My kids have returned from Hawaii to Seattle, I remain in Hawaii for one last week, Flirting with Forty is already shipping from Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and the Hawaii house has a kitten that thinks it is not a cat.
I think I get cranky in Hawaii because I don’t sleep as well as I do in Bellevue. For one, it’s hotter here. For two, there are panting bulldogs either next to the bed, or on the bed. And three, the kitten we’ll just call Skitty now wants to sleep on the bed, too.
You know, it was a lot for me to get used to sleeping with another human being. Toss in a couple of pets–including an old female bulldog that doesn’t want the cat in the bedroom–and huge Rupert that likes to sleep on the bed whether or not you want him there (on your legs) and you’ve got Jane growling and making unladylike threats.
And as I type, the kitten curls on the desk near the keyboard and tries to participate in the act of typing.
For those of you who know me by now, this is not how I like the universe to be.
My desk and keyboard is off limits to furry things.
My bed preferably should be petless (Hopefully Surfer Ty will not read this blog any time soon…).
My floor dry and droolfree.
And as I continue to type, Skitty the Kitty is attempting to now give me a kiss. Much like the kisses she/he sees Ty giving his dogs, because Ty kisses his dogs. A lot. Lovingly. Only I don’t need the cat clasping my face tenderly with his/her paws and pressing its mouth against mine and then trying a bit of tongue. (Not that Surfer Ty does any tongue with his dogs…)
I write the love scenes, cat. And I don’t make out with kittens, either.
And what I want to know–with my bulldog puppy in Bellevue needing more eye surgery, the new baby lizard in my son Ty’s room, and the Hawaii bungalow filled with four legged friends, have I lost control? Am I becoming a cat lady? And if so, will I eventually like the way a cat kisses? Because right now, that kitten tongue is a little rough for me.