I Married a Hunter So I Wouldn’t Have to be One.

5 Minutes for Parenting’s weekly column, A Dose of Humor, is here to remind you to take your humor pill regularly as the best medicine to treat the side effects of parenting! It features a different blogger every week and is hosted by Rachel at Grasping for Objectivity in My Subjective Life.

Shiree is a SAHM to three beautiful children and wife to a gifted archery hunter. Her days are filled with homeschooling, Legos, dolls, guns and tu-tus, and a search for a more simple way of living. When She’s not running away from tiny kittens you can find her blogging at pistolsnprincesses.

We have kittens. Five of them. The thing is, we don’t own a cat. Well, we didn’t. But we might now. Saturday Nathan went out to the wood shed to pull a bunch of scraps out so he could fix the roof and promptly came back to share the news.

Now, I’m not much of an animal person. I can do fish or hermit crabs. You know, tiny things in cages that require very little of you. But cats? No. And DEFINITELY not in my house. But I am a sucker for cute little kitten faces. It doesn’t mean I’ll own one but I get all mushy and start talking in a baby voice. It’s rather silly really.

So, we grabbed all the kids and ran out to see the little tiny kitties and OMG! They are adorable. And skittish. There are two that are black and white, two that are calico and white, and one gray and white (my favorite). We watched them for awhile and then realized that in order to fix the wood shed roof we would need to make sure that all the kittens were safe. This means catching all the kittens. And this is where the point of this story comes in.

Remember how I said I’m not much of an animal person? Well, that is especially applicable when animals are running at me or jumping at me or trying to scratch and bite me. So, we found a box that would fit the kittens and, hopefully, keep them contained. We taped a few of it’s holes to make it sturdier and made a plan. I was to stand at the back of the shed with the box laying on it’s side up against the hole the kittens were using for their escape. Nathan was in the wood shed trying to catch those that didn’t use the hole to escape and Abiah was in the wood shed doorway. Nathan spooked them out of their hiding spot and three came out the hole in the wall and into the box I was watching and Nathan had the other two. And then…..

I forgot that I needed to pick the box up to keep the kittens in ( I blame mommy brain). And Nathan’s kittens were scratching and biting so he ended up dropping one. I quickly ran the box over to him and we had one kitten. Out of five. We chased another one down and then found a third one under one of the many piles of scrap wood and brush in our backyard. All this was happening while we were trying to keep our 22 months old toddler, Hazel, contained and happy and the 7 month old baby, Amelia, happy.

So, being the ever-susceptible-to-her-big-brown-eyes parents that we are, we couldn’t refuse when Hazel begged us to see the kitties. As Nathan slowly tilted the box over for Hazel to peer inside the feistiest of the five kittens started hissing and scratching and jumping. It jumped out of the box. Towards me. AT ME!

I want to take this moment to say I am unashamed-ish of my behavior because I feel justified by my (to me) understandable fear.

So, as this kitten, deranged as it was, comes jumping out of the box at me I start screaming. And jumping. And waving my arms like a crazy person. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking, I kid you not. I’m sure I looked crazy. Especially to my husband who was growing more and more frustrated by the minute by his incompetent wife. Nathan yelled, “What are you doing?!?” And in my fragile state I tried to explain my “condition” but he, being the skilled archery hunter that he is, would have none of it. To him it was ridiculous to be afraid of a tiny little kitten. And he kept telling me that.

So, we chase said kitten around the huge intheway shrubs that are taking over the backyard and I spot him. He’s crouched down on his belly in the whole wide worldly known cat attack stance. Looking at me. No. AIMED at me. As I get closer I yell to Nathan to come quick because, “he’s in fighting mode!” Nathan, in his frustration, yelled, “It’s just a kitten!” and came over and picked the kitten up and took him to the box. While the kitten was scratching and clawing and shrieking.

Shortly after this Nathan’s parents arrived. Nathan and his dad took over and we ended finding four out of five kittens and later found the fifth kitty with the uptothispoint missing momma. Great. Kitties are safe with momma. Shed roof never got fixed, but there’ always next Saturday. We had a delicious dinner with the in-laws and a nice evening visiting. In-laws went home. Mommy’s behavior during kitten fiasco is brought up almost instantly. I defend my position as a frightened, fragile mommy. Nathan doesn’t buy it. He says kittens are tiny and practically harmless. I remind him of the fact that he was bitten and scratched and hissed and shrieked at. Practically is not completely! He says he wanted to laugh when I said the kitten was in fighting mode. I giggle because it was kinda funny. Then I remind him that, including many other wonderful reasons, I married him so he would fight my battles for me. Whether it’s taking out the garbage, defending me against naughty children, fixing things that aren’t supposed to be broken or catching the scary little kittens threatening my life. And he does a great job.

P.S. This fear also applies to any and all sports where something is flying at me.

Public Notice: No kittens were harmed in the making or retelling of this story.

What about you? What battles does your hubby fight for you? Comment below.

This post was originally published on August 27, 2009 at pistolsnprincesses.

If you would like to be considered to be featured at A Dose of Humor, please email your submissions to [email protected]!

4 Responses to I Married a Hunter So I Wouldn’t Have to be One.
  1. Melissa
    October 30, 2009 | 1:24 pm

    My husband gets the mice. I can handle ants, spiders, roaches…but I. DON’T. DO. MICE.
    When we lived in our ancient house in England, we, of course, had field mice that first winter, and I screamed bloooooody murder quite a few times. :o) He tried to shirk his manly duties by reminding me that I was a biologist and he was an engineer, but I quickly reminded him that HE. WAS. THE. MAN.
    Thankfully, we found their entry points, and plugged them, and lived peacefully ever after.

  2. melissa
    November 1, 2009 | 3:00 pm

    What I dont handle ismainly out of laziness not fear LOL would that count?

  3. Oxycodone.
    January 26, 2010 | 4:34 am

    Oxycodone morphine abuse….

    80 mg oxycodone….

  4. lennot
    March 27, 2012 | 3:35 am

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