Danger Cat: Roll Out!

It’s not that I don’t like surprises.  I just like to know what they’re going to be before they happen, in case I need to phone 9-1-1 where they keep a disaster specialist dedicated to me on hand.

I like to know that the birthday cake is covered in trick candles that won’t blow out before I waste a wish.  Just wait, Mom. I’ve waited 45 years for revenge.  I’m pretending to forgive you so they’ll let me in heaven.

I like to know that the place we’re going for dinner has a dress code so I won’t wear the pants with the heart-shaped ink stain in the middle of the rear view.

I like to know before the haircut that I’m not going to look like I have the Miley Cyrus teddy bear do.  That’s why I’ve kept the same stylist for 30 years.  She knows how to disguise any uh-oh moments I’ve created.  My superpower is creating uh-oh moments.

But we can’t always know what’s waiting for us.

When I got home for lunch today, there was a long and winding trail.

Of toilet paper. 

It stretched from a toilet paper puddle on the bathroom floor, down the hall, and into the room of the Second Son.  Like a yellow brick road.  Except made of toilet paper.

I forgot what it’s like to have a baby in the house.

At quarter past menopause that is a surprise indeed.

But my kids were raised by a mom who took in so many strays that her signature scent is Labrador accented with topnotes of tabby.

So when a pitiful mewing sound drifted through his window not long ago, Son the Second presented me with a bedraggled grandkitten who promptly overthrew the Labrador regime and established domination over her minions.  And nothing was safe.

Especially the toilet paper. 

This sink is protected by Danger Cat.

And in a home that’s seen two boys, a cache of cousins, a brace of neighborhood kids, and enough stray animals to create our own animal planet, it wasn’t really a surprise after all.