Tagged: mommy

Happy Mother’s Day to ME.

Yep. It’s that day again. The day we all celebrate our moms. And deservedly so. The mothers of the world do so much for us (and put up with a lot of brats like me). I appreciate my mommy every day of the year, except, of course, when I’m trying to get off the phone with her. This is a common mom thing, I hear. I think there’s a secret school for it somewhere. You have to start at least 15 minutes before you absolutely HAVE to get off the phone.

But enough about that. I know I posted something like this last year on Mother’s Day, but it’s worth saying again.


My oldest.

My oldest.

You’re underappreciated. Especially those of you with special needs kitties. It’s not often understood why someone would take on caring for a pet who needs so much help. I really want to punch people who think that animals with problems should just be “put down” because after all, “they’re just animals.” One of these days, I probably WILL punch someone for saying that. And I’ll be ok with it.

One of my fellow bloggers has a paraplegic cat. I admire the hell out of her for it. It warms my heart that there ARE people out there who don’t need to be punched. On the newest episode of My Cat From Hell, the trouble cat had a neurological disorder that made it positively heartbreaking to watch him attempt to walk. And only one eye. But he had someone that took him in and gave him the life he couldn’t have gotten on his own, or maybe even with another caretaker who wouldn’t have had the patience to love and care for him. And despite the fact that he was hell-bent on tormenting the other cat, she never in a million years would give up her baby.

He thinks he's king.

He thinks he’s king.

Taco is vaguely special needs. He also has a neurological disorder (that makes him pee where he’s not supposed to when he has a flare-up), but it’s not life-threatening and while it wears my patience extremely thin sometimes, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s my baby. So is Moosh Moosh, despite being what I’m pretty sure can only be described as “a little slow.” I love them just as hard as I would love my own flesh and blood.

So. To the responsible, loving, amazing cat moms — *I* appreciate you. And I’m giving myself a little pat on the back today, too. Because we deserve it.

My babies. They sometimes fill my heart with joy.

My babies. They sometimes fill my heart with joy.

The cats are a bunch of babies.

Whenever a stranger comes over to the house, or for that matter, even my mother, who comes over at least once a week, the cats freak. Especially men. You’d think that all humans were killing machines ready to crush them into cat food. Moosh Moosh, I kinda understand, someone threw him out of a car when he was a kitten. Taco, he’s been around good people since he was born. This leads me to the conclusion that they are both just big babies.


So when the boyfriend’s 6-foot bazillion cousin came to visit the other night, I expected a scene of panic. I was somewhat proud of them, though, they didn’t hide in the closet.


We will wait here until further notice.

Watching and waiting.


Frankly, I’m amazed that they behaved as well as they did. They did, however, scramble for cover when I got a ladder out last night to silence a dying smoke alarm. The boyfriend was out of town last night and this is the second one that has died while he was out of town, leaving me to deal with the overly stupid process of turning off the circuit, replacing the battery, turning the circuit back on and then testing. I had to call my mommy over because I had visions of me falling off the ladder, not to be discovered for days. I have a good mommy. You’re never to old to need yours!


I wonder if the cats would have gotten hungry enough to eat me? Ew, why did I think that?