Soup Catastrophe

Jesse would actually prefer that I call this an “incident”. He believes that one must go through “disaster” before arriving at catastrophe. Incident-Disaster-Catastrophe. 3 Step Process. Mind you, however, that he said this before Event #3 unfolded.

I really like soup. Lots. But have you seen the high sodium in those things? The recommended daily allowance of sodium for an adult is 1200-1500 mg. For comparison, a Quarter Pounder at McDonalds has 1300 mg. And GET THIS: A cheeseburger at Chili’s has 4300 mg!!! Forget the calories and fat involved, this is why America is having so many heart attacks! Good grief!

When you compare soup with those things, it isn’t too bad– 850 mg. per serving. Since I eat the whole can, that’s around 1700 mg. In one meal. Not too fantastic.

Event #1 “The Incident”

So, I tried the “low sodium” version of the Chicken Noodle soup, just because I’d like to stay away from high blood pressure during this pregnancy (I didn’t say EVERY pregnancy…).



Even the garbage disposal regurgitated it. Ever try washing $1 down the drain? It’s sad. A whole dollar! That’s 2 Diet Cherry Limeades at Sonic!!! All gone, because someone decided that eating yarn floating in dishwater was supposed to taste like Chicken Noodle soup.

Event #2 “The Disaster”

After force-feeding the sink, I tried again. This time, I went for “Split Pea with Ham”– the normal sodium variety. If you’ve ever seen condensed soup, it’s not pretty. And it doesn’t come out of the can easily, even with a fork. Which is what I discovered when I accidently flung it in my face.

The snotty brain blob didn’t even make it to the floor before Claire had gobbled it up. She likes to follow me whenever I go into the kitchen. She is well aware of her odds. “Mommy’s a klutz. Mommy can’t cook. I am hungry. Feed me.”

Pretty sure I would see that missing soup once again, about 5 hours later, packaged (hopefully, packaged, not runny, please, dear God) into little green poop, I finally poured what was left into the pot, added the water and cooked it. Tasty, and well worth the wait. I packaged up the 2nd “850 mg. of sodium” and put it in the fridge.

Event #3 “The Catastrophe”

Later that night, as we were watching the 5th Star Trek movie (the old ones with William Shatner), I started craving that leftover Split Pea Soup. Jesse happened to be up and about, so I asked if he’d pop it in the microwave.

I didn’t ask him to spill it all over the carpet on his way out of the kitchen. Nope, he did that all on his own.

And there was Claire, who follows Jesse around because she worships the ground he walks on. If the first round of green didn’t give her bowel issues, this was sure to do it.

We scrubbed as much as we could, but I’m pretty sure there’s still a green hue. Good thing we own plenty of stain remover for our peeing wonder dog who will surely have the runs by tomorrow morning.

And that’s when I noticed Mirabelle lapping up what was left in the bowl that Jesse had set down.

Great. Just great.

Mirabelle Strikes Again

Apparently, I was in her way.

She was trying to catch a fly that has been buzzing about. 5 seconds, ago, she succeeded, and ate it.

I hate this cat.


Jesse came in to where I was napping this morning and said, “Kelly, I have bad news. Our dog ate our baby”.

This is the little 1 inch plastic model that the mid-wife gave me at my 11-almost 12 week appt. And Claire chewed off it’s head and legs.

This comes on the heels of of a question we’ve been pondering quite seriously– what ARE we going to do with our pets once the baby comes? Other than occasionally chewing up small objects, peeing on the carpet, and humping small children (a BAD new habit she’s developed, probably because Topher likes to give her big open-mouthed kisses), Claire’s not a danger. She’s very obedient to verbal commands. We often don’t even need a leash when we take her outside to “do her business”.

But then there’s Mirabelle. Our cat who picked up a few demons on the long road from CA to TX 3 yrs. ago. Here’s my HONEST assessment of Mirabelle’s current mental state: she’s a loving cat who trusts NO ONE other than Jesse and I. She cuddles with us every morning, purring away. I am not kidding. But she growls, hisses and spits the moment anyone else comes within 20 feet of her.

And, on top of her normal eccentricities, she plays ROUGH. Claire doesn’t usually mind this– they bark at and chase each other all day long. But if a human happens to get in the way? YIKES. I accidentally let my hand dangle off the bed while I was sleeping a few weeks ago. I awoke at 2 am with Mirabelle’s teeth and claws wrapped around and sinking into to my arm. Immediately, I was screaming and waving my arm around, which only made Mirabelle cling and bite harder. Just 2 nights ago, I was sitting at the dinner table, minding my own business, when Mirabelle forgot I was there and tried to jump up into my chair to avoid Claire in one of their nightly chase scenes. What ensued were four claws into my KNEE CAP. I have the puncture wounds to prove it.

So you can imagine why I’m nervous. What if the cat attacks our baby? She would never do it in play, since she doesn’t trust anyone else enough to play. If it happened, it would be malicious. Which is actually comforting, because Mirabelle is all bark and never bite– the only person I’ve ever seen her attack was my brother Joe, and this was because he was hitting her in the face with a shoe as she was cornered under a bed.

No, my fear is if Mirabelle ever becomes “trusting” of the newest member of the household, she will try to “play” with him or her. Which could result in missing limbs or fingers.

I know this seems like an easy solution to everyone else out there, but it’s actually a tough one. MOST of the time, we love Mirabelle. I saved her as a kitten and bottle-fed her back to life. She’s lived with us for almost 4 years and is a great distraction and play-mate for Claire. They are actually, quite often, partners in crime. Mirabelle knocks things off the counter for Claire to chew, which is how our plastic baby lost it’s life.

We have a few options. Perhaps you could chime in with your vote.

#1 My aunt Collette has agreed to take Mirabelle as a barn cat for their country home outside of Austin. No one would ever love her or pick her up again, but at least she’d have a place to roam and food to eat.

#2 De-clawing her front paws. As “in-humane” as so many people say this is, it’s more humane than taking her to the pound. The downsides are $$ and the fact that many cats have urine accidents after the surgery since they can’t feel the litter as well without their claws. Sounds dumb, but it’s a documented fact.

#3 Moving to a house with a yard. This would solve many problems– Claire could have a doggie door, and Mirabelle could…never come inside. The downside to this is that Mirabelle would probably find a way in the house, seeing as she’s been a house cat for 4 years and wouldn’t understand what changed. We’d also have to find a way to get a collar back around Mirabelle’s neck.

What to do???

I love my dog….

….I really do. But today, she is driving me up a WALL!!

I woke up to find that she had gotten a hold of one of our Wendy’s wrappers from yesterday (I thought it was in the trashcan…guess not) and tore it into 700 PIECES all over the house.

Then I took her outside to pee, only to find it was raining pretty hard. What does she do? She walks over to our neighbor’s door and PEES ALL OVER HER WELCOME MAT!! I was mortified, and sat there for several minutes not knowing what to do. Eventually, I stuck the mat out in the rain for a moment, ran upstairs and got a few 7-11 Cups of water, and doused the whole sidewalk near the door. I got out my lovely Mary Engelbreit post it notes that my mom got me for Christmas and left a cheery note explaining the whole situation. HOPEFULLY, our neighbor is understanding and doesn’t let her dog pee on OUR door…goodness gracious. Dog-pee Retaliation Wars. I can see it now. But these things are something that can be resolved if you were to get the best air purifier for dog hair and dander.

And if I go downstairs in a few hours and the mat is dry, well, I might put it back and take the note off the door. If she can’t tell, what’s the good in telling her? I don’t even know her name!

Is that extremely un-neighborly of me?