My best WV friend sent me an email, on my birthday, letting me know that their twenty year old cat had a stroke and had to be put down last week.
Ah, I loved Kitters. I will always have good memories of her trotting across the street in the mornings to sit out in front of my glass door and await her daily treaties. Somedays she would sit out there all day, like she belonged there, and I know some people thought she was my cat. After we moved, I heard she still trotted over there to my porch, waiting by the closed door for some time. That broke my heart.
I last saw Kitters this summer out at my friend's house. She could barely see, couldn't hear much, and had trouble getting around. She was old. But, when I came in and sat down she eventually made her way over to me to snag a few petties and probably hope from some snacks. I kept meaning to bring some to her, but I never did. I am sorry Kitty Witty, sorry I didn't bring those snacks, sorry you had to wait out on the porch when I wasn't there, sorry I didn't get to give you one last pettie. You were a good cat, hope you are having a big time in heaven chasing birds and eating well and I hope there's a soft snuggly spot on a couch just for you.
All my life I thought I'd be the perfect mother. I even majored in it. I aced all the child development classes I took toward my degree in, wait for it, Early Childhood Development and Elementary Education.
And then they were born. First Jacob, who is 8, then Adam, who is 4, and our biggest surprise, Elizabeth who is 2.
As much as I really wanted to be, I am finding out I am no June Cleaver. For starters, The Beav never had a baby sister.