Last spring we went to the local animal shelter and adopted a kitten.
He’s a pretty silver tabby who the kids named Ollie and he has turned out to be a joy. He’s laid back, playful, gentle and he seems to have his ‘purr switch’ permanently turned on.
My kids fight over who gets to be the first to hold Ollie when they get home from school, and everyone wants him to sleep with them.
He’s the perfect family pet.
This Saturday Ollie turns one. My youngest daughter wants to have a birthday party for him.
Right. Exactly what does one do for a cat’s birthday?
I suggested we buy him a can of his favorite food and then we just let him sleep all day in the sun.
That did not go over well with my youngest though. Why do I have the feeling that this poor cat is going to be wearing a paper hat, dressed in a doll tutu and eating out of miniature dishes this Saturday?
Poor thing. He’s only turning one and I already suspect his birthday is going to be torture. At least I got to about thirty-five before this started happening to me.
Hmmm. I wonder if he likes wine?