My Kids

I ran all my errands.  I love a nice little mania.  Not the up all night paranoid Buggo manias, just a better outlook, more energy, more motivation to take care of business.  Sometimes I think I wish I could stay just like this my whole life.

Then I remember how tiring a mania gets; how I actually look forward to the depression because I need to slow down.  So, I ran my errands.

Whatever you say about Ron, he was happy to take me to several different places in the last few days.  It's not easy for him, but he didn't complain and wanted to "serve".

I think we should have gotten more cat treats.  Baby Girl is quite the cat treat junkie.  I thought Bubba was bad!

When she gets up to 5 pounds, I'll start using the "poison" drops.  They'll kill anything that sucks her blood, but can be toxic to a lighter weight kitty.  I've been weighing her.  She doesn't mind if I pick her up for a minute or two.

I think my worst fault as a cat lover, I'm too grabby.  I want to pick them up and hold them all day long.  Cats don't like that.  Baby Girl is pretty gracious, but I am making a concerted "hands-off" effort.

Of course I'm petting her, rubbing under her chin, especially when she's stretched out on top of Ron like a necktie.  She's adorable.

I never wanted a kitten, and I never wanted a tabby, but she's won me over.  However, Baby Girl knows that Ron is her champion; without him she would have gone to the shelter and probably died, so she gives him the majority of her love and attention.

I have to say she loves shower time.  She lurks behind the clear shower curtain, watching me bathe every morning.  She's fascinated.  She'll try to stick her head in now and then and quickly back up.

She likes me, especially when I'm in the kitchen.  She's jumped up on my lap a few times, didn't stay long, and will occasionally climb into my bed, but she is Ron's baby.  That's fine.

I have been happy, for years, living with a very distant cat.  His idea of "cuddles": come in the house when I'm on the computer.  Stand next to my chair.  If I don't see him, meow.  Allow me to pet his head and back for a few minutes, then walk off and lie down elsewhere in the room.  Lie at the foot of my bed, on a plastic box, when I'm sleeping.   Come out of the cat door and rub against me to say hello when I come home - sometimes.   His favorite "love language" is lying down, on the floor, at least a few feet away, while I'm engaged in another activity.  And I love him for it.

"People threw rocks at him and tried to kill him, the whole first year of his life." I told Ron "It took me months to make friends with him.  I can't blame him for being a little distant."

I'll never forget the look on Bubba's face, when he saw us packing to move.  Betrayal.  We were going to leave him, just like his first family.  Then, the look on his face as I picked up the carrier and got in the cab.  Vindication.  I am moving to a new home.  That's my boy.

I have never regretted adopting Bubs, even when he releases a live rat into my home for hunting games.  He's just being a cat.  I am committed to having forever cats, which is one reason I'm so picky about falling for them.

So, I got my God Time.  I got all my meds on board, and ran my errands.  The litter boxes are fine.  I don't have a lot of energy tonight, but if I get some, I'll clean out the laundry room.  Someone brought home a cricket and let it loose in the laundry room - quite a mess.

But they're my kids, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.