jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I feel we are crossing some sort of line. Yuppie-hood? Urban trendiness? Lunacy? Today I left a message for a nationally-ballyhoo’d animal behaviorist to make a house call to try to get Zoe and Fat Sam to play nice. It’s one of the charms of living in New York that people like him are our neighbors. This guy lives in Brooklyn, which is what makes this all possible. As any reasonable person might imagine, this is not going to come cheap. Not at all. But we made a commitment when we took in Fat Sam. We love him and we’re going to do everything we can to make it work. I mean, who could give up a 20-pound, 6-toed, 7-clawed cat who high fives? Another NY pet benefit… Damon and I went out to dinner tonight. After we ordered I remembered that we meant to buy a new cat toy, but I knew everything would close before we finished. So I ducked out of the restaurant and was back with bunch of feathers bungeed to a fishing pole before my salad had arrived.

On an unrelated note, I’ve started reading a book called The Scalpel and the Butterfly which is subtitled “the war between animal research and animal protection.” This is an intricately complicated issue for me. I stopped eating meat when I was 18 in protest of animal processing. I felt then, and feel now, that humans are definitely at the top of the food chain. But that the way in which animals are raised, harvested and slaughtered is not defensible. But I am no hero. I try not to buy or use animal products, and fail several times a day. Some of my shoes and bags have leather parts. And I won’t even begin to get into all the other ways animal products sneak in. I do eat dairy, but only free range and organic. Except, of course, when I’m going to Baskin Robbins. So, again, not perfect. But I care. A lot.

When I was a little girl my Mom (probably almost randomly) hung a wooden plaque in my room with a picture of a little girl surrounded by field animals. A prayer was inscribed, “Dear Father, hear and bless thy beasts and singing birds. And guard with tenderness small things that have no words.” As a small kid with a big vocabulary, I was always enormously moved by the idea of creatures so helpless as to be deprived of speech. Talking was (is) my only natural defense as I am not particulary strong or brave or fast. So that’s my pop psychology explanation for why I feel a deep affinity for animals. But that affinity isn’t imagined. Your pets would love me. I can make your dog stop jumping without yelling at her. Your cat will respect and like me.

Anyway, I’ve made my point. And yet. My best friend has MS. I will go to the mat loudly denouncing most forms of animal research. And I’ll start with shameful things like cosmetic testing. But at some point when you get down to those last few cases I start to get very uncomfortable. Because my best friend has MS.

I just got off the phone with my Mom. She’s so far away. I wish she were here, or I were there. I wish I could work in Florida like I can work here. And that I thought living in Florida sounded better than it does. I hate being away from my family.

So in the midst of the tooth crisis, which I promise will begin to recede in my postings shortly, ovulation came and went. I spent my fertile days this month in a cloud of codeine. I’m disappointed, obviously.

I keep taking my emotional temperature as adoption becomes more of a possibility for us. So far I still feel fine about it. I have a little bit of concern that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something along the lines of people not viewing an internationally adopted baby (which is the choice we would likely make) as being as much ours. Not that I fear we would feel that way. But I wonder if there would be a slight dimming in the reaction of the people around us.

Of course in a few weeks we’ll be back to trying to get pregnant, so perhaps my tune will change. Except… I still think we might like to adopt if we choose to have a second kid.

Tonight I started making a list of what I want to make for Thanksgiving dinner. I haven’t gotten to cook my own Thanksgiving in about six years, so I’m very excited. Damon’s Mom, her boyfriend and possibly his sister and her new-ish baby will be coming to New York.

It could be really sweet and lovely, or it could be a terrible nightmare. But either way there will be creamed onions.

I ate toooo much pasta. Too much. I knew I should stop, and yet I did not. I ate a bowl of pasta and was full. So I went back and got more. Then I laid on the couch and suffered. As soon as the crisis passed I ate a bowl of ice cream. And now I suffer yet again.