Cat Mom

I love my two boys, cats Winston and Clarence. My friend Patty says they have old man names, but, really, that wasn’t the inspiration. Winston is named after Mr. Churchill, and Clarence is named after the angel on It’s a Wonderful Life. Hubs thought that one up, but it’s pretty apropos, since a couple of years ago Clarence kind of saved my life when I was going through a particularly rough patch. He came to me with a cold and his spine noticeably visible. We needed each other. Or, like Clarence from the movie who feigned drowning to save George Bailey, maybe Clarence pretended to be thin and needy with a bad sneeze.

Winston, a few years older than Clarence, joined our family as a kitten after we’d been “petless” for two days, having lost a dog and cat within the span of a month. He came to us when we needed some joy in our lives. Between the two of them, they have us trained pretty well. Winston knocks his metal bowls together to get me up from the couch, and Clarence waits by the faucet to drink until one of his tribe turns on the tap.

I used to shake my head at  those people who, upon becoming empty nesters, treated their pets like children–that is, until I became an empty nester and started referring to myself as their mommy. Go figure.