COULD I BE A GRANDMOTHER TO OUR CATS?

For a number of reasons, I missed the turnoff for bearing children; so, therefore, being a grandmother is now out of the question. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve wondered what my life might have been like if I had chosen to be a mother. I’m sure motherhood has many rewards, but I know it’s not an easy task.

For example, will your children love you just because they’ve escaped your birth canal? Not necessarily. Will they care for you and your bodily quirks as you wander into your 8th decade? It’s a crapshoot. Will they make you proud as they stumble through the challenging terrain of Alexa, Bird scooters and vaping? Hard to say…

How about just skipping the mother part, and simply become a grandmother? I guess it’s kinda hard without having kids, but I’ve got three cats. If they had kittens, could I be a “Grand-meow”? I think I’d like that job.

First, I’d take them to a pet store, and let them gaze in wonder at the birds, fish, and mice. What better way to learn about nature without having them hunt down those animals and leave them on your doorstep. Yes, being a grandmother to our cats would work for me.

I’m sure my grandcats would love going to an ice cream parlor. Let them pick out their favorite flavor of ice cream and then….oh, that’s right, cats aren’t supposed to have any milk products. What’s a little diarrhea compared to seeing your cat happily devour a scoop of vanilla?

Maybe we could even have kitty play-dates. You know, you invite your cat-a-holic friends over for some cheese and whine, while your cats hiss at one another, and make linguini out of your curtains. More athletic cats could leap from the refrigerator onto the table with the Laughing Cow cheese. You could place bets on which cat is first to complete the challenge. Yep, this cat grandmother is hip.

Or how about a communal bath upstairs? Imagine 13 cats frolicking in the tub telling sordid tales about their owners?

“Yeah, she thinks I’ll go for that lousy kibble, but if I pout long enough, she’ll pull out the tuna…she’s so easy!”

“Mine always talks to me in that stupid mouse voice. It’s really irritating. Why can’t she just talk to me in plain English?”

“I always act like I have separation anxiety when she goes to the gym, but as soon as she’s gone, I leap onto the top of the grandfather clock. She’s clueless, and besides, the tick of the clock reminds me of my long-lost mother.”

“I’m tired of her trimming my nails. How am I supposed to bully my sister without my talons?”

Ah, I think I’d love to be a grandmother to our cats. I could invest for the kitty college of their choice so that when they’re old enough, they could study subjects like Advanced Meow Mix, Kitty Litter Quantum Physics, and The Calculus of Cat’s Cradle.

That way, they could be gainfully employed once they graduate, and hopefully, care for me when I’m too old to change their litter box.

Yes, I’d like to be a grand-meow.