So speaking of the cat- this is the story of how our kitty came to be Tinkerbell Bryan Helmer. (Charlie thought it fitting that she shared his middle name) In July I was pregnant and suffering from terrible morning sickness. I tried crackers. I tried toast. I tried Unisom and B6. I tried warhead candies and tea. . NOTHING worked, so naturally . . . I adopted a kitty.
It seemed only fair I had some fuzzy cuteness in my world while spending days and nights by the toilet. When Andy agreed, I was overcome with joy, but mostly surprise because I never expected him to be on board. It was the combination of these confusing emotions that hurdled me into a momentary lapse of sanity and I shouted out in the restaurant we were in, "Oh thanks baby! Since you're letting me get a kitty I'll get you a PS4!"
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
He had already agreed! And to think I'm a business woman.
So one gray fuzzy orphan and one PS4 later, here we are. Tinkerbell was unable to eat on her own when we adopted her, or walk, or clean herself- so we resorted to turning into Mommy Cat 1 and Mommy Cat 2. I bottle-fed Tinker, and Andy used a warm wet painting rag to clean her so she would get used the coarse feel and learn to do it herself. Yikes.
Charlie had to be careful at first, but as soon as she was big enough to handle, they instantly became best friends. The problem is they have one of those unhealthy friendships. He attacks her, she attacks him, and yet they just keep at it, neither side retreating. I've seen Charles pulling Tinkerbell Bryan Helmer by her whiskers, tail, ears, armpit fat, and the skin above her tail on her butt. When she was first born Andy carried her by the nape of her neck and Charlie didn't necessarily draw the connection that you can't just pick her up by any old chunk of fat and skin. More often than I tell him to not pass gas at the table, more often than I tell him to push his glasses up, more often than I tell him to not walk out of the bathroom butt naked with Pastor over . . . . . . I tell that boy to QUIT PULLING TINK'S TAIL. I've even sunk so low as to pull on his ears and legs so he knows just how it feels. That usually works, for 3 minutes, and then they just keep falling back in their abusive patterns.
My parents and sister came to help with the twins these last couple weeks, and while company was visiting I noticed the background noise subside and become 'naughty quiet.' Every mom know what 'naughty quiet' is. I began my normal search in the laundry room where Naughty Tink and Naughty Charles can usually be found. Nothing. I checked Charlie's room, the crawl space, the downstairs bathtub, and my closet. All empty. Finally, I ended in the kitchen where I heard a giggle and a hiss- two sounds best not heard together. I followed my ears to the pantry, a small closet big enough only for some Mac and Cheese, a jar of Ragu, a naughty little boy, and his naughty little kitty. I peeked through the crack of the door and found Charlie sitting under the shelf, feeding my dad's raspberry icebreaker mints to himself, as well as to Tinkerbell Bryan Helmer. People I have THREE of these boys- just imagine what will be when I have two little besties watching their big brother and egging each other on. Retirement housing may be in order for Tink before too long. I will say this- the mints did add a nice touch to the odor coming from Tink's litterbox.
I have to get on with my job that pays, but I'm going to try and add some pictures to this so you can see what Charlie and Tink have been up to. Yes she's been buckled into the bouncer. Good grief. Thanks for reading!
