Motherhood is fun.

It was cotton-pickin' chilly out this morn! The cats smooshed up next to us in bed in a move that Matt and I like to think of as affection, but is probably closer to "It's cold in here, bitch!" (Sorry. Val curses a lot.)

Of course what chilly weather really signals is not the start of Fall; it's the start of SWEATSHIRT-SHOULDER TIME, at least according to Tinkerbell. Our littlest cat loves nothing more than to climb on my left shoulder (only the left) and pretend she's on a very sweatshirty tree. She lives for it, waits for it, prays for it, I think. As soon as you head toward the sweatshirts the squeaking begins. It starts out cute - a few hopeful chirps of "Remember me?". But if, say, you have to do something other than pick her up (like go to the bathroom) the squeaking becomes more insistant. One might call it demanding, even.

MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! MEW! (Just try to have a moment while that's going on outside the bathroom door. And don't think you can placate her by opening it a crack and speaking in comforting, "I'll be right out!" tones of voice. Like she's gonna fall for that!)

Say you decide not to pick her up after exiting the bathroom (perhaps you wish to make yourself some tea). Well then, my friends, prepare. You will be stalked. Stalked by a tiny calico nightmare. You will be cursed at in a small, squeaky voice for being so selfish as to keep that sweatshirt all to yourself. You will rue the day you ever decided to introduce Sweatshirt to Tinkerbell. You might even be tempted to gently kick the screaming fluffball in order to get her to shut up already! but then you risk the Look Of Disappointment from your husband and then you start questioning your maternal instincts and that's a spiral you don't really want to have this early in the morning so you pick the little cat up and pray she doesn't poop on you, which she occasionally does when she gets excited.