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Ode to Toulouse

Or, that’s a WAP (wild ass pussy…cat)

Dear Toulouse,

In my nearly two years of knowing you, you have shown me the true meaning of the phrase “love-hate relationship.” I can just hear your little made up voice in my head saying, “But Mama!” And you’re right — I don’t hate you. But man, do you make my life difficult sometimes.

Like when I lock you out of my home office while I’m teaching, so you decide to break into the boiler closet, climb into the hole in the ceiling, and follow my voice into the other room, only to realize you’re now stuck in the ceiling. Yeah. I don’t love that. Or when your claws have gotten too long, you get stuck on my sweater, and then decide to dig in even deeper AND start biting me. Also awful! You really need to learn how to NOT panic so easily, my guy.

At the same time, though, you can be oh so sweet. The highlight of my day EVERY day is getting to snuggle you. You’re so soft and precious and just adorable! All your little movements are so cute, and your unending curiosity is endearing. I love watching you run and jump all over the room as you try to catch your “mouse on a stick” toy. And when you speak, it’s the sweetest meow I’ve ever heard!

I have a rotating tally of scratches and bite marks on my hands and arms at all times, but I continue to pick you up and squeeze you every time I see you. I scream at you for chewing on my blankets, I shriek when you nip at my ankles, and I sometimes even call you not-so-nice names (your dad’s personal favorite being “fuck-ass”). When all is said and done, though, you are my sweet baby Toulouse; my little T; my snookeroo/snookie/snook/snookiepuss/snookerdoodle; and my kitty cat. I waited my whole life to own a cat, and you certainly have not disappointed. Please live a long, healthy life. Your daddy and I love you so.






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