My sister's cat is named Jake. She refers to him as her "baby," to herself as his "mommy," and to me as his "uncle." All of these are false.
What is true, though, is that this cat is remarkable for his lack of desire to do more than sit and blink and his propensity for vomit.
I woke up the first morning I stayed over here looking forward very much to a warm shower when I pulled back the curtain to reveal a nice pile of barely-digested cat food. Furious, I realized that whoever wrote "That Darn Cat" surely started with a much different and much more profane title for his movie, because no adjective so innocuous could ever be truthfully applied to a cat.
"That F-ing Cat."
Not as catchy.
Anyhoo, I woke up this morning about seven when Jake was jabbing my leg as if it were a punching bag. Then again at eight when a wet nose was probing my face. Ultimately, I woke up with him on my chest.
I don't know if I'll ever own a cat. But then again, this can't be too different from raising a child.
Except the kids probably won't be able to lift themselves up to vomit in the tub.
8 months ago