There's a Milk Monster In Our Midst...

It all started when Dizzy was a kitten. You know---adorable, small, rambunctious. One day he discovered the milk at the bottom of our cereal bowls. And the obsession began.

It was all fun and games at first. He'd hop up in my lap, nudging his tiny little nose toward the bowl. I'd give in to the cuteness and let him lap the milk from among the Fruit Loops, and we would all giggle at the cute little slurpy noises he would make as he gobbled it all up.

Fast-forward a few years and now Dizzy is a full-grown, 10-pound cat. He's still adorable, but he's much bigger now. And much more insistent that he gets his milk prize every morning. He still jumps up in my lap, but if I'm less than agreeable with his begging, he takes matters into his own...paws.

When he's satisfied that he's saturated his paw in enough milk, he'll sit back and slurp it right off of his foot. Loudly. Usually in my ear.

This habit annoys me. It all but infuriates Brian. Being the Dad in this scenario, Brian usually puts Dizzy on the floor with a firm "NO." And Dizzy, knowing which side his proverbial bread is buttered on, will sulk for a moment, then mosy over to my corner of the room.

His M/O has changed a bit over the years. He will find a perch that is as close to his goal as possible (usually the arm of the couch) and stare at me as I eat my cereal. Sometimes his face is less than an inch away from mine.

He doesn't always wait so patiently, but for the most part, he'll allow me to eat at least 3 spoonfuls of cereal before he makes his move. And then, ever-so-slowly, he'll start to creep closer, and closer, and closer, until...

Most of the time, I get relatively annoyed, and relatively quickly, and wind up pushing him out of the bowl. But some days...most days, as soon as he starts making that same slurpy sound...

...I cave in and let him have his fill.

It's worth it, even if I have to eat my Cheerios dry.

I'm a Cat Mom

I don't have kids.

But I have cats.

I have four fantastically funny, furry, feline friends and they make me smile every single day.

Now don't mistake me, I'm not comparing cats to kids here...no, wait a second. Yes I am. While they may not speak English, require lessons in manners or the alphabet, or need me to eventually pay for their college tuition, they are every bit my four-legged children.

Let me explain.

How My Cats Are Just Like Children

They keep me company, snuggle with me when I'm sad, make me giggle on a daily basis, and miss me when I'm gone--even if it's just for an hour or two in the afternoon. It's true. I even have video proof.

If you can't see the above video, click HERE, or copy and paste the following code into your internet browser: http://youtu.be/oTh1Hg1-nbQ

They require my attention when it comes to their health, welfare, and food. Especially the food part. Pip never lets me forget when it's time for a meal.

They enjoy being the center of attention, and will do whatever is necessary to ensure that you're paying attention to them. And not that show you're watching, that laundry you're folding, or that book you're reading.

They bring me such joy with their antics that sometimes it's a wonder that my heart doesn't burst from loving them so much. Whether they're playing with a plastic lid from a water bottle, sleeping all snuggled together in a group, or hiding from the world in a discarded cardboard box, it makes me giddily happy to see them have such a grand time in their little lives.

I constantly fret over them, nurture them, spoil them, and adore them. When somebody wants a snuggle, they're getting a snuggle. All other things---work, life, phone calls, meal preparation---will wait until the snuggle is over.

So many people have told me that when I have my own kids that it will be different. That I'll still love my pets but that I'll love my children in a different, bigger way. Well, I just don't see how that's possible. 

Because I already know how being a Mom feels, even if it's only to four fuzzy little faces.

Why I Hate The Snooze Button: A Blog in Pictures

Alarm clocks. The bane of human existence since 1807. (I'm guessing. I don't really know when they were invented. But 1807 has a ring to it, so I'm going with it.) Sometime in the 80s, a man intent on torturing wives invented the snooze button. And society as we knew it began to crumble.


I've never been a user of the snooze button. I think it's silly. If you want to sleep until 6:02 a.m., set your alarm to wake you at 6:02 a.m. Don't set it for 5:45 a.m. and then spend the next 17 minutes slapping the stupid thing into submission.


Maybe it's just because I'm a light sleeper. Maybe it's because I'm not a morning person. Or maybe it's because there's nothing more grating that that "BEEP BEEP BEEP" sound. Especially when it occurs much earlier than you'd anticipated.


See, here's how the snooze button works at my house. My husband, ever on the go, inevitably has to be up much earlier than I do. So his alarm goes off before the sun comes up on a regular basis.

You will note that, at the time of the first alarm, the entire household (four cats included) is sleeping soundly. And most everyone will sleep through that first alarm. Except for me.

Brian pommels the clock into silence and falls immediately back to sleep. And I lay there, now wide awake, with the knowledge that over the course of the next 20 minutes, that alarm will go off again. And again. And again.

A million thoughts roll through my head in those first few minutes. "Did he really hit the snooze button? Or did he turn the alarm off completely? What if he turned it off completely---he can't be late for class today. I guess I'll just lay here and watch the minutes tick by, and if he's not up by 6:15, I'll wake him up myself. Great. Perfect. Just wonderful."

Finally, I feel my eyelids begin to get heavy again. Deciding once and for all that he's a grown man who can wake himself up for class, I allow myself to drift somewhere between asleep and awake. My body relaxes, my mind begins to quiet, and I float toward dreamland. And then...

Now I'm mad. Not only am I awake, but Cat #1 realizes I'm awake and begins his "Mommy's Awake So Let Me Wash My Tail and Knead Her Pillow Into Oblivion Until She Pets Me" routine. And Cat #3, our most vocal feline when it comes to meal time, descends from his perch at the foot of the bed and begins yowling for his breakfast. And my husband stretches, yawns, and opens his eyes to the world that I've been aware of now for exactly 17 minutes.

Now Cat #2 joins Cat #3 in the "Feed Me Now" campaign, and Cat #4 begins the "Catch Mom's Toe Under The Blanket" game. And Brian and I lay a moment in silence, both of us aware of what's coming next.

*Full Disclosure: my husband has not used his snooze button since very early on in our relationship. When we first moved in together, he was a 3-times-a-morning snooze button user.  It became apparent a few months into our relationship that his addiction to the snooze button was a possible deal breaker. Eventually he came over to my way of thinking. And he does his waking up on the couch instead of in bed. Which is where I'll be, sound asleep. Mostly. If Cats 1 through 4 cooperate.

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