Just Like Mommy

I have a confession.

I am an animal lover.

When I was young, if there was a stray anything within a one-mile radius of our house you could bet that I had found it, befriended it and brought it home. I would beg my parents to please let me keep it.

The reply was always the same.

"No."

This continued throughout my young adulthood. Then, about a year and a half ago, we bought and moved into our dream house.

The day we moved in the previous owner's had left us a sweet note telling us about the neighbors, the phone number for the nearest Pizza Hut, etc. Then, at the bottom was a P.S.

If you see any cats in the yard, they are not ours. The neighbors to the right like to feed stray cats.

"Oh," I thought. "That's sweet."

Later that night our dog needed out. As I flipped on the light to our back patio I was amazed and shocked at what I saw.

Our backyard was teaming with cats. Big, little, white, orange. I counted 13 cats, although I'm sure there were more. Come to find out, what I'm sure started as one or two strays, has now transformed into one big, happy, breeding family. There's a new crop of kittens every few months.

I have since lost my affinity for helping homeless, stray animals.

At least homeless, stray cats, that is.

Little man, however, is a different story.

The other night I was strapping the little man into the carseat to head out on an errand. A group of the neighbor cats were wondering about, as they usually do. It was cold, so when I opened the garage door the cats came in. I kept shooing them away, which made the process of buckling in the little man into his carseat at least twice as long as it should have been.

"What you doing?" Little man asked me.

"I'm shooing the kitties out of the garage," I said.

As I finally got little man into his seat, the garage void of cats and on our way, little man was very concerned.

"Mama," he said. "It's cowld outside. The kitties want in."

"I know, but they can't be in our garage," I said. "That's not a good place for them."

"But they're sad," he said. "They have sad eyes."

I paused.

"Why are the kitties sad?" I finally asked.

"Because it's cowld outside," he said. "The kitties say 'it's cowld out here. We want to come in.'"

{Insert knife into heart. Twist.}

"The kitties are OK," I assured him.

"But they're sad," little man said. "It's cowld outside. They want to come in."

I looked back at him. His face was long and his eyes were pleading with me to please let the cats inside of our house.

I know exactly who he got the look from, too.

It was karma. I was being paid back for all the times I begged my parents to please let me keep this. Let me keep that.

And although I did not turn the car around and let the hoard of kitties into our house, I did pause and reflect.

And smile.

That's my boy.