oh, yeah...

...this is why we don't have pets. After a week of dog-sitting for my mother-in-law, I was convinced that I am not a dog person. I'd decided that cats are much cleaner and not quite so needy. Before I got too carried away dwelling on the virtues of cats, however, we had an accident. Stephen rolled over Princess this morning and, in legitimate self-defense, Princess bit and clawed her way out from underneath him. I washed my poor baby's wounds, nursed him as I googled "cat bite" and then spent the rest of the morning (and afternoon) on the phone, at the doctor for an evaluation, at the pharmacy to pick up an oral antibiotic, and at the County Health Department for his first DTaP shot. Princess is quarantined for 10 days to make sure that she doesn't have rabies...it isn't likely, but please pray that she doesn't, because if she does there will be more shots in order. Besides the risk of infection in the deep puncture wounds from the bite (which includes the risk of tetanus infection), there is also the lesser risk of contracting cat scratch fever (not Cat Scratch Fever) from the claw wounds, which is why he's on an antibiotic and had to get his first DTaP shot today. He's doing well, but...this is why we don't have pets. Anyone want a cat? She's a good hunter!

you're only as old as...

This morning I had the following conversation with my daughter:

Mom: Today is my birthday!
Catherine: How old are you, now?
Mom: Thirty.
Catherine: You don't look thirty.
Mom: Awwwww...thanks, Catherine. How old do you think I look?
Catherine: Ninety.

So, that prompted me to take the RealAge test that I heard about at least a year ago and have had in the back of my mind ever since. Nothing like hitting a milestone birthday and having your daughter tell you that you look older than your grandmother to bring it to the forefront. According to the results, I'm 24.1, which takes me back to the second summer of my married life with our first beautiful baby girl. Of course, my RealAge was probably 19, then.