I used to have a cat. I loved him more than I loved my children. Of course, I had no children at the time, and lucky for them.
This fluff ball turned grew into one of those super silky, soft cats who flopped like a rag when you picked him up and who felt like he was weightless when he jumped onto your lap. His name was Rocky.
At Christmas time we’d send out cards with his pictures on it. In summer I’d put him on a leash and try to walk him. When he got his man-cat parts chopped we even threw him a Ball Voyage party.
My SIL found a little replica of Rocky that she gave us. We named him Bizarro Rocky.
Bizarro Rocky was present at the birth of our first son, naturally.
Sadly, the real Rocky died of a lung infection when he was just four years old. Around that time, a very mangy version of Rocky showed up in the neighborhood—he was ratty, his tail looked half-eaten, and he seemed to be missing an eye. We named him Pirate Rocky. It is comforting, somehow, to see Pirate Rocky roaming the neighborhood from time to time.
The other day the boys were downstairs playing and yelling at each other when the yelling got louder than usual and turned to all STOP! LEO! NO! NO LEO! LEEEOOOO! OH NO NOW YOU BROKE IT!
Then Rocco* came up the stairs carrying this:
(Technically he was just carrying the thing on my hand—not my actual hand.)
Apparently Leo had been swinging Bizarro around by his tail until Bizarro whacked a wall and lost an eye and became…
But as they say, one cat’s eye is another man’s treasure and I have taken to wearing the eye around myself in a version of me I call Bizarro Mommy.
Bizarro Mommy gets to do anything she wants, any way she wants. I’m sure you haven’t seen the last of her here.
*I should point out here that we did not, in fact, name our son after our cat. Rocco was named after his father, whose middle name is Rocco, and his name was chosen because Kevin’s dad really liked the Rocky movies.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
Chicken and dumplings
Salad with roasted pumpkin, pepitas, and goat cheese