I’m slurping down soup before I head out the door (again)…in the cold, cold, freezy, coldness. It’s not really lunch time yet, but I don’t care; I’m eating soup and no one can stop me.
I’m also sitting here listening to the faint sounds of my son’s pet gerbil chewing up card board. Every once in a while a waft of gerbil essence drifts from the kids’ room to mine, and I’ll admit something here that will make me sound like a terrible person (really, really terrible):
I have contemplated gerbil murder.
I know, that sounds really, really horrible, and I would never actually do it, but the smell is getting to me, and no one else in this place seems to want to clean the gerbil cage. (I would just like to take a moment to apologize to my Dad for never scooping the cat litter box when I was supposed to…I’m sorry about that, Dad. Please forgive me.) This last weekend I admitted my horrible, gerbil-murderous thoughts to Ben. I suggested maybe suffocation was the way to go. He looked a little horrified, told me I could not murder our son’s gerbil, and then said something like “but you’d probably sew a tiny pillow for that.”
Rest assured though, I will not be harming any pets. I will take care of Kirby (the gerbil) with love and care as always. I may even give her some yarn scraps to put in her little nesty, den thing for winter. She’ll like that. Keeping gerbils and people warm is what I do.
Tilly’s got a new hat to keep her warm.
I’d knit a hat for Kirby, but I think she would just eat it.