On Being a Puppy Monster Momma

I’m not sure what came over me.

Maybe it’s the realization that I’m in my 50’s and I’ve got babies on the brain. Or maybe more accurately, the lack of babies (#4, chill- this ain’t about you, it’s about me).

In May, I adopted a small bundle of 6 week old fur that is Bindi. She’s a kitten, and full of spit and vinegar. Cattitude a mile wide, but sweet with a loud motorboat purr. She’s full of energy, and has taken awhile to integrate with Scout and Sally – the two resident kitties.

I should have realized that the level of activity and supervision a kitten needs isn’t quite the same as a puppies, but nonetheless, in July I got Elsa the Puppy Monster.

I call her a puppy monster, but really she’s a very good girl. Just more work than I remembered Sam being. I guess with Sammy being 3 years old, I’d kinda forgotten the housebreaking, chew-breaking, cat-chasing that went on. With Bindi, I only had to wait a few months before I could stop worrying about my curtains and furniture being destroyed, but with the addition of Elsa, it’s more like a year or two before I feel fairly safe.

However, as with any baby, she’s cute. And that’s what saves her when I find her pulling my curtains off the rod.

Or, she’s eating a pillow.

Or, peeing on the floor.

Or, gleefully chasing a cat.