The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy. ~Friedrich Nietzsche
A couple weeks ago I stopped by parents house in the evening after work. I was at a client’s and I was in the neighborhood, so I popped in at mom and dad’s (one way to keep tabs on the old folks). I was chit chatting with mom, hanging with the boys and giving Pudd’in some extra attention, since she’s been having a hard time adjusting to change lately. Everything seemed to be in order at the Piper household and it was getting late, so I went back to my house.
Just as I was ready to slip under the covers and retire my mind for the night, I received a text message. Now, I will admit that when I sleep I truly don’t hear text messages, emails, twitter messages, and facebook alerts on my phone. I am a pretty heavy sleeper. In fact, I have been known to answer the phone late at night, have an entire conversation, and not remember a word of it. I was basically sleep talking.
Depending on how tired I am, sometimes I will ignore the text until the next morning. However, recently, since Kyle has been reaching out to me via text message from his ipod Touch, I tend to review all text messages sent my way as soon as I hear them, unless Kyle is with me. This one was from my dad. “My dad?” I thought. First of all, my dad doesn’t know how to text and why at 10:00 at night? I immediately reviewed the text, almost ready to call first. It was my mom texting me that my dad was in the ER. What? Really? I just left their house maybe an hour ago.
Immediately calling my dad’s phone, I found out one answer to the mystery: Why was mom on dad’s phone? Mom evidently didn’t charge her phone. Ok, now mystery number two: Why was dad in the ER? I guess he had an allergic reaction to something. He was dizzy, nauseous, covered in hives all over his body including the bottoms of his feet, and was not feeling right. I guess it was pretty bad, they had him on an EKG machine to check his heart. Mom was told that when you have an allergic reaction like that, the blood flows to the areas of the body which need addressed, dad’s skin. So dad’s blood pressure dropped severely and they had a hard time getting it back up. He was hooked up to an IV machine and was given medicine. Mom brought him home sometime in the am hours after his blood pressure became stable and he was feeling better.
He was fine, but now the more pressing mystery: What was he allergic too? The doctors were speculating it was the kiwis he ate, even though he just had kiwis this past summer. My bigger question was, why are you buying kiwis that are completely out of season? The doctor was guessing it was whatever was sprayed on kiwis and maybe not the fruit itself.
The next morning I was at work telling Kelly about it. Her first reaction was, “Did Pudd’in poison dad?” That’s great! I never thought of that! Then we started making up our own story on how Pudd’in licked the kiwi and then licked dad on the cheek while he slept. Or Pudd’in was cooking something up and slipped it in dad’s food. Our imaginations were in overdrive! Now that would be funny as a cartoon or comic.
As we went off on our little tangent, I started to really think of the situation. What cracks me up are the details within this war. Dad and Pudd’in share a bathroom. It’s a real life turf war! Pudd’in’s litter box is still in the bathroom around the corner from dad’s toilet. You see Pudd’in is still holding her ground in the bathroom, while dad invades her space every once in a while. I wonder if they’ve ever run into one another in there?
Mom thinks she’s just getting old and senile. On the contrary, I think Pudd’in is one very smart little kitty who is taking a stand. Actually I think she’s had enough. About a year ago we brought home Seven from the animal shelter, which she did not welcome with warm paws – and now, this! I really wish dad would allow me to conduct a test. You see, my hypothesis is that if dad stops using that bathroom, this war will discontinue. Every once in a while, Pudd’in’s still leaving a little pile of discontent in front of dad’s toilet, merely feet from her litter box. Ahh, alas, dad is extremely stubborn and he is not about to alter his life for one distorted cat. I guess I can never prove or disprove my hypothesis so the war will continue.