Kitty Escape, Heavy Walking, and Other Fine Things

Yesterday morning, when the alarm went off just after 5:00, Dominic heard the pathetic muffled crying of our kitty coming from somewhere outside of our apartment. He noticed the front door was cracked open just slightly, and when he went outside to investigate he found Mia trapped on the landing just down the first flight of stairs that leads up to our apartment. He picked her cold little carcass up to bring her inside, and she cried all the way back to the apartment. I can't imagine how many neighbors she annoyed in the process. Let's just say we may get another knock on our door from the downstairs neighbor who complained to me just last week about the noises coming from our apartment, and how her little grand nephews could never sleep because of it.

"It's like you guys are running around or doing jumping jacks or something," she said.

I happen to be an extremely heavy walker. This is a paradox as I weigh no more than 125 pounds, and yet, when I walk, I appear to have all the grace of a full grown elephant mama rushing an emaciated tiger threatening her baby in a lush jungle somewhere in Africa. No, really. Ask Dominic.

I am a REALLY HEAVY WALKER.

This baffles me, and I try to remember to walk more quietly, but that is a difficult task because, as it so turns out, I am also a pacer. I pace a lot. Like the emaciated tiger as he is contemplating the threatening of the baby elephant in the lush jungle somewhere in Africa.

I pace A LOT.

And then sometimes, like last night, before I even knew what I was doing, I was pacing and stomping and pacing and stomping, and the whole apartment may or may not have been shaking and Dominic was telling me to QUIT THE HEAVY WALKING MY GOD YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE THE CHILDREN, and I said, "What children?" Because if we have children it's news to me.

And he just rolled his eyes and said, "The children downstairs." Which, admittedly, made more sense.

I guess the point of this story (if there is one; that's debatable, really) is not only does Dominic have to worry about his extremely challenging job and my heavy walking and my maniacal pacing, but he has to worry about me forgeting to the lock the door at night lest our cat escape and then cry on the third floor landing for a couple of hours probably at least and wake up the children downstairs who are not OUR children, you see, but nevertheless deserve to sleep in the morning or at night without being disturbed by my heavy walking or the pathetic cries of our lost cat.

I need to learn to be a quiet walker. I also need to learn how to not freak out about things (like picking out flowers for my bouquet) so badly that I wait until the last minute to go do it and then am chastised by the lady in the shop because how can she help me get what I really want when she's so busy this time of year with all these orders that people made months ago when they were supposed to?

Well, okay, we worked something out. Why am I so wigged out about flowers when I'm getting married in a BOTANICAL GARDEN, anyway? I guess it's just like with all the pacing and the heavy walking and the forgetting to lock the door at night--if I understood it at all maybe life would be just a little less interesting (frustrating).