Sorry, folks. I love my cats. I adore them. I am nutty cat Mom, and I freely admit it. Did you know that people who own pets aren't referred to as "pet owners" anymore; they're known as pet "parents"?
So I get this magazine from my cat's awesome vet; Dr. Seepe, and it's all personalized with their names on the front:
"Brutus is due for so-and-so shot this month", and "Cosette and Splat are due for a visit to Dr. Seepe as well...." Makes me feel all special and fuzzy inside. (Not.)Anyway, inside is this new clips page, and I read this:
"A new study, published in the journal Current Biology, is pointing researchers toward a theory that cat owners may already believe - namely, that cats have the ability to control their pet parents. Cats use a high pitched cry embedded in a purring vocalization to urge their owners to feed or attend to them. researchers believe this sound, which is distinct from normal purring, plays on ingrained human nurturing instincts."
See? I'm justified. It's my natural human nurturing instinct that causes me to spoil them. It's not my fault.
I was at the grocery store a few weeks ago and I get this call:
"Are you at the store still, babe?"
"Yes.... is there anything you want me to get for you that's not on my list?"
"Uh, no..... I was just going to see if you can pick up a package of salami for the cats. All they have left is that bologna, and they don't like it."
"That nasty stuff you bought at the convenience store?"
"Yeah, they don't like it. Can you get the good salami?"
"Yep, I am standing right here at the meat cooler and putting it in the cart now....."
"Hey, get two packages, just in case."
"Ok. Anything for you?"
"No, I'm cool..."
I have also been guilty. The other day I heard myself saying this:
"Splat; Phileppe! Why don't you come in now? It's cold out. Mommy is fixing chicken for dinner; with sauce. I know you love sauce!" (They get their own little plate at dinner. Seriously. Usually a little blue willow saucer.)
And then there was this discussion a few weeks ago when we were ordering a pizza at our favorite little local pizza parlor:
Kevin: "What do you want on your pizza?"
Me: "Oh, anything except that nasty sausage, and nasty olives."
Kevin: "Pepperoni, then?"
Me: "Uhhhh, yeeeeah....and green peppers."
Me: "Yeah. Oh, we'd better get some mushrooms on that, for Splat."
(Splat loves mushrooms.)
We've got it bad, folks. Real bad.
About the above photos: This is Phileppe, who enjoys sleeping in many odd positions, and odd places.
And yes, I tortured him with a hanky bonnet the other day. It was too cute; I couldn't resist. He didn't mind so much, either.