Watch Out, Mall Rats--There's A Cat on the Loose

I never thought I would be one of those moms whose kids hauled around a "lovey". I'm barely motivated enough to include the kids themselves when we go places. When they were infants, my kids had pacifiers long enough for me to realize that it was my job to re-cork them when the stopper fell out of their mouths. I'd rather listen to them cry.

When it comes to a certain stanky kitty, however, Thing Two was the creative mind behind that acquisition. She used to only want it when she was sleeping. At four months old, she could deftly reach behind her head while lying in her crib, grab Stanky Kitty, and give it 1 1/2 turns on the way to her face so that she could suck its ass and her thumb at the same time. And I, with smug satisfaction, would tell the moms at the park that we "only let her have it when she's sleeping." Who am I kidding with that fantasy?

Of course, Stanky Kitty wasn't always stanky. An acquaintance gave it to Thing Two the day after she was born, and the kitty shone with all its orange, furry, unmolested luminescence. After 18 months of being dragged to breakfast, lunch, dinner, and one surely non-consensual date night with the dog, however, Stanky Kitty is...well...not clean.

The night we came home and found that Stanky Kitty and the dog had eloped was a sad affair. We came home, saw Lenny the dog sitting on the couch looking beat and smoking a Pall Mall, and Stanky Kitty's fur, clothing, and bodily fluids scattered all over the house. No one in our house can sew. Not even Thing One. So Pete valiantly tied Stanky Kitty off at the torso and each limb with a piece of string and put her to bed with Thing Two to talk girl talk.

Yesterday I took Thing One and Thing Two to the play place outside JcPenny at the mall. We call it the flu pen, but what are ya' gonna do when there are at least 8 more weeks of winter and you live in a 1300 square foot house? Stanky Kitty and the kids played until they were wiped, at which time I proudly ushered them toward the mall exit so we could go home and make dinner and I could announce to Pete that, although we did go to the mall, I hadn't spent a dime.

Potty stop? Check.

Jackets? Check.

Hats? Check.

Mittens? No chance.

Stanky Kitty? Stanky Kitty?

OhgeezIfrickenknewthiswasgoingtohappenwhydon'tIhavethat
stupidthingonaharness?

We go back to the flu pen, looking at the floor the entire way for an orange dirty mess. Nothing. Well, at least we didn't have to go back into 15 different stores like when we lost the keys (two weeks ago) while looking for replacement mittens for Thing Two (seriously, what retailer in Minne-fricken-sota quits selling mittens in mid-February???).

No, we don't have to go back into 15 stores. We have to stop by every stinking cell phone booth and South American hoodie/jewelry/wool sweater/Crocs kiosk in the whole damn place to see if someone happened to take pity on us and turn in a Stanky Kitty.

With no luck.

The kids are starting to get mean. Pete has likely arrived home from work to find an empty house to go along with his empty stomach, so I call him and tell him to make himself a sandwich--we are going to split a Subway and look for kitty.

His reply? "Nice one." I don't think he thought through the potential hazards of that comment.

We go back over every inch of the mall again. Back to the flu pen, where I shrilly ask all the moms to get up and see if there is a stuffed kitten below them.

To Bath and Body Works. No one has turned in a stuffed kitty.

"Be careful," says the cashier.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find it."

"No, be careful, that's.............(shattering sound to the left of us at the end of Thing Two's stubby little tuna-fish-Subway hand) glass."

Fortunately, nothing broke. As I bent to pick up little bottles and trinkets, the cashier and her helper guided us out the door gently but emphatically. "Really, we'll get it. We just want you and your ragged monsters out of our store."

Once more through the mall, with no kitty in sight. By this time, Thing Two has realized that the damned thing is gone and is calling for her:

"Here tittytittytitty. Here tittytittytitty. Titty, are you??? Dere shees."

"SHE IS??? WHERE?"

Nope, Thing Two is simply on an audio loop now. "Here tittytittytitty. Here tittytyittytitty. Titty, are you? Dere shees."

I wish I had a pacifier to stuff in Thing Two's mouth, because I'm pretty sure the tuna-fish Subway is scattered on the floor with various sundry at Bath and Body Works.

On our third trip back to the flu pen, Thing One chose to surf on his portion of the double stroller. I don't even care--I tell him to look high for Stanky Kitty.

I apathetically notice an ancient janitor cleaning up what looks to be tuna-fish and American cheese off the floor across from Bath and Body Works. I turn around so he doesn't notice my tuna-covered kids, only to be faced with two Bath and Body Works staffers with their arms crossed in front of their aprons.

Damn! I'm cornered. There's nowhere to go.

I turn back to the janitor and weakly ask him if he has seen an orange stuffed kitty on the floor, wondering at the same time if the state has mental health beds available for scrappy, sleepless toddlers.

"A ratty one with no bottom?" He asks.

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

"Yes. Nasty old kitty, have you maybe seen it?" I'm crying now.

Without blinking, he dives head-first into the garbage bag part of his supply cart. After some grunting and stirring, he produces...

that thing which will allow me to breath again.

"Stanky Kitty!!!!" screams Thing One.

I hugged the janitor, possibly for a little too long. Wiped my tears. Wiped a little goo off Stanky Kitty, and gave her to Thing Two.

Who immediately stuck what used to be the ass in her mouth.