Kittens and Kids

We got a new kitten this weekend. Her name is Fritzie. She joins a family of two others,  Delta and Roxy.

Delta is 11. We got Roxy after our cats Ellie and Christopher passed away within a month of each other. Roxy is almost two and she's having a hard time accepting Fritzie into our lives. Which is funny, since Delta gave her the business when she moved in. I keep trying to have rational conversations with her and asking her if she remembers how she felt when Delta hissed at her constantly, but frankly, at this point, she's acting like a real ass.

Actually, honestly, Fritzie came home from getting spayed yesterday and while Roxy is still hissing at all of the things, including chairs, they did all eat off of the same plate this morning. That's big progress.

I have always said that I will not have children. That was a weird jump, hey? From cats to children? I basically consider my cats my children, and I know people get really, like, puffy tailed and feather ruffled when you compare animals and children, but whatever. It's a thing. Fritzie came home from getting spayed yesterday evening and she was so doped up on anesthesia she was falling over and running into walls. While hysterical at its core, it made me freaked out and nervous to go to bed. And now I'm extra anxious about her incision and whether or not it is healing properly and whether her tattoo is ok.

I'm going to pause there for a second and let that set in. I did say tattoo. I guess, now, when cats get fixed, they also tattoo them so that if they were to get lost and someone were to take them in to get fixed they could see they've already had the procedure done. I mean, I have tattoos, so I get it. However, I sort of feel like there's a better way to do this, because first of all, now my cat has a giant green tattoo blob on her belly and second of all, it's not even anything cool like a pirate ship.

Anyways. I have enough anxiety about my own health. When it comes to my cats, that gets doubled. Possibly even tripled. They sneeze and I think they probably have some rare form of African Bird Flu that got transmitted through a fruit fly that maybe got let in when I went out on the porch.

This is part of the reason I will most likely not have children. (I say most likely because I've been telling people for years it's not happening, and if I ever change my mind I really don't want to hear the I told you so's). Not only am I super selfish...take away my Saturday afternoon nap and someone is going to get hurt, but I can't handle my cats getting ill, much less a child that came out of my loins that I am responsible for raising into a normal and well adjusted human being. Because, let's be honest, none of this *points to self* is normal and well adjusted.

Also, loins. I don't like that word. I don't know why I used it. I apologize to you profusely.

I don't really have a point to this post...I'm kind of just rambling today. I don't really have a take away or life lesson or quote to leave you with.
Can I just say this was your introduction into Johansen Catville and promise never to use the word loin again?