Tuesday, November 3, 2015


My name is Timmy. I will help prepare you for a baby.

I will help you remember which things aren't kid friendly.

I will vocally demand breakfast. And dinner. And dessert.

And I will vocally demand that you open all doors, even when I don't want to want to go through them. I just have an aimless problem with closed doors.

I will find things that you don't want me to find.

I will get into things you don't want me to get into.

I will open things you don't want me to open.

And I will ignore the places where you want me to stay.

I will eat the plastic pine needles on your fake Christmas tree, and this will cause me to leave the litter box while things are still dangling. And those things will fall on the floor.

(Seriously, no one takes photos of processed tree litter sitting next to the litter box.)

And when I get a cut on my leg? You can take me to get stitches. And I will lick them out.

So you can take me back for staples and a cone of shame.

And then I will still manage to contort my body so that I can reach around the cone to pull the staples out.

And you will have to do this...

...and this...

...and this...

...until you get this rigged up.

And I will be more proud of knocking over the trash can than you are of everything you've ever accomplished.

Basically, what I'm saying is that I will be the opposite of what most people think of when they think of cats. I will be high maintenance. Loud. Obnoxious. Clingy. Neurotic. Compulsive. And--unlike a kid--my learning curve will always fluctuate between flat and inverted.

So while it is true that you can't lock a baby in the mudroom with a pile of food and a giant bowl of water when you want to leave for the weekend, that is pretty much common knowledge. But I will also help you to understand what makes it so worthwhile--that even when I do something that makes you want to drown me, I will also be so sweet that you'll just want to jump out a second floor window.