Jungle Red Writers: loss

Several years ago, the Hub called me from work and said, "Darlin', I have a problem."

"What's up?" I asked.

"The cat peed in my shoes," he said.

I put my hand over my mouth so he couldn't hear me laugh. Chubs was our sixteen-year-old cat, who had been with me since college. He was technically my first born -- yes, even though he had fur he was still my baby.

Chubs - before senility kicked in

"I'm sitting at my desk," he said. "And I keep smelling this awful stink. I'm sniffing and sniffing and finally I realize it's my shoe."

Now I had to hold the phone away from my mouth so he couldn't hear me howl.

"I can't even imagine how many people I've offended today," he said.

"You poor thing," I said. "You know Chubs is senile. You have to watch where you put your shoes. He thinks they're mini litter boxes."

"Yeah, I know," he said.

"Tell you what," I said. "The boys will be up in a few minutes and we'll come by and bring you a fresh pair of shoes."

"And socks?" he asked.

"Sure."

"I love you," he said.

"As you should," I said.

About two weeks after this, I was sitting at my desk and I started to smell this hideous stink. It would assault my senses and disappear. I sniffed my Keds. Yep. Chubs got my shoes. Normally, I could roll with the pet and child shenanigans, but on that day I fell into a funk and stayed that way. A real mean red sort of a day.

I told the Hub, "I don't know what's wrong with me, the boys are rambunctious, the puppy ate a Lego, and the cat peed in my shoes, you know, same old same old, but I can't shake this mood."

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. We both knew that there were only two other times that I had had such black days. A couple of weeks after we conceived each child, I had a day where I just wanted to punch someone in the throat. I didn't, but I sorely wanted to.

Five days later (on April Fool's Day -- Ha ha! -- NOT) just to end the speculation, I bought a pregnancy test. It was one of those that took all three minutes for the second line to appear. Hub and I stood there shaking our heads. "That can't be right."

I went out to the store and bought two more. This time I ponied up the money for the digital kind that said, "Pregnant or Not pregnant." Both said "Pregnant."

Hub was delighted and I was catatonic. How could this have happenend? I had finally, after months of waffling, gotten to the place where I was done making babies. I'd given away all of my maternity clothes, baby clothes and was just beginning to unload the baby furniture.

The next week was a rollercoaster of emotions, riding up the anticipatory ramp of "oh, a baby" to hurtling down the backside of "oh, gees, I have to give birth again". Up and down from pure joy to utter despair and back again. Then I woke up one day, and I knew something was dreadfully wrong. I sobbed, "But I don't want to lose this baby."

Despite my catatonic state, I had started shopping for a pregnancy journal and had bickered over names with the Hub three times. Hooligan 2, who was not quite two, had demanded to read the book _The New Baby_ every night. He picked it out on his own which I took as a good sign that he'd be okay as the middle child. Hooligan 1 had begun lobbying to name the baby Thomas the Tank Engine.

I called my doctor and he rushed me in to see what was up. Hub and the boys came with me. The Doc talked to us about what was happening and then they left me to change into the lovely paper outfit you get to wear for an examination. I disrobed, taking off my shoes first. The stink hit me right between the nostrils and I almost doubled over. The cat had peed in my shoes!

So now this wonderful man, Dr. Cohen, who had brought both of my sons into the world, was going to have to sit in between my feet which reeked of cat pee and give me an exam. Is there a nastier smell? How does one explain this to one's ObGyn? "It's not really me. My cat peed in my shoes." Uh huh. Yeah, I said nothing and hoped he wouldn't notice. Right.

When the Doc finished his exam, he pronounced me about six weeks along but there were some concerns, and I would have to be monitored closely. He left and the Hub and the boys returned to the exam room. Hub's nose wrinkled and he asked, "What is that smell?"

"Chubs peed in my shoes," I said.

"Naturally," he sighed. "Did you tell the Doc?"

"I couldn't really work it in," I said.

Doc returned and mapped out all of the possible scenarios. We braced ourselves for the worst. Unable to contain myself or even try to be cool, I blurted out that our cat was senile and had peed in my shoes.

"One cup hydrogen peroxide, one tablespoon baking soda and one drop of liquid hand soap," Doc said. "That will take the cat pee smell out of anything."

I tried it later that day and he was right. It completely wiped out the smell. Amazing.

Sadly, I eventually lost the baby. Hub and I were crushed. We didn't even know we wanted another until the dumb stick said it was a go. Our poor senile cat passed away the following year, and the Lego eating puppy lived a full life, chasing the hooligans around, until she, too, went over the rainbow bridge many years later.

In the end, it turned out there were no more babies for us, but at least I got a cure all recipe for removing cat pee stank and we went on to adopt two kittens, who are now old cranky cats but at least they don't pee in our shoes, two more puppies, a fish who won't die, and, of course, King George, our latest rescue kitten.

 Why am I sharing this story on Mother's Day? Because I am the grandmaster of the overshare? Maybe. But I think it's because this was my first real loss as a Mom, and it was a staggering loss. It gave me a deeper understanding of the emotional cost of motherhood, even if it was just for the few weeks of a possibility and not, in this case, an eventuality. As the hooligans perch on the precipice of departure and all of my pets age, I know I am in for more losses, and that's okay, that's how it's supposed to be. Motherhood, of any kind, I have discovered is not for the weak. Also, the recipe for curing cat pee stink really works. You're welcome.