Speak your piece

So not to harp on the stupid cat that just won’t go away but… I need someone else’s opinion here:

Jeff thinks I’m ridiculously overreacting in how bothered I am that the neighbors’ cat won’t leave us alone. The thing is always there. Scratching at our door. Sunning on it’s back in front of the door. Lying on our table, getting its hair and dander and nasty catness all over my stuff.

We keep the diaper pail out on the balcony due to its inability to trap the suffocating deathly odors of Ethan’s crap, so if I need to go out there to get rid of one, and the cat’s sitting there in front of the door, I can’t. It tries to sneak into the house.

If I want to water my flowers, and the cat’s out there, I can’t. Because two seconds around it and I’m already sneezing and itching my eyes and ripping my hair out and sprouting whiskers.

Basically, I’m a prisoner in my own home. (Okay, perhaps that is overreacting just a bit. But talking about the cat again is getting me going.)

And here’s the worst part. When we sit at the dinner table in the evening, the cat sits at the door, looking in, watching us eat. The whole meal. Occassionally pawing at the door and mewing, like its begging us for food. I’m sorry, but c’mon! If I liked the things, and if I wasn’t fatally allergic to them, then maybe this wouldn’t bother me so much.

But as it is, I do not own a cat. So why does one live on my balcony?

I made Jeff try to barricade the place where he sneaks over, but he pushed his stupid cat way through it. The neighbor said he tried to block him in, too, but he, too, was outsmarted. My other idea was to have Jeff chase him off the balcony to his death with his remote control car. So far that hasn’t worked, either.

Now I am left hoping that he accidentally falls down into the downstairs neighbor’s yard, where he’ll be at the unforgiving mercy of Simba, their big, fierce yellow Lab. I’m pretty sure Simba’s on my side on this one.

Jeff is not. Jeff thinks I should just get used to the cat and learn to like him. I should go out and pet him and bring him little bowls of milk. I should name him. Um, no. I want him gone, I don’t want to adopt him! Why can’t he understand that?

Or is Jeff right- when I get mad that I can’t open the door to the balcony for fear that the cat will dart by me and infiltrate my nice, clean, cat-free home, am I overreacting? Am I wrong to get pissed while he salivates as we eat our spaghetti?

I think I know the answer, but I (and by “I” I mean “Jeff”) need to hear someone else say it.

*****

Now I must ask for more opinions. This one’ll be more fun, though- it involves shoes.

I love love LOVE Robeez shoes- they are the only shoes I’ve bought for Ethan his whole life. They are great for infants, for crawlers, for those learning to walk, and those who’ve been walking a little bit. But now that he’s pretty much got the walking thing down, they just don’t seem right for Ethan’s little feet. He needs a little support, and its time to buy him some shoes that offer just that.*

With summer on its way, I want a cute pair of sandals for my boy, but I just can’t decide which ones.  So far I’m liking Vincent:

(In brown.)

(Probably in black.)

(Color undecided.)

So, thoughts? Anyone? I know you’re out there, readers. I can see how many of you read my blog and I know that it is a number far greater than the number of you who actually leave comments (which, by the way, thank you for that! There may not be many of them, but those of you who take the time to comment, know that I appreciate it!). I desperately need your help here, not only because I need to hear an outside party say that I’m right (or that I’m wrong- I respect honesty. I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it) when it comes to the Unwelcome Cat, but also because I can’t decide if these little mandals are way adorable or completely hideous.

* To be fair, he does own one pair of actual shoes with soles- but I didn’t buy them. His Oma, who lives to spoil him, bought him his Converse Chuckies.