The (Not So) Crazy Cat Lady

Is it weird to start a brand new parenting blog with a post about pets?

Yes, Emily, it is.

Okay, Okay, hang on dear reader, I promise this is going somewhere. I suppose I could have started with an introductory post about me, my life and my family, but I always get stuck trying to make that cute shit up. So I’ll talk about my cat instead.

My cat is an amazing pet. Weighing in at a hefty 5.5kg (the vet says he’s healthy, I promise), I see him for a grand total of about five minutes a day, and that’s when he’s asking to be fed (a man after my own heart). Otherwise, he sleeps all day and all night.

Paddy Sept 2013 002 copy.jpg
Life goals

Now, a lot of people are either a dog person or a cat person. Whilst I sway towards the cat side, I like to consider myself a general liker (lover is too strong a word here) of most animal species. Cue my brother’s new puppy.

My brother and his girlfriend got a puppy a few weeks ago – a pretty little staffy – and we all know that pets are the precursor for children and are often considered ‘furbabies’. Anyway, these two were off to a wedding out of town so me being a loving sister – and with an ulterior motive of probably needing them to watch my cat one day – I offered to babysit the pup (fondly named Puppup in our household) for the weekend.

So this thing Puppup rocks up on Friday night and the house is suddenly madness. The thing Puppup is absolutely hyper as her human-parents had been at work all day and she’d been starved of affection for so, so many hours (staffy owners will know what I mean).

Within the space of about ten minutes, Puppup has gnawed on a John Deere tractor toy,  nipped my toddler with razor sharp demon puppy teeth and pissed on the bathroom floor.

“Drop her out at mum’s if she gets too much,” my brother kindly offers as he ushers his girlfriend out the door as fast as he can.

“She’ll be fine,” I reply while secretly considering that palming the beast Puppup off onto my parents wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Anyhow, Puppup races around for a few hours while the toddler is ushered off to bed. I watch from the lounge in a perpetual state of pregnant-exhaustion while my husband tries to wrangle/play/wear out Puppup and decide that raising a two-year-old isn’t such a hard gig after all.

Not long after Puppup tires herself out to collapse on the lounge does Paddy-Cat make an appearance. He takes one look at the puppy, gives me a ‘what-the-fuck-have-you-done’ look and stalks off, only to be seen once or twice more that whole weekend.

Saturday was a good day, and that was because I got to fuck off out of town for a high tea, leaving dear husband with Toddler and Puppup. He sent me a photo part way through the day of Toddler walking Puppup on a leash. From my out of state location, I could admire it’s cuteness. Hubby later told me that they were quickly bailed up by a bigger dog and he had to carry both Toddler and Puppup around the rest of the block.

Sunday – the day of giving Puppup back to her human-parents – finally arrived. Not expecting the hungover duo til late morning, we packed up Toddler and Puppup and took them for a visit to my parents farm. It’s a win-win for all. My parents love playing with both babies, and I get to stick my feet up, drink too much coffee and scroll through Facebook for a few hours.

At almost lunchtime, and with both babies yawning for a nap, we head on back to town, just in time for brother-dearest and girlfriend to arrive and collect their fur-baby.

“She was no problem at all,” we tell them as they leave, trying to keep the exhaustion and relief from our voices.

Puppup finally leaves. Cue Toddler, who has a love-hate relationship with Puppup, wandering forlornly around the house looking for his sort-of play mate. Paddy-Cat makes his return to the family, acting as if he’d never abandoned us to deal with hell-fire Puppup in the first place.

And THAT (after that long-winded drivel) is the moral of the story. Sure, you can call me a crazy cat lady. You can listen to my dad who tells me that people who don’t like dogs are depressed, but give this lazy fucking mum a lazy fucking animal to match any day.

And if ever I get to reincarnate, I hope I come back as a cat.

Paddy (2)

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