I could devote an entire post to the fact that I am not going to see my niece over Thanksgiving (OR Christmas), but I'm not going to, since I have such admirable self-restraint, and I totally understand that it's not all about me, and it's poor form to complain in a public internet space about how heartless one's sister is, and I would never do that.

instinct

So I was in the kitchen the other day, making a big pot of chicken and dumplings to take the chill off the fall evening. Isaac was standing next to me, 'helping' although he can barely see over the counter. The cat had trotted in from outside and was playing by our feet.
I was sort of soaking up the idyllic family moment (because these are fairly rare at my house - usually someone is sitting too close to someone else or touching their toys) when I heard the cat growl. I have never heard the cat growl. Our cat has taken more abuse and misuse in her six months than many cats suffer in a lifetime, and she tolerates it all with limp resignation, so naturally a growl got my attention.
I looked down to discover that the cat was in the process of casually murdering a bird inches away from our toes. I met the bird's panic-stricken little eyes and screamed like a five-year-old fairy princess. This brought my husband running to the rescue (all I could think to do was pick Isaac up and hold him over my head - because obviously he was in danger from a bloodthirsty predator). Ryan was able to extricate the bird and carry it outside, and apparently it was not too murdered yet because it was able to fly away.

And the moral of the story is:
a. I do not know why anybody has cats
b. having kids turns your brain into soup
c. all's well that ends well
d. all of the above