No Kids, Just Cats

     When I was 25 years old and living on my own, my parents asked if I'd stay at their apartment one weekend to take care of Duffy.  (Duffy was our family dog.  He and I were never close.)  After receiving my instructions on Duffy's latest preferences and habits, my father whispered to me, "There's $50 in it for you if the dog is gone when we get back."
     Now that I am an empty nester myself, I understand the unpleasant angst of caring for the family pet once the family has flown the coop.
     I find myself cast as the evil stepmother of two leftover cats.  I hope you won't judge me but I've never been too crazy about them.  Many people find this a curious phenomenon since I have been living with cats for the last 26 years.  My husband loves cats, and I love my husband.  You get the idea.  When I was fixed up with Joel, our mutual friend Kathy told me that he kisses his cats on the lips, and I could tell she thought this was a good thing.
     Joel had two old cats when we met.  I quietly tried to calculate how much longer they could possibly live.  Tiger hissed every time she saw me and lived to be 18-years-old out of spite.  Basil was about as smart as the plant she was named after and lived until 20.  After Basil died, I thought my cohabitation with cats was finished, but our neighbor found a fluffy white kitten with blue eyes, and my sons fell in love.  The neighbor discovered she was allergic, and asked us to take her.
     We soon discovered that Snowy the cat was deaf. You wouldn't think it would be a problem (there's no point talking to cats--they just ignore you) but the cat was constantly startled by my young children, and she would bite them.  We tried everything, but she needed a home with a nice old lady who didn't move too quickly and lived on a farm far away (too far to visit) with a lot of other deaf white cats, and that's where Snowy lives to this day.
     That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
     After Snowy, my sons started asking for a dog.  I remembered how much more work Duffy was, and proposed a kitten compromise.
     Charlie and Pumpkin were a couple of characters, and were good companions.  Charlie thought he was a dog and followed the boys everywhere.  Pumpkin thought he was a pumpkin (weighing in at almost 30 pounds) and was a circus attraction for all the children who came to play at our house.
     Charlie died unexpectedly from unknown causes (don't look at me.) Pumpkin was put on a strict diet of Catkins cat food.  He lost a lot of weight but that turned out to be unrelated to his diet.  We didn't figure it out until it was too late.
     I thought I'd cleaned my last litter box, but one morning I heard my son quietly crying in his room.  Alarmed, I took him in my arms and asked what was wrong.
     He said, "Mom, I just miss Charlie so much!"
     We found two kittens who were living together at a cat foster home.  Noah had recently been rescued from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, and he had gotten cozy with PJ.
     We all lived peacefully together for the last eight years, but then the boys grew up and left. Now the cats get into mischief since no one plays with them, and when my son came home from college, his eyes got red and watery--this time from allergies.  I suggested that since we have lived 26 years with cats, we might try the next 26 without cats and see how that goes.  My husband has agreed.
     Two friendly cats are looking for a good home.
     My treat.