On Thursday, I took the dog and the baby for a walk with the stroller and almost nothing embarrassing happened until the dog darted across the path to do her business and I somehow ended up blocking the whole thing with the dog, the leash, the stroller, and my trying to manage all of that and do the scooping. Only two bicycles got stuck waiting during that little debacle.
I got home and came inside with the dog and the stroller and the baby (in the stroller) and the cat ran out of the house. He's supposed to be an inside cat, but he doesn't always remember that. I invited him back inside a few times, but he demurred.
So, an hour and a half later, I had put the baby to bed and was cooking dinner when I heard a nearby cat fight. (The husband was out at the time.) And so the beagle began howling her fool head off. I turned off my burners, grabbed my old broom (to break up the fight/defend myself against angry cats) and ran outside calling the cat. I did not put shoes on first, just to help this tableau along.
We have new neighbors downstairs. They seem like lovely, normal people. One of these lovely people was on the porch with a flashlight, just being neighborly watching out for cats, or perhaps eager to turn a hose on that awful racket and make it stop, but I think trying to make sure all was okay. After I described my cat, and my cat's usual enemy in these things, neighbor said my cat was running for home. (After asking if the cat is friendly and would it be a good idea to grab him. Yes, please. I offered no explanation for the broom-wielding. As I stood outside barefoot. In January. Completely sober.)
Sure enough, cat came inside, beagle stopped howling, dinner cooking resumed, a gin and tonic was mixed, and miraculously the baby slept through the whole thing. I texted the neighbor to say all was well now. And I found myself thinking "I really ought to get back to blogging already. Enough is enough."
And so here we are.