I almost killed my cat two night ago. And he was, like, so deserving. As some of you know, my brother was in town and we ventured to the Sox game (they lost, but still won the World Series). I had fours beers. Four beers. I know, I’m becoming a grown-up. There was a time in my life where I would drink more than that. That night, I stood in the beer line after my fourth beer to grab two more. After 15 waiting in line for 15 mintues, I got three people back from the front of the line and then decided I’d much rather pay $45.50 for a small soft-serve icecream. Yup, getting old.

Anyway, back to the cat. I got home at about 11 to find Jen still inexplicably awake. It seems that the person she sings for on one Sunday a month called her at 10:30 on her cell phone, expecting to get VM. Instead, he woke Jen up from a dead sleep, and then she couldn’t fall back asleep. We talked for a while about the fact that Jen put HBomb to sleep in his crib for the first time ever and that, strangely, the boy was sleeping well.

Unfortunately for us, HBomb’s door doesn’t latch correctly, and the cat can get in if he tries hard enough. We really didn’t think he’d try to get in, as he hasn’t in the past and basically seems kinda underwhelmed with the little guy. Just to make sure he wouldn’t try to get in, we left our door open, something that we don’t normally do, as TC (the cat) likes to bite my toes as I sleep. He bites my mom’s and sisters toes, too. But not any of Jen’s families’. It’s gotta be a Sagalyn (or Howell, in this case) smell or something.

Well, as if on queue, TC comes and bites my toes, waking me up after about 30 minutes of sleep. He does it again after 30 more minutes and again after about 30 more. Apparently, noodging is an animal instinct, not just a hobby of my brother’s. When 3 rolled around, Jen handed H responsibilities off to me. TC came and bit me again and then I chased him off.

Thirty minutes later, I awake to the the noise H’s door creaking open and a thump on the baby monitor. I get up and rush in. I look down and there is TC, in the crib, next to H, looking up at me. He knows he has done something wrong, and bounds out of the crib and out the door. HBomb starts screaming bloody murder.

This is when I went into my bad husband routine. I grab H, try to feed him, and start swearing — loudly — about the cat. Jen wakes up, pissed (duh), and asks what is going on. I can’t seem to get H back to sleep or, to stop crying for that matter. So after and hour and 15 minutes of trying to get H calmed down (and me, too) I hand the boy off to Jen. She is clearly mad at me.

About 2 hours later, H is up for good and I’m left with 4 hours of bad sleep and an angry-at-me wife. And who can blame her? That’s about when I decided I wanted to kill the cat. We’ve since made up… but it’s not the same. Oh, and I also fixed the door to H’s room. It’s now cat proof. Man, sometimes that cat…!