Boys are annoying. This isn’t the world’s best kept secret. We all know this.
(My apologies, male readership.)
Boys are especially annoying when they’re boys we have a crush on. And boys are even MORE annoying when we: 1.) Have a crush on them, 2.) We’re texting them—and 3.) They don’t. Text. Back.
WHY boys do this—WHY they insist on “being distracted”/”doing chores”/”helping old ladies cross the street” when they could be having a fantastic conversation with miraculous, God’s-gift-to-earth creatures like you and me, is beyond my comprehension. Why, boys? WHY.
We all know that women are goddesses. We possess this quality of grace and sophistication, loveliness and wonder. We smell like the color pink. We’re adorable. We have the cutest laugh. We are spunky and lovable.
My cat, Cova, is clearly female.
As we’ve grown accustomed to our shared living space, Cova has shown all the signs that she is a lady—unapologetically so, as all ladies do.
“So, Rebekah, what are you doing later?” Daniel asks me.
The clock on my phone reads 9:45pm. I squint at Daniel like he’s lost his mind. “What do you mean later?”
I blink three times, slowly. I planned on scurrying home and brewing a fresh mug of chamomile. I planned on stretching out the tendonitis in my wrists and wishing the cat sweet dreams. I planned on tidying my shoes and checking the status of my teeth. I planned on saying my prayers.
This was about the point I realized: I am a twenty-something grandma.
A few weeks ago, I was at a dinner party when the subject “cat vs. dog” arose. It came up in that imminent way sensitive subjects always seem to arise in mixed company, dangling before your eyes, teasing and dangerous, Russian-roulette-style, (much like politics, religion, and race). In which, you don’t know what comment you’ll make that will inevitably offend half the guests present.
It’s a tricky game to play.
However, without the need to put down Man’s Best Friend, here are some reasons why you need a cat in your life.
Because you probably just need a cat in your life. Period.
It started young, this special gift of mine. There are always those popular “Rebekah stories” that surface whilst entertaining guests over dinner, and the one about me wrecking my dad’s classic car is definitely at the top.