, broken glasses, and kickball incident. It was clear that there was no immediate danger, but a need for a precautious checkup and an afternoon of cartoons on the couch. Instead of scooping up the injured 9-y-o, I asked if TCAPs were finished for the day. I hate myself for being prepared to force a child in need of snuggles to sit with a scan sheet for another hour, but that is where we are with standardized testing right now. Pass TCAPs or fail a grade is a reality.

Luckily, the TCAP testing was completed for the day and an unusually quick visit to the pede eliminated any worries about Voldemort nose syndrome. The expensive, specialized glasses for “weak eyes” absorbed most of the kick faceball’s impact. Except for a week or so of very odd bruising, Amy is going to be fine.

The cat will not be fine. The cat is no more. She has ceased to be. She has shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.

Aspie Caveman was born a cat whisperer. Feral cats purr in his lap. House-cats are magnetically attracted to him. All cats absorb the excess stimulation that make Aspie Caveman’s senses sting and burn. While his affection for animals is not limited to cats, cats are the peak of the Aspie Caveman hierarchy.

Aspie Caveman sat and pet the cat as she breathed her last breath.

Everyone cried.

So, we had a cat funeral. There was brush to clear and dirt to dig. Tired and dirty, we stood in the rain and created closure. A kazoo hummed taps and we stared at the cardboard box in the hole.

Doug: “Evan, do you want to say something?”
Evan: “Yes. She’s gonna come back as a zombie cat.”

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