Murphy Jane Lorraine

Murphy Part 3-----------------------

For Murphy Part 1 click here

For Murphy Part 2 click here

If you're tired of reading about Murphy and want to read about another cat click here

Okay back to Murphy Part 3

After Murphy's first visit to the vet there were plenty of other times that I took her over there.

Remember how I said I was a nervous wreck. Well, its true. I was.

She threw up, I took her to the vet.

She looked sick, I took her.

In the first few months I had Murphy's side of the medicine cabinet and mine.

Every time we went, it was more expensive then the last. 

One trip to vet sticks out more than the others in my mind.

I was waiting tables at the time. Just after I had finished undergrad. There was a six month period of time before I started graduate school that I filled with table waiting. This is actually when I met my husband, but I'll save that story for another day, another time.

Anyway, one Friday, I was working a double, meaning I was working all day and night. It was a super busy weekend and I ended up making the most I had ever made working a double. I was so proud of myself. It seemed like the perfect way to start the weekend.

On Saturday, I worked the morning shift and made it home about  two or three in the afternoon. As soon as I got home I had planned to change and the rest of the day was mine to do whatever I wanted.

Or course, that wasn't the case.

When I walked in the door, my roommate came out of her room and said that she thought something might be wrong with Murphy. She's been laying down all day, she said. And her stomach is huge. She cries when I pick her up.

Oh man.

So I found Murphy in the living room laying on the floor. Big belly Murphy. Crying when I pick her up Murphy.

Then I thought what someone like me would think. The worst.

She must have swallowed something, I wondered out loud. It must be stuck in her tummy. My roommate agreed.

But what?

I rushed her to the emergency vet. There was no time to lose. Murphy could die if something is stuck in her. I can't lose her yet.

I hightailed it to the vet. Big belly Murphy clawed into the headboard of my seat. (I never learned from our first vet visit to bring a cat carrier)

With Murphy clawed into my head I ran into the vet. Obviously Murphy was bigger these days so the weight of her made me have to tilt my head to the side. Walking up to the desk, I explained that Murphy must have swallowed something. She's stomach is horribly big and she cries a lot. Please look at her, I'm worried. Please remove her from my scalp.

The woman sympathetically takes Murphy back and I sit down in the seat worrying what surgery might cost is she can't throw it up. Or pass it. Gross.

Was it money she swallowed? Her favorite purple ball? I haven't seen it a while.

Minutes turn into an hour and I'm waiting and waiting.

And waiting.

Finally someone comes out. The doctor. He says it looks like Murphy may have something in her stomach. I did an X ray, he tells me.  (In my mind, I'm wondering how much X rays cost these days. Whether I'll have to take out a loan.)

What will you have to do?, I ask him. I don't really want to know the answer. I know its an answer that costs a lot.

Surgery. He says.

I'm sweating. 

And Surgery, um, what would that run me. I mean, a thousand bucks, several hundred....my left arm.

It could be close to a thousand, he tells me. 

I swallowed hard and nod my head. I need a minute. I walk outside and he walks back to where ever Murphy and the X ray machine are. I guess prepping for surgery. It was all such a blur.

Outside, it didn't help that it was a beautiful day outside. I was sweating, nervously pacing. Dialing my mom's number on my cell phone.  Please mom pick up. She did and then I lay it all out there for her. Murphy has to have surgery, I say, She swallowed something. It could be a thousand dollars. I think I'm going to throw up. I'm crying and she tells me to calm down. Talks me through it like she always does. Don't worry about she says. I pull myself together (I seem to do that a lot in these blog entries. I hope I don't sound like a basket case.) and  I walk back into the vet waiting room.

I sit down in the chair and wait. I'm not sure for what.

The doctor comes out.

Mam, I'm sorry, he tells me. We won't be needing surgery. (I perk up) You see we thought something was in there, but it turns out that there wasn't. It was.....

It was just gas.

Just gas.

Gas.

Just gas?, I ask him.

Yes mam, I'm sorry.

I'm not. (me-- Carrie-- the one who almost spent a thousand bucks on Murphy surgery)

I want to hug him but that would be weird.

They bring Murphy out and she crawls up on my head. Little belly Murphy. I guess I can figure out how they came up with that prognosis.

I walk over to the counter and I ask how much her x ray will be.

The woman gives me an amount. The exact amount I made on my Friday. Sigh.

I pay her and leave. Balancing Murphy on my head. I slide into my car and let her sit on my headrest.

Sitting in my car, I had an epiphany. I will give it a few days. Whenever she gets sick I won't take her. I'll just wait. You know what? It worked out. Murphy saw less of the vet in the years following and we both seemed to do okay.

But one day Murphy really did swallow something. But more on that later. :)

Hostess with the Mostess

So I'm hosting my first rosary.

And I admit I'm pretty nervous about it.

Every week for two years, my family gets together to pray the rosary. We started doing this when my Aunt Carrie was sick and we continued on with it after she passed away. It was something she really wanted and it has been a giant blessing for the family. Every week, I get to see my family, pray for them and with them, and I get to eat really great food.

It used to happen on Wednesdays but now it happens on Thursdays. We meet at 6:30, at different house every week- sometimes it is at my mom's and sometimes it's at one of three other homes of family members.) 

We drink some wine, sodas, beer, etc. We stand or sit around and we update each other on what has transpired since the last rosary. We laugh, we hug, we encourage. And then we sit down to pray. My dad goes through the super long list of intentions and then we focus on prayer. 

Then we eat. 

And when we eat it is never something thrown together. Nope. Whoever cooks, always out does themselves. You see, everyone in my family is a fantastic cook. So you can see why I'm sort of sweating this one out.

At this week's rosary, it was suggested that I host the next rosary. Nothing permanent.  I guess they needed a filler for next week. Someone couldn't do it. So I'm going to do it. Yep. 

What am I going to cook?

I don't know.

I really can't think of anything.

What am I going to do?

Okay its sounds a lot like I might be panicking. I'm not. But I really want to impress my family. I want them to leave my house patting their bellies. I want them to say things like:

"that was the best ____________ I ever had."

"Can't possibly eat another bite...But can't help myself".

"did Martha Stewart make this? I mean, really!"  (wishful thinking, I know.)

I want them to make the humming sound when the food hits their mouth. I want them to squint their eyes and do the head nod while they chew.

Is this too much to ask?

So I'm racking my brain....

Warm or cold food?

Chips with what dip?

Theme or no theme? - Should it be a Saint Patrick's theme dinner? Should everything be green? Do I want everything to be green? Should I dye things that aren't green, green. I think about my delicious creamy onion and artichoke dip..... dyed green. It would look like....well no one would eat it.

So what to do?

Your thoughts. I have less than week to put something together.

I need a dinner.

I need a a dip.

I need a dessert.

For ten or more people.

Help.

Where have I been?

I'm pretty happy and excited about so many things right now, I thought I might share.

• First, I finished my wedding thank you notes. What a gigantic relief. I don't have an exact number but I think between showers and wedding I wrote about 200 thank you notes.

*Disclaimer #1  10 of your husband's thank you notes is so not equal to 190 of your thank you notes. In other words, your husband may act like he climbed Mount Everest by writing 10 thank you notes and you don't have the heart to tell him that not only did you climb Mount Everest with your thank you note writing, but you circle the world three times  by foot, boat and train. But um, whose really counting anyways. ;)

• Secondly, I've decided to plant a spice and herb garden.  I've enlisted the help of my husband. He has no idea. Should be interesting and I promise to write about the whole thing. From ripping up weeds, to hauling dirt, I will give you the 411 on planting your very own herb/season garden. I may inspire you to never want to go down that road. Or your thumb might turn green just reading my blog about gardening. Who knows.

* Disclaimer #2 Is a spice different from a herb? How should the heck should know? I guess I'll find out.

• Thirdly, is a holy cow for me. I have discovered with great joy that All Recipes.com can produce a shopping list for me. Is this a miracle? Yes. It is. Do I want to run outside and scream it from the top of the highest levee?? Yes I do. Let me elaborate:

You simple go to allrecipes.com. Create a user Account. Pick a recipe you want to cook. Click Add to my Shopping List. Then you go to your shopping list and...Bam you have a shopping list. WOW. It even tells you what isle its on. High five to those bunch of geniuses. Sheesh.

*Disclaimer- not all the recipes are good. Even after I sort through the ones that have 50+ good reviews I still find that there is not so much kick to the things I cook off of there. What does this mean? I'm guessing that a bunch of Northerners are the ones putting their recipes on there! Shame on them for not using more red pepper, garlic, peppers in general, Tabasco sauce and Tony's. Just so you are aware you'll have to tweak the recipes a little. Does this explain my husband's sudden problem with heartburn since we've married? Nope probably has nothing to do with it at all. Why blame myself? :)

• Fourthly, I've been a bike riding fool lately. Jason and I, with our specially made bikes, have been biking up a storm. 

Bike to the grocery?

Why not.

Bike to another city?

Another city here we come.

Ride bikes in New Hebron like we're kids again?

Yep that's right.

I've never biked so much in my life. I feel like a kid again when I ask Jason if he wants to ride bikes after work. I might as well say after we do our homework. Or before my mom calls me in for supper.

*Disclaimer #4 - Never become a bike riding fool and not where a helmut or a hat. A bird pooped on my head the other day and I sure wish I had been better prepared for that. First time in my life. When it happened we were too far from my house to turn back. So I road my bike around with poop matted in my bangs. It was great. Do you think my husband was sympathetic? No he said, 'that's Karma'. :)

• Fifthly, there is no fifthly. That's all I can come up with at the moment to say that I've been busy keeping busy.  :) But I promise to write!

Murphine the Mean

Okay so let's continue on with the story of Murphy.


(For Murphy Part 1 - Click Here)


In the first few months I had Murphy I was a nervous wreck. I had never taken care of anything before besides Sam and I only had him for two weeks tops.


I guess you could count those fish that freak out when you put a mirror up to them? What are those called? I don't remember, but I went through a couple of those as a kid.


Other than that no pets.


My Murphy was a hand-full.


First it took her several weeks to learn how to clean herself. I don't want to explain why (and you'd thank me for that) but I was forced to her to give her baths. The very thought of this makes me cringe just thinking about it. It sounds cruel but it was necessary, I promise. Thankfully my roommate's cat, Tink gave Murphy the 411 on cleaning up and that problem was solved in no time.


Things were really starting to settling down with Murphy and it came time to take her in for her shots.


On the day of her first vet visit, I put her in the car with me in the front seat. Fastening my seat belt, I looked over at her in my passenger seat. The little ball of of fluff looked so peaceful perched in the seat and for a moment I imagined she would be just like any pet I've ever seen in a car (in the movies I've seen).


Okay, I may have pictured her more like a dog in my daydream. I have no idea why....


My daydream went something like this:


The moment I would pull the car out the drive, Murphy would jump up with excitement. She would be so ecstatic she's chase her tail in a circle for a few seconds. Then she would give me that look and I would say "alright Murph" and I'd push the button for the window. The window would slide down and Murphy would jump up with her back legs on the seat, front legs on top of the car door. She'd stick her head out the window, her whiskers blowing wild in the wind, tongue flapping in her face. Her eyes sparkling. Every now and then she would glance back at me and I would smile and she would smile...okay I realize this is impossible.


This is not at all how it went obviously. Because cats can't smile and Murphy's not a dog.


The moment I started the engine. Every muscle in Murphy's body tensed. Every strand of black and white fur straightened and pointed out in every direction possible. She jumped to her feet and arched her back. Her face stricken with terror. Eyes wide with fear.


: (


Okay I thought after starting the engine, Murphy would settle down. But this was not the case. As I drove down our street, Murphy threw her body ALL over my car. She was like a ball in a ping pong machine. Thank God I had the good sense not to put the window down because she would have shot her body right out of the window. She was a loose canon.


To anyone driving next to me, I would have looked like I was grasping madly at the air. Murphy was too fast for my hands. She was on my head, on my head rest, in my rear window, in my front window, on my shoulder, on my steering wheel, under my seats....oh yes and under my brakes (this was pretty tricky braking, I mean, without squashing her).


She howled this heart wrenching cry. Over and over.... and over again. This really crazy cry for help could have mistaken for a wild animal had I not known the source.


I don't know how we made it there in one piece, but we did.


When I finally pulled up into a parking space at the vet. I thought the worst was over. That she had gotten it out of her system.


She had not.


I pulled my visor down and attempted to fix my disheveled hair before going in. I took a few minutes to collect myself before getting out of my car.


Scooping my trouble making Murphy up, I carried her inside. Nestled in my arms you won't have recognized her as the holy terror that just ransacked my car only a few moments ago.


I put my hand on the door, pulled it towards me, and stepped into the rush of cool air conditioned veterinarian office air.


I'm not sure how much time passed, maybe seconds. It seemed like a millisecond.


All I know is that I had Murphy in my arms when I walked into the vet and when I got to the front desk, she was on my head. Yes, on my head.


Claws marks all up my arms, claw marks on my neck, claw marks on my scalp. Not to mention all the ones that were already there from the car ride.


I heard snickers from some people seated in the waiting room with their well behaved cats and dogs. I looked nervously around me, embarrassed of course, because try as I might Murphy wouldn't budge as I attempted to pull her off. When I managed to get her claws out of my scalp I brought her back down and tried to nestle her back in my arms.


And she was back on my head.


There was only so much scratching my arms, neck, and head could take before I decided I'd let her stay up there. I balanced her with one hand.


How did this look?


Well, I looked like I like a woman going to the well with my ceramic jar on my head, only my jar was Murphy and my well was the front desk of vet.


Walking up to the counter, I felt like I also looked like the moron who didn't think to put her cat in cat carrier.


The woman said, "You know, you could have brought her in carrier." I didn't have the heart to say anything. I just nodded my head.


I filled out paperwork all with Murphy clawed into my head and when I was done several vet people helped pealed her off of me and took her back to get her shots.


As I sat there in the waiting room, I thought, Well it's not soooo bad. If that's the worst I have to deal with having a cat. Can't be that bad.


Ha. If only.


To be continued...

Our Wedding Pictures

This is a shout out to my best friend Eray! I wanted to post a link to her blog about her photography.


This is the link to her blog: http://erayphoto.com/blog/


Here is the link to our wedding pictures on her blog: http://erayphoto.com/blog/2009/11/20/wedding-jason-carrie-october-23-2009/


Check it out! She did a wonderful job and her photography is so awesome!

My "Dog", Murphy

I feel a little guilty having written about Muffin when I haven't mentioned a word about Murphy our house cat, so let me make up for it in the following blogs.


About five years ago, I was living with some of my friends and I decided it was time to get a pet. I found a lost dog and I suppose that inspired the idea. I couldn't locate his owners so I decided that I should keep him and that I would make him my own.


I bought him some food and a collar, a leash and some toys. I even named him Sam. But despite all that I did for Sam, he didn't want anything to do with me. In fact every chance he got he tried to slip away.


I couldn't keep him in the house so, I boarded up the back fence and I attempted to keep him in our big backyard. But Sam wouldn't have it. He always seemed to get out somehow.


I spent most mornings chasing him down the street, calling out his name, finding him and walking him leash in hand back to my house. I couldn't let him go for a minute because he would take off. That should have been some indication for me. There were plenty of hints but I convinced myself that he was mine.


One morning, Sam had gotten out like he always did and I went racing out to go find him. I think I may have been in my pajamas. I called his name as loud as I could without disturbing the neighbors and hoped no one would come out to find me looking like a complete lunatic. Then, I heard someone calling....another name (I can't for the life of me remember what). Curious I walked barefoot further down the street to find a woman searching in bushes and peaking between houses. I asked her what she was looking for her and she lets out a sigh and says her dog is missing. Well not "her" dog but this dog they found the other day.


Hmph.


I ask her if the dog has black hair and two golden brown spots above his eyes that look like eyebrows. Is he sort of short?, I ask. Like a weeny dog but has the look of a German Shepard?
Is he in the habit of always running away?


I can't believe I thought Sam was mine.


It turns out Sam had been spending time with her family too. He wasn't their dog. They found him just like I did. I guess I realized at that point that Sam wasn't all mine and that he was in the business of being everybody's rescued dog. Maybe he was always running off to be found by someone else. Maybe he was used to having people buy him a leash, food, dog dish and toys. Maybe mine weren't good enough for him. Maybe he was hoping for something better.


I called it quits and walked home with my dog leash and no dog.


Once Sam was gone, I knew I better go find my own dog.


Of course I looked at all my options. I was a regular at the pet store on Hardy Street. I guess that's the polite way of saying I was pet stalker at the Pet Store. I was there at least three times a week.


Everytime I went I got the same "oh it's you again" wave because they started to recognize me. I had no shame. I would give them the smile and nod and I'd point to the room with all the dogs and I'd spend some time searching for the right one.


But there never was a right one. I never got a dog. Turns out my roommate was allergic. Get a cat, she told me. I hadn't thought of that. So the search began for Murphy.


I was still doing my regular visits to the pet store, but decided to check the newspaper for any ads for kittens. There was a woman not far from our house who was trying to give away kittens so my friend, Bowman and I went over to check it out.


When we got there it was just as I expected. A mom (calico) cat and dad (tuxedo) cat on this woman's porch with several 6 week old kittens squirming around.


Some were gray and fluffy with matching grey eyes. Smoky, they looked like puffs of smoke to me.


There was one that was the worst calico mix I had ever seen in my life and one in the far corner of the porch, a tuxedo cat.


The woman was babbling on about how she thought her cat was neutered when she got it and then the next thing that she knew she had kittens in her closet. She tells me that the father is this tuxedo cat. She points at him. He's ours too, she says like I should know that the daddy isn't just some male cat off the street, that what we have here is something really domestic. she points to the calico kitten and says that nobody wants that one because its so ugly.


And it was.


I stood there staring at the ugliest cat in all the world. There wasn't a single patch of pure color on its little body. It's orange, white, and black hairs were mixed together like a mixture of creole seasoning.


I should have felt sorry for it. But sadly, I didn't.


It wasn't Murphy. I could tell that right away.


I think she thought her comment would spark empathy but I was really only interested in the loner tuxedo kitten on the other side of the porch. I walked over to the tuxedo kitten stationed off in the corner and crouched down beside her. I tried to pet her. Instead of a soft purr, she turned sharply around and glared at me. She let out this bark that I didn't even know kittens could make. Her eyes weren't sweet, they were cross. She was aggravated. A little ball of fury. How dare I pet her. She wanted to be alone. She moved a few feet to get away from me. And that's when I knew she was mine. Crabby little kitten. How could I not love her.


More on this later. :)

Tin Can Pepper

Grocery shopping.
One of my jobs in our house is to do our grocery shopping. When assigning who does what that's what I raised my hand for. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.
I used to really I hate it. The truth is that before Jason, grocery shopping was not something I did much. I never made a list. Never made a budget for it. Never could tell you what was on what isle.
But things have changed. I'm a new person. I am grocery shopper. I'm actually a pretty good grocery shopper.
Like most things I take on, I researched it. I googled coupons that I've never used. I tried to find a list of staple items. Something tangible to make my first grocery list. I found nothing of the sort.
You can't google a grocery list. It's just not how it works.
Apparently its all trial and error. And I really hate trial and error.
You might be asking yourself why if I hated grocery shopping did I raise my hand for it? It's simple.
I'm the bargain hunter and Jason is the package shopper.
If the bargain shopper goes shopping the monthly bill is less than $200.
If the package shopper goes shopping it will be $200++++++ and all they have to show for it is four or five of the best products on the market. Some ribs, and some steaks.
Why?
A bargain hunter = a person who buys the item that is the cheapest on the shelf
A package shopper = a person who looks for the coolest looking product.

I didn't even know there were package shoppers until I met Jason.
There were tell tale signs in the beginning.
A bottle of wine with an extravagant label.
Chips in in a beautifully constructed bag made to look like it had been recycled a hundred and fifty times over.
You could open the cabinets at his apartment and find products with beautiful labels. Cursive letters, bright colors, elaborate packaging. Phrases on them that said, "organic" "100% tastier"
I knew when I saw these things at Jason's place when we were dating that something was up. Confirmed it when we went shopping together.
For every cheap store brand item I picked up. Jason's picked up the most expensive, nicest looking product. "Look," He would say, "Now doesn't this look nice." His eyes would sparkle with excitement. A big smile on his face.
In those days, I let it go. It was his money.
But now. It's ours.
So a few nights ago, when Product Shopper asked me Bargain Huntress if we could have a grocery store date, I should have known what was in store for us....ha "in store"!
He called me at work and offered to ride over to the store with me. Asked me if I had a grocery list.
Nope, cataloged in my head, I say. (I lied.)
There's silence on the other line. (I know he's contemplating staying home because this could take longer than he hopes for.) I need to lasso him back in and fast.
You see as a bargain huntress, I know a great deal when I see it. I see a great deal all wrapped up in one. I see a grocery cart pusher, a grocery bagger, an grocery loader, and best of all a grocery UNloader. I need to keep him interested or I could lose all of the above.
"You know, I know exactly what I need. And it should only take a hour at the most. (more like three hours, really who knows...I forgot to make a list so it could take forever)." I'm trying my best to sound convincing.
A package shopper doesn't shop for three hours like Bargain Hunters do. They wouldn't waste time. They are in and out of the store in less than fifteen minutes. It's not unusual for this breed of shoppers. They can spot a good product in seconds.
Bargain hunters? Not so much.
"Oh okay, I'll go, but an hour, okay?." He says.
"Yep just an hour. :)" And we are set to go.
We get to Wal-Mart----I know---the dreaded Wal-Mart, I don't know why I skipped out on Casey Jones, my market of choice. I immediately remember why I don't bring my husband with me to the store. Why I choose to shop alone. Why I choose not to have someone challenge my Great Value and Equate purchases.
It all starts with pepper and its down hill from there.
Jason's been loading the grocery cart with some things he's been needing for some ribs he plans to cook later this week. Pepper is one of those things he needed.
I wasn't really concerned about any thing he's been throwing in the cart until the pepper.
"Hey, what do you think about this pepper." He says.
(Oh no.)
I glance around my shoulder at the pepper he's holding up for me. I walk over and sure enough its one of those metal container peppers jars. I'm kind of a sucker for those too, so I halfway understand why he's interested in it.
It has a black label over a gold tin can and nice bold lettering. It looks (....very Saints-like) antique and vintage. It screams "hey I'm the old-school" pepper. It looks.....more expensive than regular pepper.
I look at him and say "okay where's the other pepper you had?"
He reaches into the cart and pulls another tin can pepper. Maybe they all come like this...I starting to wonder whether I have I ever bought pepper. Do they even make Equate pepper?
Suddenly I too am fascinated by tin can pepper.
I quickly pop back into reality, "Well I say (thinking about bargains again) what's the price difference?"

"Its a dollar more...BUT it has two more ounces."
This is the problem with the bargain huntress, she can be adamant in her ways, eyes on the prize, ever focused on the bargain, but this can be no match for the package shopper who can become just as convincing as the product he is infatuated with.
I'm too tired to do the math. I'm sold. But wait---
"Okay well where is it made?" Shouldn't that have some factor? I can't let him win. Not over pepper.
We start scanning the fine print.
Minnesota and then the other can - Minnesota.
Both are Minnesota.
Pepper Competitors.
Okay you win, Jason.
But that wasn't the end, it was the beginning. For every Equate brand I went for, there was Jason's fancy brand. I tried losing him in the store but it only worked for a little while.
At one point, I suggested we split up. Go our separate ways. Makes sense, I say. We are shopping for different things.
Truth is I need to get away. And fast. I need to buy my Equate, my Great Value.
Once I'm on my own I pull myself together. I turn down a new isle and I try to remember my mentally cataloged grocery list. Then I scan the isles for the cheap stuff. I make my way down the isles and as I turn, I see him.
Standing beside a display of something jarred. Looking at labels.
I throw the grocery cart in reverse and almost pop a wheely trying to backtrack to the isle I came from. It's too late.
"Look Carrie. It's..."
Nope I'm gone.
By the time we finished I had enough of the cheap stuff and Jason had enough of the fancy products to make us both pretty happy and satisfied with our trip.
And the pepper?
I admit it's some pretty tasty pepper. Much better than Equate and the Great Value stuff. :)