Sometimes, I think we need a dog.
It doesn't happen very often, and the urge only lasts about ten seconds, but sometimes I think it would be okay to give in to my husband's wishes that we become a dog-owning family.
Now, I'm sure you're thinking "Mother of God, woman, you have nine cats. What the hell would posess you to get a dog?!"
Rice. Rice makes me think we should get a dog.
Or, more accurately spilled rice. These are the times when a dog is necessary, times like today, when I was making some fresh hot rice to go with my leftover Thai carryout from last week (mmmm, week-old leftovers, lunch of the Supermom) and somewhere, between the baby howling (she'd just woken up from a nap on the living-room floor and oh my God that means I've been tricked into sleeping again and that is the worst fate imaginable) and the cats winding themselves through my legs and begging while I was cooking, I managed to dump a sizeable scoop of steaming-hot Basmati rice onto the kitchen floor.
Fritz, the cat who had been foremost in leg-winding and begging while I was cooking the rice, rushed over to peruse the bounty. He tried some, but quickly gave up when he realized that it was plain rice and I was eating a delicious plate of drunken chicken with my rice, which meat that he was entiteld to some delicious drunken chicken too. And then the baby scooted in and began eyeing my food (she loves spicy things, and chicken is her favorite food, so I was pretty much had). So I spent ten minutes shooing the cat away, giving bites of food to the baby, and, once in a while, taking a bite myself. I felt like I was in some sort of Ultimate Fighting Champion cage match just to eat my lunch.
After all that, I had to go back into the kitchen and clean up the rice. Of course that shit's not coming up with a sponge, rag, or mop. I crouched down, picking up the individiual grains of rice and trying to shake them off my fingers into the trash can.
"A dog would so eat this shit," I muttered to myself. I looked over and noticed stray Cheerios, bits of dried apple, and chunks of cracker on the floor under the high chair. "And that."
But then one of the cats jumped into the trash can and tried to drag out the two-day-old chicken bones that were in there, and I decided that perhaps I don't need more pets. I think what would really get the rice off my kitchen floor is a week-long vacation in Maui.