(This time I take better notes.)
Elana leaves around 10:30. Henry is down for FirstNap. I read the news and eat breakfast.
H. wakes up sometime after 11. We play on the futon for a while:
Then Henry has a snack. He likes milk smoothies. By which I mean: his mom makes and freezes some milk, and then I partly thaw the milk, chop up the icy parts, and feed him the slush with a spoon.
Eventually he gets tired of eating, so we go into the tiny office/workroom and try to continue the work of unpacking from the move. Realistically, some of this stuff is going to have to go back into storage — especially when we finally get our other stuff shipped from my parents’ house. But we have acquired some bookcases, so our DVDs and non-fiction and selected fiction can come out of the boxes. Henry does a remarkably good job of entertaining himself for about an hour.
While I put dinner in the crock pot, he has another little snack — corn on the cob, which he enjoys gnawing on, though I’m not sure he actually gets any calories from it.
Then we take the trash out and make an unpleasant discovery — someone appears to have thrown away a cat in our trash can. We go back inside and I email Elana to tell her about the cat.
H. is starting to rub his eyes, so I swaddle him by binding his arms to him with a towel. Then I turn him on his stomach and make a cradle of my forearms and rock him to sleep. The first time we did this it was horrible — he cried for half an hour. But this is our third time, and by now he’s grown accustomed (or resigned) to it; five minutes’ rocking is enough to put him out.
I call Animal Control, which due to California budget shortfalls, no longer has anybody answering the phone. I call the Bureau of Sanitation, who also don’t seem to have very many operators, but who agree to send someone out to remove the cat. I pay the internet bill and look for our gas bill, which I can’t find.
Eventually he wakes up, and we listen to the Backstory history podcast while I wash a few dishes and he eats some more corn and… uh… a bit of oatmeal cookie. I think about defrosting another milk smoothie, but then we get word that his mom is on her way home — ten minutes out, in fact!
As for the cat… I don’t go back to see if the Bureau of Sanitation has removed it from our garbage can. It’s getting dark, and everyone knows you don’t mess with a dead cat after the sun goes down.