As you know, my youngest daughter is a cat. She’s also a low-key scientific genius, but that’s another story for another day.
My previous employer (Tabs), never referred to me as “Mom.” It was mostly “hey, lady,” or “woman,” but I felt very maternal toward him. Anything he needed, I tried to provide.
I mean, I tried to give him professional and personal advice, and sometimes — well, most of the time — I felt like it fell on deaf ears, although once he said something to me that I would often say to him when I felt like he was about to have a meltdown. It came out as a meow and a paw on my arm, which translated as “Maybe you should pause a moment and take a few deep breaths.”
There were a few Mother’s Day cards from him peppered throughout the years, but I think that was mostly El Hub’s doing. Still, I was always happy to receive them.
Rosie, before she came to live with us, was a mom too. She had a litter a few months before we adopted her, and during her first few weeks with us, I remember watching a show about kittens on TV, and when Rosie heard the kittens crying, she walked all over the living room trying to find the babies. She went behind the TV, looked under the shelves in the TV stand, all over. She was genuinely perplexed about the kitten situation. Sometimes I wonder if she ever thinks about her kittens and hopes they’re doing well.
She’s the sweetest, so I’m sure she does.
Happy Mother’s Day to you.
Your friendly neighborhood beauty addict,