The Kitties

This blog is named "Kitties and Kiddies". I've gone into random aspects of my life that didn't make it into the title and mentioned the kiddie (Layla) once or twice, but, as usual, the cats haven't gotten the attention they deserve.

I love my cats. I may be a crazy cat lady, I'm not sure. But I'm not afraid to admit I love them -- just like I love my kid and my husband. They are my family.

In fact, Brooks was my first family other than the one I was born into. We've gone through so many adventures together and he, as much as any human, has always been there for me. I always say he's the most dog-like cat I've ever known -- he's a lap cat (when he needs some loving), doesn't always land on his feet and loves to be outside. He's been forced to adapt as more and more people (and cats) are added to our happy family -- and always manages to do so after a few dirty looks and perhaps a well placed pile of kitty puke.

Prost, the small-head, greasy-back, diabetic, scaredy-cat deutscher will always be my sister's cat. After all, she saved him in Germany. And I actually think it's quite sweet that when she comes to visit and calls his name, he comes running looking for his mom. But now he's my cat too. Especially since I also saved him from the "evil" Panzer and from diabetic coma. With each curve ball life throws at him, he becomes a sweeter, more friendly cat. But he's still the shy kid hanging out in the corner of the room not exactly knowing how to play with the other kids.

Eric and I joke about whether they're "my" cats or "our" cats. They're mine until he needs to do the cat litter or take Prost to the vet. Then they're ours. He loves them though -- just doesn't always like to admit it. They're also Layla's cats -- Prost is protective of her. He almost always sleeps in her room and comes and harrasses us whenever she cries. Brooks is amazingly tolerant of her. Mostly because he loves to be petted. Even if that petting involved a few tugs and slobbery kisses.

Oh yeah, and they're identical.