Author: britaschrager

So my cooking blogs have not really been about cooking lately because, all of a sudden, I thought I could cook. I know, hilarious!

And also crazy things have been happening like my ex getting engaged and me almost burning my house down so I have been writing about those things instead. But it’s about time we get back to cooking. 

Seriously, the cooking has been going pretty smoothly. I mainly stick to the meals I know my kid will eat like tacos, my homemade gluten-free mac & cheese, and chicken breasts. Although, I have experimented a little and made homemade gluten-free lasagna, and even shepherds pie that my kid has actually eaten five bites of. Five bites is a success. He gets full really quickly, but if it’s bad, he very politely takes one bite and then tells me he’s full.

My kid used to love beef stew. I would make it in the crockpot and buy that McCormick beef stew seasoning and he just loved it. However, that seasoning is not gluten-free so I can no longer use it. I did buy some gluten-free beef stew seasoning about a year ago, but he did not like that.

I was feeling adventurous so I was just flipping through gluten-free recipes and found a recipe for gluten-free beef stew! There was actually a bunch of recipes. Why are there always so many recipes? How could there be 28 recipes for gluten-free beef stew?  How do you choose? What’s the difference? I do read the reviews and also, I look at the amount of time and the list of ingredients. If I pull up some recipe and has 27 ingredients, I already feel overwhelmed and give up on cooking, go take a nap and order pizza later. But seriously, can’t everyone just agree on one gluten-free beef stew recipe and that is what shows up on Google?  No one needs so many choices. 

I’ve also learned you have to start looking for the recipe early. And I mean hours and hours early. If you try looking for a recipe right before you want to start cooking before you know it it will be 10 p.m. And you will order pizza. Or just not feed your kid dinner.

But this one beef stew recipe I was looking at, it looked pretty easy. It had good reviews, I think had all of the ingredients, and I was feeling pretty confident after my edible cooking streak.

I kept putting off making it though. It takes over three hours so I had to pick an afternoon when I had the whole evening to cook. Every time I meant to do it, it would already be 6:00 before I knew it so I didn’t have time for it. How does time go so fast?

But last night was the night. I was home at 4 p.m., and had nothing really going on for the evening so I thought this was the night that I was going to make my beef stew. I could already picture my kid’s cute little face all happy after he takes the first bite and exclaims how delicious it is. I could already feel myself swelling up with pride. Looking back, I should’ve known that was a bad sign. 

I pulled up the recipe. Or was it this other recipe? No, I think it looked like this recipe. I really couldn’t exactly remember what recipe I used, but I found one that looked good. They all kind of look the same.

This one requires a Dutch oven. Who has a Dutch oven? Why is it called Dutch oven? Is it from the Netherlands? Does it speak Dutch? And can’t I just use a spaghetti pot? Who needs a Dutch oven when you have a spaghetti pot? I figured the spaghetti pot would do just fine. It’s just like a Dutch oven. But American. For spaghetti. Which is Italian.

I was grabbing all of my spices from the ingredients list, and it called for all spice. I went right to my little spice cabinet and grabbed the seasoned salt. For some reason, I thought seasoned salt could be used for all spice. I honestly thought they were the same thing. When I read all spice earlier in the recipe, my mind just said, oh, I have seasoned salt. I don’t know why in my mind I had seasoned salt and all spice being the same thing. It did make me pause for a moment, so I Googled it. Just up be sure I was right. 

But when I Googled all spice, I found out it was not seasoned salt. What?!?? It was not even CLOSE to seasoned salt. It was something that I definitely did not have. But through Google, I learned that I could make my own using nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon. Well, I had no nutmeg and no clove. Who has nutmeg and clove in their house? Why would anyone put nutmeg in beef stew? Isn’t nutmeg more of a dessert thing? Or a hot chocolate thing? I do have cinnamon though so figured I was 1/3 of the way to allspice. I consider the grocery store the worst place on earth, so I was definitely not heading there for nutmeg and clove. 

I texted my neighbor and she didn’t even have nutmeg and clove either so I figured it couldn’t really be that important. Who needs nutmeg, and who needs clove? So I just shook some cinnamon in there and called it a day. Still feeling very proud of myself.

I got super confident while it was simmering on my stove for two hours and I would just sort of add a spice here and add a spice there every time I would check on it. My brother-in-law cooks like that. He just kind of adds spices all the time wherever he wants and it turns out so good so I figured I could do the same thing now that I was not a failure at cooking any longer. So I shook in a little bit of that, and I shook in a little bit of this, and I kept sort of sniffing it and mixing it. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to smell like, but it smelled good. I think…

I felt like Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker or someone like that who whips up a healthy and delicious dinner just by throwing a few things together and having it simmer all afternoon so the house smells so good.

I wish I had an apron! I would totally sport an apron at that moment, skipping around my kitchen with my mixing spoon in one hand and my beef stew simmering on the oven. The funny thing is, I never understood aprons and I never wanted one but in this moment, I felt like I had to have one.

Last time I was visiting home, my mom tried to give me an apron because my aunt made a bunch of them out of all our old African material. I politely declined.  I don’t wear aprons! I don’t understand aprons. Do people get that dirty when they cook? Does food just fly at them? Why don’t they just wear an old sweatshirt or something? And why doesn’t the apron go all the way up to your neck? If I’m going to spill something while cooking it’s definitely going to be in between my chin and where the apron starts. Also, it seems like it would always come untied. Isn’t there a better way such as Velcro or even a buckle? But all you apron-wearing people, you do you. But honestly, at this moment, I was really starting to regret my decision of not being an apron person.

Anyway, I chopped the potatoes and I added them after an hour and a half of simmering just like the recipe says. No one wants mushy potatoes. I probably also added a shake or two of some spice or the other during this point thinking I’m a professional chef here. I’m picturing how much my kid will love it and how he will rave about it and I can tell the whole world that I made homemade gluten-free beef stew and it was a hit.

Well…. 

My son takes the first bite, and he screams, “EWWW!  EWWW! EWWWW,” as loud as he can, and he literally spits a piece of beef across the room. I watched the beef fly out of his mouth and land on the couch. My first thought should be I can’t believe how much he hates my food, but it was actually well darn, now I have to wash that couch cover because he spit his beef stew clear across the room onto it.

Now I have cooked some bad things. Really bad things. I have cooked some gross things. But I’ve never gotten such a strong reaction. Not from this kid. This kid is a polite one that tries not to hurt my feelings. Typically he’ll take a bite and pretend to think about it and then very nicely ask for frozen pizza or bagel bites or something.

I’ve never gotten a loud EWWW and a spit across the room. I’m kind of in shock, kind of mortified, but also feeling like this has to be a milestone or a great moment. It’s kind of like the rejection letters I got when I sent off my children’s book to publishers. It’s like, “Good try. You failed greatly, but you tried.”

Then he seemed super embarrassed and felt bad, and he said, “I just don’t know why it tastes SO weird.” 

Wow! An EWWW, a spit across the room, and an, “it tastes weird?” This might be my worst of all. How can that be after all these years of improving my cooking?

I guess the more you learn the less you know? The more you practice the worse you become? I wasn’t quite sure that’s how it went, but it’s definitely a humbling experience.

But isn’t that how life goes? Once we think we know everything and we have it all figured out, something happens to show us that we really have no idea what we’re doing. And isn’t that the beauty in life? Always learning? Always changing? Never knowing what you’re doing?

I promise that my brother and I used to know how to make bacon. A couple years ago we would make it all the time for breakfast, for dinner, and it came out fine. 

But the last two years, we have failed every time we have tried to make bacon. Oh I looked at recipes, I asked friends, I know exactly what to do, but still, every time the bacon is not edible. I guess life is about learning things and unlearning things and learning things again and then just accepting that you will never learn them. 

Today my beef stew turned into beef EWWW but there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow I could get it right. 

But this cooking thing is exhausting and I think I will just order Domino’s for the next week.

Isn’t it funny how we just think that we know things? We’re so confident and so secure. It’s become a habit or a routine, or we just forget that we don’t know everything. I just thought it was my vacuum, but it was actually my house burning down.

It was a normal quiet Saturday night at home. We had cooked another nonedible meal and cleaned the kitchen. We were sitting on the couch watching TV. I have a little Roomba that I set free around the house to do the vacuuming for me. Of course, I do still vacuum and Swiffer but he helps out a little bit. He’s not the smartest guy so he often just crashes into things, and I’ll hear bangs from all over the house, but I tell myself, it’s just my vacuum. At first, I was worried about these sounds but it was always just my vacuum.

Suddenly, there was a loud exploding sound from the front room. My brother flew up off the couch with a panicked look on his face. And I told him, “Don’t worry, it’s just my vacuum.” “Are you sure?” he asked me. “Of course I’m sure,” I said.

Then we both looked over towards the dining room and saw lights flickering that could only come from flames! We shot up and ran into the front room and sure enough, there was a fire 3 feet high. 

Maybe it wasn’t just my vacuum….

Isn’t it also funny how sometimes, we just don’t give up even when we know we should? We keep believing in something and we keep trying and trying and trying even though it’s told us over and over again it’s just not going to work?

I did that earlier with this charging brick. We were expecting bad weather, so I was getting flashlights and portable chargers and candles. I found this little power brick thing that my mom gave me years ago and thought it would be just perfect. But it had no charger. It looked like it might’ve taken the same charger as my kid’s E-bike, so I plugged it in there, and it appeared to be charging at first. But then it stopped. So, I kept trying to charge it. Even though I saw a little tiny spark when I plugged it in. Still, I would not be deterred. 

When it did not seem to be charging there, I thought hey, it also looks like the charger for my small little hand vac! That might work. So, I took it in the front room and used that charger. Once again, it looked like it was charging, but then it stopped. It wouldn’t charge up more than the two little bars. At this point, I should’ve said, geez, you’re an old little guy, and you’ve worked hard, and I think you’ve seen your better days. And I should’ve just given up and thrown it in the trash. But did I do that? Of course not! I plugged it in again and left it charging, believing in a 10-year-old power block that has repeatedly told me to let him die.

That is what caught fire, exploded and caused the fire in my front room on that quiet Saturday night. 

My first thought in every situation is always, it will be fine. If there’s a flood, and my house is floating away, the first thing I will say is, it will be fine. Even when I know in my heart, nothing will be fine. The first words that always come out of my mouth are, it will be fine. I think it’s part of being a mom. When you’re terrified inside, you have to keep calm for your kids, so you simply smile and say, it’s fine. After years of that, I guess it’s become a habit. I don’t believe a word I say, though. I just hope others do. 

So here we are standing in the front hall, watching this fire in my living room and all I say is, it will be fine. My son comes running downstairs, every smoke detector in the house is going off, and I calmly tell my son that everything is fine and tell him to go back up to his room and keep playing video games. Thinking back, don’t you evacuate your kids from the house when there’s a possible fire instead of telling them it’s fine and sending them back up to their room where they could be trapped on the second floor?  I’ll make a note to myself for next time. He listens to me though and goes back up to his room. Maybe people shouldn’t listen to me. Who let me have kids anyway??

The house is filled with smoke, and I pick up the cat to lock her in my bedroom and tell her, it will be fine. Looking back, I just trapped her on the top level, too. I should not be allowed to have pets.

Good thing I didn’t become a fire fighter. (Which was actually one of my dreams when I was little but the thought of possible blood at accident scenes made me pause and take a different path.)

Now, you learn all about fire safety, and what to use to put out certain fires and what to do if there’s a fire emergency but when you’re actually in it, you don’t remember anything. I grab the doormat inside the front door and throw it to my brother to tell him to put the fire out with it. He puts it over the fire and then, I’m not even joking here, he sits on it to try to put it out. Of course, the fire burns right through my doormat (which I really love and miss) and he jumps up quickly when his butt starts to get hot.

And then it hits me, this is what a fire extinguisher is for, right? There’s been one on the wall in the kitchen ever since I moved into the house. It came with the house in 2013. So, I run to grab it, look at the little full and empty sign and of course it’s on empty. 

Did I know it was empty? How long has it been on empty? I’m sure I’ve seen it. Did I just ignore it because when am I ever going to really need it? Retelling this story to my son he recalls how he and the neighbor used to spray each other with it for fun. “Is it the same fire extinguisher?” he asks. Yep, sure is.

Meanwhile, the fire is just growing. There is a lamp next to it, and the cord is just melting in front of our eyes. The plug is melting into the outlet. And what do I think about? I think to myself, THAT is the charger to my hand vacuum! I use it every day to vacuum the pet hair off the couch! And it’s perfect for vacuuming my stairs. How am I ever going to charge my little hand vacuum again?

When I realized I was being ridiculous worrying about charging my hand vacuum my next thought was, what a freaking mess this is going to be! Who is going to clean up this mess? Am I going to clean up this mess? Of course I’m going to clean up this mess. Can I clean up this mess? I cleaned so much already. I don’t know if I have time to clean up another mess? Do I EVEN know how to clean this mess??

Once again, stop worrying about the mess because there is still a fire in your house!

I run around the house, opening windows and opening doors. Not all the windows open, but I know the ones that do. Once again, another afterthought, why are you opening windows when the fire is not even out yet??? Get that fire out first!

The funny thing is no one stops to call 911. No one even thinks about it. What have you always been taught if there’s a fire? Call 911!

Also, none of the neighbors came over to check on me or called 911 themselves. What kind of neighbors are they? The doors were open, the smoke alarms blaring, and all my neighbors were asleep in the beds?? I guess I can’t count on them to save my life.

Oh! Water!!! I’ll just get us some water! I’ll get us some water! I think to myself all excitedly and all impressed with how brilliant I am to have thought of water. Can I get the hose from outside and bring it in here?? No, that will take too long. And will it even reach?

Retelling this story to my mother she said you have to be careful with water if it’s an electrical fire because you can get shocked. Huh! My mother is so smart. I didn’t think of that even though after the fact, it makes perfect sense. Well, the good news is no one got electrocuted here! Not this time!

I filled a spaghetti pot with water and ran it over to my brother who dumped it on the charging block and threw it on top of it to suffocate it. The fire was out. 

Now I’m a crier. I will cry about anything. I cried when my fridge broke. I cried when my dryer smelled like smoke. I even cried when I had to throw out my outside shoes because they were covered with such an unbelievable amount of dog poo, I could never get them clean again. But do you know what I did when the fire was finally out? I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed so hard that I couldn’t stop for about five minutes. Even though there was nothing funny about the situation. Isn’t it funny how your body responds with the opposite emotion sometimes?

The smoke detectors were still going off. We ran around the house, trying to figure out where they all were, and which one was making a loud noise. We finished opening windows and doors. It also happened to be the coldest night ever in Wilmington.

We pulled off all the smoke detectors, and the house was finally quiet. My brother had to use a wrench to pull the black plug which had burned into the wall and outlet. He covered the outlet with electrical tape, stood up, brushed his hands and says “Whew!” And then he said so calmly, “well, I’m going to bed.” 

To be fair, it was after midnight, but still….

What?!?! Going to bed??? We almost burned the house down! I’m traumatized! Aren’t you? There’s a huge mess! I will never be able to sleep tonight.

I stood there looking at soot covering every surface of my house, a big puddle on the floor, doors and window open and he can sleep?!

Is it a guy vs girl thing? Or is it just my brother. He is always so calm and laid back. I want to be him. 

So I mopped the floor at least 10 times, wiped off every surface I could, although they all needed to be wiped off again at least 10 times over the next couple days, closed the doors and windows when I thought the home was ventilated enough, and then stayed up all night googling how to clean up fire damage in your house.

This is how my house looked after I cleaned. 

The first thing I read was, don’t try to clean the soot off with water because that will make it worse and just spread it. Which is exactly the first thing I did before I decided to ask Google. It just makes sense! Always ask Google first! I should know that rule! 

Don’t you hate it when you ask Google and there are a million different answers? How do you get rid of fire damage? The answers ranged from vinegar, bleach, a dry chemical sponge, (never heard of it but it was $45 when I looked it up) and some cleaner I had never heard of that sounded like toilet paper.

So, the next morning my brother and I got to work. I could not live with a black wall in my front room.  Do we know anything about fixing a wall after fire damage? No, but it’s amazing what you can learn from Google. We started with vinegar because we had it. Then we just googled it and went from there. Less than 24 hours later it looked like this.

I’m not quite sure how we did it. It’s not perfect but I can live with imperfect. But isn’t it amazing what you can do when you really put your mind to something? When you really don’t want to live in a home with fire damage on your wall? If my brother and I can perform this miracle, you would think we could cook an edible meal. Maybe we can now? I will keep you updated. 

But for now, don’t blame things on your vacuum. Get off your butt and investigate. Also, don’t think you know everything.

Lastly, does anyone know where I can get a new charger for my hand vac?

Who is the boss of the house? The cat. Of course it is the cat. For those of you who have cats, you understand.  

In 2008 we decided we should get a pet for our almost one year-old. We thought a cat would be a nice easy pet for him. Ha! Nice and easy.  We didn’t want a kitten that was wild and crazy and would claw him as he walked by, so we decided on a somewhat older cat. A two-year-old cat would be perfect. 

So, we went to our local PetSmart to adopt a cat. They said, “a two-year-old cat? We have just the one. Here! This cat is two.”

She was a sweet little gray tabby named Juniper. For some reason, one that I cannot remember now, we changed her name to Lulu. How rude! Why do we humans think we can just change a cat’s name after she’s already lived with it for two years? And we expect her to listen?  (kidding, we all know cats don’t listen but changing her name makes it especially hard to listen)

“Lulu?!?? Who the heck is Lulu? My name is Juniper!” I can hear her thinking to herself. And for the life of me, I cannot remember why we didn’t like Juniper. I think it’s a great name. Isn’t it funny when you get older you really can’t remember anything? Or is it just me? It can’t just be me.

Anyway, we brought Lulu home and introduced her to our wild one-year-old.  If you’ve read my blog from the beginning, you will know what I’m talking about when I say he was a wild almost one-year-old.  If not, go back and read the very first blog post called cooking failures. Then you will have a better understanding of just what my sweet little wild one-year-old was like.

The introduction went well. Dylan was thrilled to meet the little kitten. We sat him on the couch and put the kitten in his lap and Dylan was gentle and kind. I had images of them being best friends. Images of them playing with toys together and reading books together. I imagined myself getting up in the middle of the night and tiptoeing down the hall to check on Dylan and finding he and Lulu snuggled up together. I couldn’t wait for them to grow up together.

Well, to put it nicely, Lulu did not like Dylan. The first morning, she walked out all proud like she owned the place. But then Dylan woke up. He ran around the house like a crazy person, he threw toys and books, he climbed on chairs and tables, he jumped on the couch and he was really, really loud. 

Poor Lulu cowered in the corner for most of the day looking very confused. This is not what a home is supposed to be like, I pictured her thinking to herself. This is not how they described it in the pet store. They described it as a calm and loving place where people would give you lots of attention and you will be safe. Nobody mentioned it had a Tasmanian devil.

Oh, and when Dylan saw Lulu, his eyes lit up! He ran at her full speed ahead before I could get over there, and he grabbed her and hugged her and pet her and by the look on her face, you would think she was being tortured. I guess she kind of was. No matter how many times I talked to Dylan about being gentle and modeled the gentle petting the cat and took his hands and tried to help him be gentle, this kid really had no gentle in him.

A few mornings later, I woke up, I fed Lulu, and we watched the Today show together while I drank my tea. This is how I pictured having a cat. 

Then Dylan woke up.  And Lulu disappeared. I could not find her anywhere! I searched the whole house. Every single part of it. I called my husband at work, crying that I lost the cat. He assured me she was fine. Don’t men always do that? Just say everything ‘s fine. How do they know it’s fine? How could it be fine? I lost the freaking cat! She was nowhere in the house! It was not a big house so I could easily search every single part of it multiple times. I spent a whole day looking for the cat trying not to cry so Dylan wouldn’t worry. First of all, of course I was worried about Lulu and worried if she was OK. But also, I felt like a failure of a pet owner. How could I lose my cat? Does that happen to other pet owners? Please say it does. 

As soon as Dylan fell asleep, my husband and I sat down on the couch to watch some TV and suddenly Lulu jumped right up on the couch in between us. I was so surprised and thankful. I think I started crying right away. I’m not a terrible pet owner! I did not lose my pet! Oh, and also, I’m so happy you are ok, I told Lulu. 

“Where were you?” I asked Lulu. But of course, she just ignored me. Cats like to do that.

The next day, the same thing happened. I know it sounds silly, but once again, I thought I lost my pet. I searched the whole house, called my husband, crying, he said it was fine, I didn’t believe him, and I spent the whole day worrying. But that night, as soon as Dylan fell asleep, there was Lulu on the couch, snuggling with us. I guess Dylan really did make her nervous.

Poor Dylan did figure it out and would ask where Lulu was every day and I said, “well she goes to work, just like daddy goes to work. Hopefully she’ll be home from work before you go to bed, but sometimes daddy’s not home from work before you go to bed either.”

Dylan went off to preschool and told everyone there that his cat goes to work every day. No one really questioned it because he was three. If anyone ever asked me about it, I would’ve said I have no idea what he’s talking about.

When Lulu was about three, we took her to the vet for extremely bad breath and found out she was allergic to her own teeth, so they had to pull them all out. But when the vet looked at her teeth, he said she was probably eight or nine years old. What?!?! We thought she was three. So, there’s really no telling how old Lulu is. The papers we got say she was born in April 2007. But maybe she was born five years earlier. It’s a mystery. I just don’t put a number on her birthday cake every year. I don’t want to tell her we really don’t know how old she is.

Over time, Lulu got used to Dylan. And Lulu loved Dylan. He would read her bedtime books before he went to bed. I guess some relationships just take time. I did have to tell him that Lulu quit her job so she could spend more time at home with him when she started coming out more. I’m sure he went to preschool and told everybody his cat quit her job and is now home more often to play with him. 

We lived in Chantilly for five years and Lulu had a litter box under the sink in the downstairs bathroom, and she used it. Although when we left, we noticed the floor was pretty messed up under the litter box, so she must’ve been going down the side or something. But she used the litter box.

And then we moved to North Carolina. We got her a cute little leash for the car ride down even though it was only 5 1/2 hours. Cats can definitely go that long without going to the bathroom, but we figured she would need to stop and relieve herself, so we bought her this cute little blue leash so we could take her out at rest stops and she could pee. I don’t know if any of you guys have ever gotten a leash for your cat, but please tell me it did not go so well? Lulu just lay flat on her stomach. She wouldn’t get up, she wouldn’t walk, the kids dragged her down the sidewalk thinking they were walking her, and she was enjoying it. She definitely did not go pee on a leash. She did not seem to enjoy it one bit. And she absolutely did not believe me when I told her that I really thought she would like it and I thought I was doing something nice for her. She just cat scoffed at me. We never used that leash again.

We got to our beautiful house in North Carolina, and I found room for the litter box in the downstairs bathroom in between the toilet and the wall. I showed Lulu where the litter box was, and then I walked away, brushing my hands together, thinking that was taken care of. I mean, I told her where she was supposed to go to the bathroom. I put her in the litter box and talked it up to her. “Wow! Look at this awesome litter box! It’s blue! Your favorite color! Great place to go potty! And look! There’s a chicken picture on the wall to look at while you do your business. Your dad saw it and just had to have it. Who has to have a chicken picture? Anyway, enjoy!” Simple. Of course she would listen. What could go wrong? 

But Lulu did not want to pee in the litter box. I don’t think she wanted it in the bathroom. I don’t know why. I don’t know why she thinks she’s in charge of where she’s going to go to the bathroom. I told her that no cats get to decide where their litter box goes and she just has to go where the litter box is. Does she think when a cat moves in the house the owner says, “I want you to be as comfortable as possible here. Please tell me where you would like your litter box. Even if it’s where we eat.” As you can imagine, that went over really well. Nobody else listens to Brita, especially cats who probably don’t listen to anyone. If your cat does listen to you, please don’t tell me. It will only make me feel bad.

We had a CARPETED dining room and that is where Lulu wanted to pee and poo! I told her it was not happening and there was no way I was putting a little box in my carpeted dining room, and she just has to go in the litter box in the bathroom. She pretty much cat laughed in my face and kept going in my carpeted dining room. 

There was a power struggle for a couple days with me saying no and putting her back in the litter box to show her where to go and cleaning up pee and poo off the carpet in my dining room. But finally, I relented. Come on, we all know the cat was going to win this power struggle. Cats win all power struggles.

So, I put a litter box in the dining room right over where she likes to go. “Happy dear?” I asked Lulu. That is one of my favorite lines from the movie Beaches. Bette Midler leaves her towel on the bathroom floor and Barbara Hershey’s daughter (who is not a fan of Bette Midler) tells on her. She says, “Mom! Cece left her towel on the floor!” Then Bette Midler marches out of her bedroom, with her hair wrapped in a cool towel, and then hangs the towel up on the towel rack. She turns to the kid and says, “Happy dear?” Full of sarcasm. I don’t know why we loved that line so much when we were little and my sisters and I would always say it to each other. Anyway, I said it the same way Bette Midler did. A little snippy and sarcastic, but I didn’t really think Lulu would notice. But obviously she did. Cats know these things. 

Guess what she did? She went poop 2 inches to the right of the litter box on the carpet. So, I cleaned the carpet and moved that litter box two inches to the right thinking I just placed it wrong. Then the next day she pooped two inches to the left. I kept cleaning the carpet and moving the litter box around to exactly where she wanted to go to the bathroom. She just sat in the corner, watching me and laughing.

Eventually, I got to the perfect spot where she wanted it. I literally marked the carpet with tape so I would know exactly where she wanted it. She’s very particular as you can tell. Believe it or not she went in the litter box. Mostly. I have a feeling she did pee on the carpet because that room started to smell a little bit, but at least she was doing the poo in the litter box, mostly. And I admitted defeat and Lulu won. And we just stopped eating in the dining room. That is what the kitchen is for. Lulu can have the dining room.

So, life ran smoothly, mostly, and then we decided to get a dog. Well, we had to get a dog. I put off getting a dog for years every time my kids and husband asked because dogs are a lot of work, and I know I was the one who was going to take care of the dog. We got hamsters and a bearded dragon and a fish all to avoid getting a dog. But on my son’s seventh birthday after he blew out his birthday candles, he looked at me and said, “I make the same wish every year, and it never comes true.” That broke my heart! I asked what the wish was, and he said every year he wished for a dog. So, I turned to my husband, and I said, “Gosh darn it! Now we have to get a dog. We can’t have a seven-year-old thinking birthday wishes don’t come true!”

So, we got a dog, but I was very worried about how Lulu would do with the dog. I’m not sure why I was surprised, but Lulu put that dog in her place the second she walked in the house. She showed that dog who was boss, and that dog was slightly terrified of Lulu.  If Lulu was sitting in the middle of the hallway and the dog wanted to get past, she would go all the way around the house to avoid walking by that cat. I sure wish I had some of that in me. Nobody is terrified of me. Nobody avoids me. Well, maybe they do and I don’t know it. 

One time my sister came to visit and brought her puppy with her. Her puppy was potty training, so she had all the doggy pee pads and they were all over my house. I guess we left them down after she left and a couple days later, I noticed that there was pee on one of the pads! I ran around the whole house, asking everyone in it if they peed on the pee pad. Of course, they didn’t and that is how I came to discover that Lulu likes to pee on doggy pee pads instead of in a litter box. But of course, you have to have the pad in the exact spot so it took a bunch of moving it 2 inches to the right and 2 inches to the left and 3 inches below to find the exact spot where Lulu would like her pee pad. Still, I think it’s much easier than a litter box. Even though she doesn’t always get all the pee exactly on the pee pad. Just close to it or on half of it. That is when I threw out the litter box, and we just started using the pee pads. There is still a lot of mopping up pee, but I was happy with the direction it was going in. Also, we had gotten flooring put down in the dining room by then so that definitely helped with clean up. 

Life gets crazy, things happen, I moved out, and Lulu and I were separated for three years. My ex recently gave her back to me. 

Of course, I unnecessarily worried about how she would get along with the dog, so I got baby gates to separate them. But once again, she walked in that house and showed the dog who was in charge.

I feel bad for the dog because Lulu bullies her a little more than she used to. She will get up in her face when the dog is minding her own business and hiss and a swat at her nose. 

You know what I saw the other day? The poor dog was just standing at the water bowl, drinking water and minding her own business. Lulu came up behind her, put her paw up and tried to swipe her leg right out from under her. My brother and I both saw it and our mouths dropped open! 

I gave Lulu a lecture about how there’s no need to be a bully and she needs to keep her paws to herself. Hissing is one thing, but actually putting her paws on the dog is not OK. I’m sure she listened very well. Now I just follow the dog around like her personal bodyguard to protect her from the little cat.

Lulu did decide though that she didn’t want any furniture in the dining room. Except the dining room table, but she didn’t want any chairs. She would just pee under the unnecessary furniture until I finally cleaned out the whole dining room and moved it all into the garage.  Now it’s just like she likes it. Who needs real furniture in their dining room anyway? Thanks for helping with the decluttering, Lulu.

Every morning, she sits with me on the couch while I drink my tea. She jumps up in my lap while I’m on Zoom meetings and sits on the couch with me in the evenings and we watch TV together. She sleeps in my bed, but I always leave the door open so she can get up in the middle of the night and go potty. She is an old lady after all. Then she comes back to bed and snuggles some more.

She’s very picky about her food and one morning she will not like a particular type of food and I will have to throw it out and give her a different one. She’s also very demanding when it’s time to eat. 

She’s also teaching me balance and to watch where I’m walking because she loves to walk right in front of me. She zigzags in front of my feet while I’m walking to try to trip me. I’m proud to say it hasn’t worked yet, but I am very careful about where I step now. I should thank her for teaching me to pay attention.

Sometimes when we’re hanging out, I can’t believe that I’ve known this cat for 17 years. We’ve been buddies for that long. And I think that I should really be more like Lulu. Maybe we should all be more like Lulu. Stand up for yourself! Don’t put up with anybody pushing you around no matter how big they are. Make people move furniture if you don’t like it. Make them pay attention when they are walking. Go to the bathroom where you want to. Bully big dogs who secretly intimidate you. Love your people unconditionally and always just do what makes you happy. Hide for a day, or a month, or as long as it takes until you are comfortable. OK, maybe we shouldn’t follow the go to the bathroom wherever you want or bully people ideas. I think we should all just stick to toilets, and nobody likes a bully. But there’s still a lot of other lessons to learn from my old toothless, stubborn, mean sweetheart of a cat.