I don’t have kids.
But I have cats.
I have four fantastically funny, furry, feline friends and they make me smile every single day.
Now don’t mistake me, I’m not comparing cats to kids here…no, wait a second. Yes I am. While they may not speak English, require lessons in manners or the alphabet, or need me to eventually pay for their college tuition, they are every bit my four-legged children.
Let me explain.
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They enjoy being the center of attention, and will do whatever is necessary to ensure that you’re paying attention to them. And not that show you’re watching, that laundry you’re folding, or that book you’re reading.
They bring me such joy with their antics that sometimes it’s a wonder that my heart doesn’t burst from loving them so much. Whether they’re playing with a plastic lid from a water bottle, sleeping all snuggled together in a group, or hiding from the world in a discarded cardboard box, it makes me giddily happy to see them have such a grand time in their little lives.
I constantly fret over them, nurture them, spoil them, and adore them. When somebody wants a snuggle, they’re getting a snuggle. All other things—work, life, phone calls, meal preparation—will wait until the snuggle is over.
So many people have told me that when I have my own kids that it will be different. That I’ll still love my pets but that I’ll love my children in a different, bigger way. Well, I just don’t see how that’s possible.