Following is an excerpt from this week’s column on AL.com. The link at the bottom takes you to the full column.
[By Kelly Kazek] Sweetums has an issue with cats, y’all, by which I mean where I see adorable wide-eyed pets who make our nest less empty, he sees Satan’s spawn. Whenever I baby talk the widdle kitties and murmur how much their momsy-womsy loves them, Sweetums likes to tell me: “You know if you died and no one found your body for a few days, they’d eat you, right? Even your face.”
He has gone so far as to laugh when he spotted me standing beneath our loft holding a pillow as Charley perched precariously on the one-inch-wide railing.
“You know they land on their feet, right?” he says.
That Sweetums is such a sentimentalist.
And then there are the cute little nicknames he has for my kitties: “white cat” and (whisper) the a-word. They’re terms of endearment, like when I call him Sweetums. Or Nummy Buns. Only different.
He’ll never convince me my little fur-sweetumses don’t love me … mainly because I think like a cat. And here’s how … click this link to read the full column on AL.com.