This is the sound of Jenna chasing Hunter the kitten through the house.
"IT'S HARD TO TAKE CARE OF THREE PETS!"
That's what our five-year-old Jenna cries as she carries the kitty in one arm to no particular location, while using the other to strong arm the big young dog Bando, feeds the old dog Diva a treat, topping it all off by now crying on the couch after chasing the cat upstairs to his bathroom offering to put "some sauce" on his food--what kind of sauce? we still don't know.
"STOP!" We yell in unison. Don't put anything on the cat's food.
This results in a meltdown. We've hurt her feelings. She had an idea. To put sauce from the fridge on the cat's food. The cat eats Iams (dry), not sauce. We know this. She doesn't know or care.
Cut to scene two, right now as I blog in the living room--or try to--while the cat is grabbing my DSL cord and Jenna stops the household short with this phrase: "OH NO! DIVA HAS A FLEA ON HER--AN ORANGE FLEA! IT'S HUGE!"
Against my better judgment I investigate. An orange flea has me worried.
Where? I ask.
"RIGHT THERE!" she points.
And the orange crayola crayon wrapper falls to the carpet.
Not a flea, a crayon wrapper.
And now as Jenna drops to her knees to follow the cat and the old dog around the house on her knees, she tells me, "Your whole family's coming mama!"
Just another day at the zoo.
