We're going to a family affair where the furry kids aren't allowed. After Thanksgiving, my husband, and I talked about bringing along our boy, Bourbon (Bourbs for short), who has epilepsy, so I could give him his medicine. Bourbs is known for spitting his medicine out at Grandma, and things have changed. Lonnie says that Bourbs can't come to his parent's house, my mother-in-law's, for the day. He makes the point that it is for Bourbs's safety.

Bourbs is Houdini. He has slipped his fuzzy brown head from every collar I've purchased. In the past, he's trotted down the street and hid in backyards and garages until I passed him in my jeep. 

Only then does he poke his head out as if to announce, "Hey, Mom, how about a ride?"

 I've chased his furry brown backside in the middle of summer when it's so hot no one else is out. I've run barefoot, clutching hotdogs. He can be relentless for a dog with special needs. I just bought Malibu a harness that I could use on Bourbs. 

My husband shoots the harness idea. Apparently, even though I didn't see it the last time, one of the dogs clawed the backseat of my jeep. Poor vision is a blessing of sorts. What you can’t see can’t hurt you.

Bourbs has shed a couple of winter coats already this year. I've moved my jeans after he took up residence in my walk-in closet. His orthopedic doggy bed occupies my side of the now.

 Bourbs will be okay. We'll just cut our visit short. One problem solved.

Unfortunately, I didn't think ahead. I did, but I decided against visiting Walmart on Christmas Eve for Fancy Feast grilled seafood. There's not a single can hiding in the pantry. We also found out this week that Sophia, our oldest cat has hyperthyroidism. She's starving, though she eats everything.

Her cries are loud and frequent. Hopefully the medicine that the veterinarian prescribed will help her keep weight. Her meow reminds me of Janice Joplin. She follows me around while I brush my teeth. She fusses when I’m trying to put on earrings.

"Please eat the dry cat food," I beg her. "It's under the bed." It's the only place she feels comfortable eating it seems.

When was the last time I bought a can of tuna? I'll call Grandma (my mom) and see if she has a can. She's coming over to let Bourbs, Malibu, Max, and Maze out to the bathroom later on today. I'd leave everyone out if I didn't have to worry about the fireworks while I was gone. Next time, I tell myself- I will select auto-ship on Amazon Prime when I order cat food. 

Kid runs out onto the patio. He'll be fine. He hunt for Christmas dinner in the woods. He knows how we feel about him killing birds and baby bunnies. He came to us a couple years ago from the woods, adopting us as his humans.

Kid knows to hide his kill. Once, Lonnie walked over to him and had to lift him off a snake. He knew we would throw it back in the woods if it was alive.

He's an incredibly loud cat and won't stay in all day. At night he sleeps on my pillow. At two in the morning, he’ll strike up a conversation while we’re sleeping.

Mimi sits on the back of the couch and watches life go on. One bowl refill and she’s content.

I'm listening to Sophia and calling Grandma to ask if she has tuna when I spot Malibu making zoomies in the backyard, running through the mud. She'll be at the back door, sniffing the mulch in the large planters with Japanese Maples. 

I catch her before she finds something to chew, and lead her back the dog room before she can help herself to a bowl of cat food or leap over Maze, my bossy girl, who I call the Boss.

Malibu makes a mad dash through the house. I hope she didn't eat the mulch. I don't need anyone pooping splinters or another vet visit to set me back. It's a long story of how I've come to have these furry children in my care. Mostly, it has to do with my inability to say no. Now, the fur kiddos have become a lifestyle.

Max, Bourbon, and the cats get to roam for the most part.

Malibu and Maze will eat the walls if left unattended. 

Tonight, we'll come home and give the furry kids their gifts. I didn't put up a tree. Malibu and the cats would wreck it. The dogs have Christmas stockings with paw prints.

We will see my husband’s mom, his sisters, and their families for Christmas.

He starts singing on the drive there, changing the lyrics.

Do you have to? I want to say.

If I voice my thoughts, he'll sing the entire two-hour drive. It’s better I don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll quit, but I know better.

"Hey," he looks at me, imitating Chris Ledoux, "Missy? where did you park your horse. "He switches the lyrics to "Where did you park your dog." Then, laughing, says, "Which one?" 

I have to laugh. I mean, what else is there. What are the odds of us both diagnosed OCD, acquiring so pets.

God must be having a laugh right now at us. Is this his idea of exposure based-therapy?

Finally, we are off to the country to have a nice relaxing visit. We’ll see family we haven’t seen in a while, gain a new perspective. While we rationalize the flood of activity and the chaos in our lives as being normal, we also need a break from it. We need a reset.

At the end of the day, after a visit with family, I'll be ready to open my arms to my furry babies,

For today, life turns at a slower pace. The sight of tractors and corn fields, pastures of calves following their mother, and a Christmas lit bayou in a small town are a reprieve from the daily hustle bustle.

Today is a gift. We’ll cherish it.

Merry Christmas!!!

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