Oo-wha, Oo-wha, Cool, Cool, Kitty...

I am not a pet person. I realized this one day in high school when that dang, ratty cat, Maji, was asleep on my bed instead of where she usually napped on Kathy's bed! I hated that cat (sorry Kath and John--I know she was your treasure). So when Shayne conned me into a spur-of-the-moment kitten purchase when we were first married, I made a grave effort to bury my anti-pet feelings for the good of our marriage. But "Satan-Key" was a feline force to be reckoned with (she even scared the kitty-loving Kathy and John!) After dumping that cat on some naive teenagers, I vowed never again! But, several years later, in an attempt to win some serious grandparent points, Brenda decided to buy our children a beta fish (I was out of the country, by the way!) We went through several versions (unbeknownst to our kids) of "Rainbow" (and his progenitor, "Rainbro"), before it experienced it's final, watery grave (hey, we honored it with a good, respectful flush!) I declared at that funeral, 'No more pets!' Little did I know, I already had another waiting in the wings. For, you see, my dear, little Fynnley believes herself to be a cat. It's been quite a few mewing months now since we saw the first transformation from human baby to little kitty. When she falls, she meows. When she wakes up in the night, she cries out meows. When she wants to snuggle, she nestles up to us and meows (which she is currently doing as I write this!) And what must accompany her to bed every night? Of course, her stuffed kitties. This morning I asked her if she was my little girl and she matter-of-factly replied, "No, I Mommy Cat!" Oh well, at least she doesn't require a litter box...