I'd Like to be a Grand-Meow

Testo:

© Grathy

I missed the turnoff for bearing children, and as I’ve grown older, I’ve wondered what my life might have been like if I had chosen to be a mother. I’m sure being a mother has many rewards, but I know it’s not an easy task.

But how about just skipping the mother part, and simply become a grandmother? I guess it’s kinda hard without having kids, but I’ve got three cats. If they had kittens, could I be a “grand-meow?” I think I’d like that job.

I could take the kittens to an amusement park and let them ride the kitty rides. You know, those rides that have catnip in them, so that the felines go into a frenzy as they are spun around, and hurled through the air, or chased by an animal-shaped carnival character.

Imagine the glee on their fuzzy faces in knowing that there’s no real danger in the rides, just carnival fun? Of course, I’d probably have to deal with kitty barf afterwards, but I’m used to that. Besides, it’s a small price to pay for seeing the glee in those kitty eyes.

Or maybe I could take the grand-kitties to pet stores, and let them gaze in wonder at the birds, fish and mice. What better way for them to learn about nature without having to hunt them down and leave them on your doorstep.

I’m sure they’d love going to an ice cream parlor. I could let them pick out their favorite flavor of ice cream and then….oh, that’s right, cats aren’t supposed to have any milk products.

Maybe we could even have kitty play-dates. You know, you invite your cat-a-holic friends over and while your cats hiss at one another, and make linguini out of your curtains, you could enjoy some cheese and whine.

More athletic cats could leap from the top of the refrigerator and devour the Laughing Cow cheese on the counter. You could even place bets on those that survive the ordeal.

Or how about a communal bath upstairs? Imagine thirteen cats frolicking in the tub, telling sordid tales about their owners while they bat at the rubber duckies.

“Yeah, she thinks I’ll go for that canned tuna, but if I pout long enough, she’ll pull out the deli turkey…she’s so easy!”

“Mine always talks to me in that stupid mouse voice. I’m not a kitten. It’s really irritating. Why can’t she talk to me in plain English?”

“I always act like I have separation anxiety when she goes to the gym, but as soon as she’s gone, I leap onto the top of the grandfather clock. She’s clueless, and besides, the tick of the clock reminds me of my long-lost mother.”

“I’m tired of her trimming my nails. How am I supposed to bully my sister without my talons?”

Ah, I think I’d love to be a grandmother to our cats. I could make donations to the kitty college of their choice, so that when they’re old enough, they can study such subjects as Advanced Meow Mix, Kitty Litter Quantum Physics, and The Calculus of Cat’s Cradle.