it was a rough ride 'til Travy set the kitchen on fire

it has been a brutal week and a half. we have been overbooked and understaffed (due to illness and tragedy) at work. almost every case i have seen has had a tragic outcome or ending foretold. as seems common in veterinary medicine, the higher the stakes ('Fluffy is the only remaining tie to our son and we may die of heartbreak if we lose her') and the nicer the people ('but we are so very appreciative that you let us come for an appointment and wait when you ran 2 hours behind because we got to reflect on what a wonder life is') and the sweeter the animal ('and Fluffy has just been through it these last weeks but she continues to bring hope and love to all the neighborhood kids and abandoned people at the rest home'), the worse the disease ends up being and the less room there is for any intervention or hope.

the last two days have been true exemplars of this experience and i was quite close to breaking when i got home after an epic 14 hour slog in our hugely overcrowded, overstimulated, overnoisy hospital. (thank heavens the addition opens SOON.) i figured i would recharge in the dark while Travy was at softball practice and then buckle down to the ~2 hours of catch up on work email etc.

i walk in the door to find Travy at home and a distinct cat pee smell permeating the house. really glad for the former or i couldn't have handled the latter.

... Mr Head's diarrhea has continued to get worse in spite of treatment. surgical biopsies might kill him given how poorly he did under anesthesia in February. we are trying a few last things before risking it all on biopsies.

apparently Miss Priss has decided my continuous litterbox scooping is not adequate given Mr Head's tendency to 'let go' just inside the box so she spent today annointing all parts of the house. then Bear got so stressed by all the drama that he pooped all the way UP the steps.

i have no idea what we will do to handle the pee...

or the diarrhea for that matter...

or the pooing...

and i feel a terrible internist and 'mom' accordingly. (even though no OTHER internist has any ideas beyond what i am already doing.)

so instead of settling down from the epic overstimulation and sorrow to breathe and refuel, we set about making our home livable again and i try not to lose it and cry.

once the house is put to rights, i sit down at the dining table with my laptop to catch up on emails marked URGENT, Response MANDATORY, and [more importantly] emails from clients.

Travy puts the kettle on for tea (because he is an awesome dear).

i tica tica tica away on the emails for a few minutes but suddenly my eye is drawn to awesome flames dancing across the stove.

i rush in to discover that Trav left my (kandknit) cotton potholder on the kettle which (because it is that kind of week) slid down to rest on the burner and erupt into flames. i pulled it from the flames onto a nearby cookie sheet where the flames dance merrily across my basket stitch beauty. i was shocked and thought i might be upset but, before i could say for sure, Travy rushed in behind me and urgently motioned that i move the potholder to the sink (for dousing in water). i kinda would have rathered take pictures but complied nonetheless and then suddenly found myself chortling uncontrollably.

there was no longer danger so Trav's eye was obviously to the potholder's health but there was seriously no saving the potholder. it was cotton for cripes sake. it was over 60% flame when we reached it. in fact it literally disintegrated as the water fell upon it. yet Travy's delivery suggested lives were at stake. he may not DO it, but he has plenty of appreciation for a good handknit.

it was bound to happen eventually.

it was very amusing.

laughter is curative.