Cat Mom Quotes

I haven’t been avoiding you,” “You’re lying. The last time we were both at dinner, you got up in the middle of Mom’s fajita presentation and said you forgot to feed your cat.” Uh-oh. “So?” “You don’t have a cat.

I don't know who Azazel is," he said. "Isn't he the cat from The Smurfs?" He cast about , but Isabelle just looked up and rolled her eyes at him. "Clary?" he thought Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from The Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurf questions.

Why did you tell her I'm your boyfriend? Why doesn't she know about your real one? - Timmy He's English! And Mom...Mom hates foreigners! - Cat

Cat, you ruined mom's dress!" "Honey, it was ruined when she bought it.

Mom, please don't use 'the happy voice.' It reminds me of the day Tinkles died." "Who was Tinkles?" Sue asked around a mouthful of pancake. "My cat. When I was five, Tinkles died choking on a mouse that was a bit ambitious for a kitten to eat." "It was terribly traumatic for Aurelia because it was the first time she'd experienced loss."  "What did you do to help her get through it?"  Rosalind smiled at Mother Guardian. "Well, after a good cry, we performed an autopsy." Aurelia reached for her mother's hand. "I never thanked you for that.

I missed you every minute this week and I don't want to spend another day without you. If my mom disowns me for being with a vampire, then that's her decision, but I've made mine, and I won't apologize or back down from it.

Clary?" he thought. Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What's happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from the Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurfs question.

I've apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another. It's been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it. I've found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn't mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I've just added more things to my list. Like for example, I'm still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time. I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers. But some new things I've fallen in love with -- mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities. I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to get noticed by soccer players, and trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute of every day that one day maybe I'd get a chance to win a Grammy. Or something crazy and out of reach like that. ;) I love old buildings with the paint chipping off the walls and my dad's stories about college. I love the freedom of living alone, but I also love things that make me feel seven again. Back then naivety was the norm and skepticism was a foreign language, and I just think every once in a while you need fries and a chocolate milkshake and your mom. I love picking up a cookbook and closing my eyes and opening it to a random page, then attempting to make that recipe. I've loved my fans from the very first day, but they've said things and done things recently that make me feel like they're my friends -- more now than ever before. I'll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.

Hello? This is Clary Fairchild.” “Clary? It’s me, Emma.” “Oh, Emma, hi! I haven’t heard from you in ages. My mom says thanks for the wedding flowers, by the way. She wanted to send a note but Luke whisked her away on a honeymoon to Tahiti.” “Tahiti sounds nice.” “It probably is — Jace, what are you doing with that thing? There is no way it’ll fit.” “Is this a bad time?” “What? No! Jace is trying to drag a trebuchet into the training room. Alec, stop helping him.” “What’s a trebuchet?” “It’s a huge catapult.” “What are they going to use it for?” “I have no idea. Alec, you’re enabling! You’re an enabler!” “Maybe it is a bad time.” “I doubt there’ll be a better one. Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?” “I think we have your cat.” “What?” “Your cat. Big fuzzy Blue Persian? Always looks angry? Julian says it’s your cat. He says he saw it at the New York Institute. Well, saw him. It’s a boy cat.” “Church? You have Church? But I thought — well, we knew he was gone. We thought Brother Zachariah took him. Isabelle was annoyed, but they seemed to know each other. I’ve never seen Church actually likeanyone like that.” “I don’t know if he likes anyone here. He bit Julian twice. Oh, wait. Julian says he likes Ty. He’s asleep on Ty’s bed.” “How did you wind up with him?” “Someone rang our front doorbell. Diana, she’s our tutor, went down to see what it was. Church was in a cage on the front step with a note tied to it. It said For Emma. This is Church, a longtime friend of the Carstairs. Take care of this cat and he will take care of you. —J.” “Brother Zachariah left you a cat.” “But I don’t even really know him. And he’s not a Silent Brother any more.” “You may not know him, but he clearly knows you.” “What do you think the J stands for?” “His real name. Look, Emma, if he wants you to have Church, and you want Church, you should keep him.” “Are you sure? The Lightwoods —“ ‘They’re both standing here nodding. Well, Alec is partially trapped under a trebuchet, but he seems to be nodding.” “Jules says we’d like to keep him. We used to have a cat named Oscar, but he died, and, well, Church seems to be good for Ty’s nightmares.” “Oh, honey. I think, really, he’s Brother Zachariah’s cat. And if he wants you to have him, then you should.” “Why does Brother Zachariah want to protect me? It’s like he knows me, but I don’t know why he knows me.” “I don’t exactly know … But I know Tessa. She’s his — well, girlfriend seems not the right word for it. They’ve known each other a long, long time. I have a feeling they’re both watching over you.” “That’s good. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.” “Emma — oh my God. The trebuchet just crashed through the floor. I have to go. Call me later.” “But we can keep the cat?” “You can keep the cat.

A rolled-up newspaper landed on my head and then on Jim’s. “None of that in my house!” Oh my gods. The alpha of Clan Cat just got smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. “Mom!” She pointed at me with the newspaper. “Do not shame me.” I clamped my mouth shut. When she pulled out the shame card, it was all over.

Hey, Mom?” “Yes?” “Fuck off.

Five truly effective prescriptions to remedy a bad day. (You can't overdose.) —Pray; discuss your troubles with God. —List your blessings. (The blue sky, soft cookies, warm socks, etc.) —Call your mom. —Visit an animal shelter and hug a lonely cat. —Visit a nursing home and hug a lonely grandparent.

Oh my gods. The alpha of Clan Cat just got smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. "Mom!

As my mom used to say,"If wishes were horses, we'd be up to our eyeballs in shit.

....called to give you the good news. I asked our daughter to marry me and she accepted. Congratulations, I will officially your son-in-law. Now, do you want me to call you zmum straightaway, or wait until after the wedding?" I lew through the ir in a dive tht finally tackled him, wrenching the phone away. Bones was laughing so hard he had to breathe to get it all out. "Mom? Are you there? Mom.....?" "You might want to give her a moment, Kitten. I believe she fainted.

Beautiful. You can be taught. Makes my job so much easier when you’re actually intelligent. You’d be amazed at the idiots I’ve come across.” – Death “I try to keep my stupid to a bare minimum, since my mom’s always telling me it can be fatal in large doses.” – Nick “Oh, she’s right. Believe me, I know. For that matter, it can be fatal even in small measures. Remind me sometime to tell you about the woman I claimed who was vacuuming her cat.” – Death

Actually, Justina, I didn't just ring you to chat about what an undead murderer I was...right, degenerate whore as well. Did I ever tell you my mum was one? No? Oh, blimey, I come from a long line of whores, in fact..." I sucked in a breath as Bones divulged yet another tidbit about his past to my mother, who must be frothing at the mouth by now. "...called to give you the good news. I asked your daughter to marry me and she accepted. Congratulations, I will officially be your son-in-law. Now, do you want me to call you Mum straightaway, or wait until after the wedding?" I flew through the air in a dive that finally tackled him, wrenching the phone away. Bones was laughing so hard, he had to breathe to get it all out. "Mom? Are you there? Mom...?" "You might want to give her a moment, Kitten. I believe she fainted.

Sure, okay, I'll pick up some cat litter. Anything else?" "Watch your back, G." Then she hung up. Hero paused in her sobbing to look at me quizzically. "Why does your mom want cat litter? You guys don't even have a cat." "She uses it for..." I searched my brain madly, but all I could come up with was "teaching." "She uses cat litter to teach English?" I nodded. "She's kind of unconventional in her methods." Hero frowned. "But how does she use it?" The girl was relentless when she fixated on something. "Um, when their papers are really bad, she gives them a little bag of cat litter. It's her way of telling them their writing is crap." I laughed. "She's kooky.

Jesus, Steve hated cats. “They’re so precious.” Chenco crouched to love on the calico’s belly. “I always wanted one, but my mom said no, and of course Cooper would have killed it for fun.” Fuck, Steve was going to have to get a cat.

Tristan’s Mom: What are these? Tristan: Your granddaughters. Tristan’s Dad: Don’t worry honey, you don’t look old enough to be a mother let alone a grandmother. Tristan’s Mom: Again with the flattery, thank you dear. Where did they come from? Tristan: Camie gave birth last night. Jeff: I didn’t know she was pregnant. Tristan: She wasn’t. It was a miracle. Tristan’s Mom: Do they have names? Tristan: Phineas and Ferb. Jeff: From the cartoon? Tristan’s Dad: That figures, he named the dog Scooby. Tristan’s Mom: They sound like boy names. Tristan: Mom! Shhh, you’ll give them a complex. Jeff: If that Ferb one climbs my legs again I’m drop kicking it. Tristan: That’s child abuse and I’ll press charges. Besides, they just miss their mom. Jeff: I’m calling CPS (cat protective services)… Tristan: What for? Jeff: Because you’re making your kids live in a broken home unnecessarily. Tristan: I’m not talking to you anymore. Jeff: Fine, as long as you to talk to her. Tristan: Back off. Jeff: Nope, not gonna do it. Tristan: I’m warning you man. Jeff: You miss her too. Tristan: Yeah, so? Jeff: So do something about it. Tristan: Happy? Last night was miserable and I think it’s too late. Jeff: You still have a 12 year old ace in the hole. Tristan: Saving it as a last resort. Tristan’s Dad: Honey, do you have a clue as to what they’re talking about? Tristan’s Mom: No and I don’t want one. Jeff: I’m just helping my nieces get their parents back together. Dude, it’s time. Make the call. Tristan: Alright, I did it. But I get the feeling I’m about to do business with the mob. I hope I don’t wake up with the head of my horse in bed with me tonight. Jeff: Well, a good father will do anything he can to protect his family, even if that means he runs the risk of sleeping with the fishes. Tristan: Okay girls, your aunt helped Daddy come up with a plan and if it works you should get to see Mommy today. Cross your paws, or claws, or whatever…just cross something for luck.

I'd told Alex too about how much I loved my family, how protective I felt of them, but how even with them, I was sometimes a little lonely. Everyone else was someone else's top person. Mom and Dad. Parker and Prince. Even the huskies were paired up, while our terrier mix and the cat spent most days curled together in a sun patch. Before Alex, my family was the only place I belonged, but even with them, I was something of a loose part, that baffling extra bolt IKEA packs with your bookcase, just to make you sweat.

That sounded awful. “Big family?” “Two older sisters, Mom, Dad, Grandma before she died, three dogs, a cat, and a ghost.” Troy decided to ignore that last thing. “Jesus. That’s crowded.” God dammit. No, he couldn’t ignore that last thing. “Ghost?

When she sat on the couch I jumped up to be with her and I put my head in her lap. I could feel some of the tension and sadness leave her. I was giving Mom comfort. This was more important than going for walks, more important than helping feed the cats—it was the most important job I had. I knew I should sit with Mom for as long as she needed me.

Margo?" came Mom's voice from the kitchen. "Honey, is that you?" I rolled my eyes. "No, it's a burglar. I've come to steal all your silverware and jewelry. And your cat," I added, giving Ziggy another scratch.

Your mom doesn’t hate you, Addie. She hates herself. And she doesn’t resent you because you’re not living the life she wanted for herself, she resents you because you were living the life you wanted, and she wasn’t.

Your mom's a discrepancy.

I'll tell Mom I'm bringing someone and that we'll be late." "Yeah. It'll give your date time to find another partner." That lethal edge was back in his voice. Her stomach muscles tightened. "Zach?" "Might as well get this out in the open." He pulled the car into a small layby and turned to brace his hand against the top edge of her seat. "I'm not real good at sharing.

You need to neuter him. Otherwise he’ll spray all over the house. The stench is awful. And when he isn’t out catting around, little female cats in heat will show up and wail under the windows.” Kill me, please. “He is a nice cat. He’s not like that.” “It’s instinct, Dali. Before you know it, you’ll be running a feline whorehouse.

A grown cat has thirty teeth,

(Is that what they call the part after the funeral where everyone eats finger sandwiches and tells you how they can relate to your loss because they lost a cat a few years back?)

My mom used to say that a man who hates cats is insecure, but a man who likes them is one worth keeping. If he can appreciate a cat, he can appreciate a strong, independent woman.” -Serena

My mom called this “fur therapy” growing up. She’d come home from a long day of work, and before saying hi to Dad or me, she’d head straight to a cat and snuggle them until they started to squirm.

when he left, my dad said two things. First: "Sometimes I envy your mom not being able to hear" and Second: If Uncle Bill is allergic to cats maybe he won't be able to visit us anymore." Ha ha ha.

On our way back from the candy store, Brian and I liked to spy on the Green Lantern—a big dark green house with a sagging porch right near the highway. Mom said it was a cathouse, but I never saw any cats there, only women wearing bathing suits or short dresses who sat or lay out on the porch, waving at the cars that drove by. There were Christmas lights over the door all year round, and Mom said that was how you could tell it was a cathouse.

Why all this sudden interest in your father?” Mom asked. “Just curious.” “Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Mom said. “It killed the cat.” “Nope,” Mom said. “It’s the sign of a powerful brain.” I smiled. “Who says that?” “Science.

Okay, Mom. I promise. Then… Then in the future, if…if I make something of myself, I’ll build lots of houses for people without homes, and plant lots of food for people who don’t have enough to eat. That way, no one will ever have to live like us again.

Not a one of us can be everything somebody else wants us to be. Trouble comes when we try to pretend we can. Or when people see it like a betrayal. You know. That somebody won’t meet all their needs. My mom used to say it’s because we weren’t put here on earth to take care of each other. And that it’s silly to get mad at someone for letting you down when they’re just being who they are. She said it’s like getting mad at your dog for not being a cat.

Here's how it went down: Me standing by Sadie and her mom’s bestie, Taylor Rae Mayfield, the actress. Super cool. Talented. And always at Friday nights, so like family too. They were discussing how ridiculous it is that we feed cats grain-based food when they're pure carnivores, as if you'd ever feed a cheetah sliced bread.

(I love that expression. “Swing a dead cat.” Where the hell did it come from? Was swinging dead cats a thing at some point?)

Cats are felines

Cats can run fast,

Feral cats have markings that will allow them to hide among the plants and grasses.

Mom wouldn't approve of taffy for breakfast, magic word or no magic word, but Gramma Dee is different that way. A lot of grammas are.

And if you do anything to hurt my mom’s cat, I’ll take you apart cell by cell. I’ll mutilate your DNA so it can never reproduce, which would probably be a good thing for the world.

Better wash up,” mom says. “We’ll be eating in a few minutes.” I glance toward her mixing bowl, in which she’s blending something resembling Cat Chow. Dad grimaces at the sight of it. “What do you say, Camelia?” he says. “Maybe after dinner and I can head over to Flick-tastic to rent a couple videos?” Translation: Let’s save ourselves from this swill by hitting the drive-through of Taco Bell.

My mom is all about being prim, proper, and classy. Enter beauty pageants, marry a rich man, and live lavishly. I think she just wanted me to have the life she couldn’t have, and when I did the opposite, she resented me for it.” “At least you'll end up marrying a rich man.” “Now I can never marry you. It's my life's purpose to disappoint her in every decision I make.” “Don't underestimate me, Addie. I'll become a poor man for you.

Advice. Who’s the coolest, toughest, hottest rocker girl you can think of?” “Debbie Harry,” Mom said. “Tha—” “Not finished,” Mom interrupted. “You can’t ask me to pick only one. That’s so Sophie’s Choice. Kathleen Hanna. Patti Smith. Joan Jett. Courtney Love, in her demented destructionist way. Lucinda Williams, even though she’s country she’s tough as nails. Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth, pushing fifty and still at it. That Cat Power woman. Joan Armatrading.

St. Clair tucks the tips of his fingers into his pockets and kicks the cobblestones with the toe of his boots. "Well?" he finally asks. "Thank you." I'm stunned. "It was really sweet of you to bring me here." "Ah,well." He straightens up and shrugs-that full-bodied French shrug he does so well-and reassumes his usual, assured state of being. "Have to start somewhere. Now make a wish." "Huh?" I have such a way with words. I should write epic poetry or jingles for cat food commercials. He smiles. "Place your feet on the star, and make a wish." "Oh.Okay,sure." I slide my feet together so I'm standing in the center. "I wish-" "Don't say it aloud!" St. Clair rushes forward, as if to stop my words with his body,and my stomach flips violently. "Don't you know anything about making wishes? You only get a limited number in life. Falling stars, eyelashes,dandelions-" "Birthday candles." He ignores the dig. "Exactly. So you ought to take advantage of them when they arise,and superstition says if you make a wish on that star, it'll come true." He pauses before continuing. "Which is better than the other one I've heard." "That I'll die a painful death of poisoning, shooting,beating, and drowning?" "Hypothermia,not drowning." St. Clair laughs. He has a wonderful, boyish laugh. "But no. I've heard anyone who stands here is destined to return to Paris someday. And as I understand it,one year for you is one year to many. Am I right?" I close my eyes. Mom and Seany appear before me. Bridge.Toph.I nod. "All right,then.So keep your eyes closed.And make a wish." I take a deep breath. The cool dampness of the nearby trees fills my lungs. What do I want? It's a difficult quesiton. I want to go home,but I have to admit I've enjoyed tonight. And what if this is the only time in my entire life I visit Paris? I know I just told St. Clair that I don't want to be here, but there's a part of me-a teeny, tiny part-that's curious. If my father called tomorrow and ordered me home,I might be disappointed. I still haven't seen the Mona Lisa. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.Walked beneath the Arc de Triomphe. So what else do I want? I want to feel Toph's lips again.I want him to wait.But there's another part of me,a part I really,really hate,that knows even if we do make it,I'd still move away for college next year.So I'd see him this Christmas and next summer,and then...would that be it? And then there's the other thing. The thing I'm trying to ignore. The thing I shouldn't want,the thing I can't have. And he's standing in front of me right now. So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have? Screw it.Let the fates decide. I wish for the thing that is best for me. How's that for a generalization? I open my eyes,and the wind is blowing harder. St. Clair pushes a strand of hair from his eyes. "Must have been a good one," he says.

There is a story for children, There’s No Such Thing as a Dragon, by Jack Kent, that I really like. It’s a very simple tale, at least on the surface. I once read its few pages to a group of retired University of Toronto alumni, and explained its symbolic meaning.*2 It’s about a small boy, Billy Bixbee, who spies a dragon sitting on his bed one morning. It’s about the size of a house cat, and friendly. He tells his mother about it, but she tells him that there’s no such thing as a dragon. So, it starts to grow. It eats all of Billy’s pancakes. Soon it fills the whole house. Mom tries to vacuum, but she has to go in and out of the house through the windows because of the dragon everywhere. It takes her forever. Then, the dragon runs off with the house. Billy’s dad comes home—and there’s just an empty space, where he used to live. The mailman tells him where the house went. He chases after it, climbs up the dragon’s head and neck (now sprawling out into the street) and rejoins his wife and son. Mom still insists that the dragon does not exist, but Billy, who’s pretty much had it by now, insists, “There is a dragon, Mom.” Instantly, it starts to shrink. Soon, it’s cat-sized again. Everyone agrees that dragons of that size (1) exist and (2) are much preferable to their gigantic counterparts. Mom, eyes reluctantly opened by this point, asks somewhat plaintively why it had to get so big. Billy quietly suggests: “maybe it wanted to be noticed.

Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

As I write this, I live in a household with a husband, three sons, a male dog, and a male cat. I am the only female thing around...But to be surrounded by so many penises was never the plan. It just kept happening, and I felt powerless to do anything about it.

Okay, little demon, what’s your deal?” A loud meow answers him, and he sighs begrudgingly. “Oh, hell no. Also, Mom said milk isn’t good for cats.” He tries to push her away and she falls, but then she climbs back up on his T-shirt. “I guess a bit won’t hurt.” He pours a small amount of hot chocolate into his palm and lifts it toward her. She laps it up eagerly, her tiny pink tongue darting out. For a moment, Gareth looks…soft. His shoulders relax, and he carefully strokes her head, as if testing the waters. “You won’t scratch me, right?” I smile and disappear into the bedroom, answer some texts, especially from my nephew—while I ignore my brother’s—and then I change into PJ bottoms. When I finally join him again, Gareth is lying on his back on the sofa with the kitten curled up on his chest, purring loudly.

Mom, did he mean he would have to kill my cat?” He was clutching the small animal so tightly I thought he himself might put an end to its miserable life. “Yes, if no one wanted it, they’d do away with it.” “But Mom, isn’t that place called a place for the protection of animals?

In my parents’ house, nothing was ever thrown away. Clothes piled up, formed drifts that grew into mountains Philip, Baron, and I would climb and leap from. The heaps of garments filled the hallway and chased my parents out of their own bedroom, so that they eventually slept in the room that was once Dad’s office. Empty bags and boxes filled gaps in the clutter, boxes that once held rings and sneakers and clothes. A trumpet that my mother wanted to make into a lamp rested atop a stack of tattered magazines filled with articles Dad planned to read, near the heads and feet and arms of dolls Mom promised she would stitch together for a kid from Carney, all beside an endless heap of replacement buttons, some still in their individual glassine bags. A coffeemaker rested on a tower of plates, propped up on one end to keep coffee from flooding the counters.

As if in slow motion, her eyes slide to Kraven, widening when their gazes clash. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps. Goddammit. I knew there was something off about him. Brows hiked, I turn to Mom’s caretaker, finding him just as surprised as Sibby. “I could ask you the same thing, Sibel.

I briefly considered getting a cat, but then decided against it because I didn’t want to be one of those people. You know what I mean. My grandmother, Gigi (Mom’s mom), was one of them. She’d make tuna fish and then sit in her old chair, which smelled like Bengay and broken dreams, and chew it, then open her mouth and let her cat eat it right then and there. She said it was because Mrs. Tingles was too old to chew her own food and she wanted to give her a treat. I told her I was the only person in the world who had a grandmother who made out with her cat and smelled like fish while doing so. My grandmother wondered aloud if that made her a lesbian.

A few lessons learned as a teacher: I've learned that if you whisper, children will listen...a scribble can be anything (I mean anything!) a monster, a cat, a mom, a dad--our job is to ask to find out and pay attention--usually the most challenging student needs the most challenges to keep them learning and engaged---most of all we must care and the rest handles itself. xo

and drew her strength directly from our magickal Oklahoma earth. “U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, it seems I need help at the lavender booth. I simply cannot believe how busy we are.” Grandma had barely spoken when a nun hurried up. “Zoey, Sister Mary Angela could use your help filling out cat adoption forms.” “I’ll help you, Grandma Redbird,” Shaylin said. “I love the smell of lavender.” “Oh, honey, that would be so sweet of you. First, could you run to my car and get into the trunk. There is another box of lavender soaps and sachets tucked back there. Looks like I’m going to sell out completely,” Grandma said happily. “Sure thing.” Shaylin caught the keys Grandma tossed to her and hurried toward the main exit of the school grounds which led to the parking lot, as well as the tree-lined road that joined Utica Street. “And I’ll call my momma. She said just let her know if we get too busy over here. She and the PTA moms will be back here in a sec,” said Stevie Rae. “Grandma, do you mind if I give Street Cats a hand? I’ve been dying to check out their new litter of kittens.” “Go on, u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya. I think Sister Mary Angela has been missing your company.” “Thanks, Grandma.” I smiled at her. Then I turned to Stevie Rae. “Okay, if your mom’s group is coming back, I’m gonna go help the nuns.” “Yeah, no problem.” Stevie Rae, shielding her eyes and peering through the crowd, added, “I see her now, and she’s got Mrs. Rowland and Mrs. Wilson with her.” “Don’t worry. We can handle this,” Shaunee said. “’Kay,” I said, grinning at both of them. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I left the cookie booth and noticed Aphrodite, clutching her big purple Queenies cup, was right on my heels. “I thought you didn’t want a lecture from the nuns.” “Better than a lecture from PTA moms.” She shuddered. “Plus, I like cats more than people.” I shrugged. “Okay, whatever.” We’d only gotten partway to the Street Cats tent when Aphrodite slowed way down. “Seriously. Effing. Pathetic.” She was muttering around her straw, narrowing her eyes, and glaring. I followed her gaze and joined her frown. “Yeah, no matter how many times I see them together, I still don’t get it.” Aphrodite and I had stopped to watch Shaunee’s ex-Twin BFF, Erin, hang all over Dallas. “I really thought she was better than that.” “Apparently not,” Aphrodite said. “Eeew,” I said, looking away from their way too public display of locked lips. “I’m telling you, there’s not enough booze in Tulsa to make watching those two suck face okay.” She made a gagging sound, which changed to a snort and a laugh. “Check out the wimple, twelve o’clock.” Sure enough, there was a nun I vaguely recognized as Sister Emily (one of the more uptight of the nuns) descending on the too-busy-with-their-tongues-to-notice couple. “She looks serious,” I said. “You know, a nun may very well be the direct opposite of an aphrodisiac. This should be entertaining. Let’s watch.” “Zoey! Over here!” I looked from the train wreck about to happen to see Sister Mary Angela waving me over to her.

When You Comin’ Home, Dad?” To experience the male tragedy in its present form, listen to Harry Chapin’s song “Cat’s in the Cradle.” The son asks, “When you comin’ home, Dad?” The dad responds, “I don’t know when.” Yet the father’s yearning for his son is so deep that the moment the dad was no longer preoccupied with providing for his son, he reached out for his son’s companionship. Unfortunately, the pressure on the dad is relieved only when the son has a job of his own. So the son responds, “My new job’s a hassle and the kids have the flu.” Historically, the obligations of dads deprive dads of love while the obligations of moms provide moms with love. Deprived of genuine love, dads are deprived of genuine power. Ironically, the son had ached for connection with his dad so intensely that he vowed, “Some day I’m gonna be like him. …

She had memories of a quiet pool in the woods, where she'd retreat with her books, hiding from chores that needed to be done around the house. She remembered the sound of her parents after sunset, calling her to come home. The fireflies would flicker around her as it became too dark to read, but still she'd stay, to watch the fireflies over the water and listen to the birds and the squirrels settle in for the night and the night hunters, the owls and and the cats, begin to wake. Once, she'd even glimpsed a unicorn sipping from the pond, but it could have been only a white deer and a trick of the twilight. Another afternoon, her father had come with her, avoiding his chores too. They'd read books side by side, and her mother hadn't said a word when they'd returned. A week later, her mother had been the one to join her by the pond, arriving with lunch in a basket and presenting Kiela with a new unread book, a rare treasure on the island.

PROLOGUE   Zoey “Wow, Z, this is a seriously awesome turnout. There are more humans here than fleas on an old dog!” Stevie Rae shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked around at the newly lit-up campus. Dallas was a total jerk, but we all admitted that the twinkling lights he’d wrapped around the trunks and limbs of the old oaks gave the entire campus a magickal, fairy-like glow. “That is one of your more disgusting bumpkin analogies,” Aphrodite said. “Though it’s accurate. Especially since there are a bunch of city politicians here. Total parasites.” “Try to be nice,” I said. “Or at least try to be quiet.” “Does that mean your daddy, the mayor, is here?” Stevie Rae’s already gawking eyes got even wider. “I suppose it does. I caught a glimpse of Cruella De Vil, a.k.a. She Who Bore Me, not long ago.” Aphrodite paused and her brows went up. “We should probably keep an eye on the Street Cats kittens. I saw some cute little black and white ones with especially fluffy fur.” Stevie Rae sucked air. “Ohmygoodness, your mamma wouldn’t really make a kitten fur coat, would she?” “Faster than you can say Bubba’s drinkin’ and drivin’ again,” Aphrodite mimicked Stevie Rae’s Okie twang. “Stevie Rae—she’s kidding. Tell her the truth,” I nudged Aphrodite. “Fine. She doesn’t skin kittens. Or puppies. Just baby seals and democrats.” Stevie Rae’s brow furrowed. “See, everything is fine. Plus, Damien’s at the Street Cats booth, and you know he’d never let one little kitten whisker be hurt—let alone a whole coat,” I assured my BFF, refusing to let Aphrodite mess up our good mood. “Actually, everything is more than fine. Check out what we managed to pull off in a little over a week.” I sighed in relief at the success of our event and let my gaze wander around the packed school grounds. Stevie Rae, Shaylin, Shaunee, Aphrodite, and I were manning the bake sale booth (while Stevie Rae’s mom and a bunch of her PTA friends moved through the crowd with samples of the chocolate chip cookies we were selling, like, zillions of). From our position near Nyx’s statue, we had a great view of the whole campus. I could see a long line at Grandma’s lavender booth. That made me smile. Not far from Grandma, Thanatos had set up a job application area, and there were a bunch of humans filling out paperwork there. In the center of the grounds there were two huge silver and white tents draped with more of Dallas’s twinkling lights. In one tent Stark and Darius and the Sons of Erebus Warriors were demonstrating weaponry. I watched as Stark was showing a young boy how to hold a bow. Stark’s gaze lifted from the kid and met mine. We shared a quick, intimate smile

Sheepwalking I define “sheepwalking” as the outcome of hiring people who have been raised to be obedient and giving them a brain-dead job and enough fear to keep them in line. You’ve probably encountered someone who is sheepwalking. The TSA “screener” who forces a mom to drink from a bottle of breast milk because any other action is not in the manual. A “customer service” rep who will happily reread a company policy six or seven times but never stop to actually consider what the policy means. A marketing executive who buys millions of dollars’ worth of TV time even though she knows it’s not working—she does it because her boss told her to. It’s ironic but not surprising that in our age of increased reliance on new ideas, rapid change, and innovation, sheepwalking is actually on the rise. That’s because we can no longer rely on machines to do the brain-dead stuff. We’ve mechanized what we could mechanize. What’s left is to cost-reduce the manual labor that must be done by a human. So we write manuals and race to the bottom in our search for the cheapest possible labor. And it’s not surprising that when we go to hire that labor, we search for people who have already been trained to be sheepish. Training a student to be sheepish is a lot easier than the alternative. Teaching to the test, ensuring compliant behavior, and using fear as a motivator are the easiest and fastest ways to get a kid through school. So why does it surprise us that we graduate so many sheep? And graduate school? Since the stakes are higher (opportunity cost, tuition, and the job market), students fall back on what they’ve been taught. To be sheep. Well-educated, of course, but compliant nonetheless. And many organizations go out of their way to hire people that color inside the lines, that demonstrate consistency and compliance. And then they give these people jobs where they are managed via fear. Which leads to sheepwalking. (“I might get fired!”) The fault doesn’t lie with the employee, at least not at first. And of course, the pain is often shouldered by both the employee and the customer. Is it less efficient to pursue the alternative? What happens when you build an organization like W. L. Gore and Associates (makers of Gore-Tex) or the Acumen Fund? At first, it seems crazy. There’s too much overhead, there are too many cats to herd, there is too little predictability, and there is way too much noise. Then, over and over, we see something happen. When you hire amazing people and give them freedom, they do amazing stuff. And the sheepwalkers and their bosses just watch and shake their heads, certain that this is just an exception, and that it is way too risky for their industry or their customer base. I was at a Google conference last month, and I spent some time in a room filled with (pretty newly minted) Google sales reps. I talked to a few of them for a while about the state of the industry. And it broke my heart to discover that they were sheepwalking. Just like the receptionist at a company I visited a week later. She acknowledged that the front office is very slow, and that she just sits there, reading romance novels and waiting. And she’s been doing it for two years. Just like the MBA student I met yesterday who is taking a job at a major packaged-goods company…because they offered her a great salary and promised her a well-known brand. She’s going to stay “for just ten years, then have a baby and leave and start my own gig.…” She’ll get really good at running coupons in the Sunday paper, but not particularly good at solving new problems. What a waste. Step one is to give the problem a name. Done. Step two is for anyone who sees themselves in this mirror to realize that you can always stop. You can always claim the career you deserve merely by refusing to walk down the same path as everyone else just because everyone else is already doing it.

It's funny, but when I was little, before I'd go to sleep my mom would do this routine with me where she'd tell me to think of pretty things. I would close my eyes and she would run her fingers over my cheeks and across my brow. And we'd go through this list. I think it was a way of preventing nightmares — and it would always be, you know, pussycats and puppy dogs and balloons at the zoo. Sometimes she'd mention yellow submarines, stars in the sky, blackbirds flying overhead, trees in Central Park, and even — believe it or not — that on Saturday I would get to see Daddy. Nothing that extraordinary, but when you're four years old, it's cats and dogs that make life worth living. And I kind of think it's maybe not so different now.

When everyone is seated, Galen uses a pot holder to remove the lid from the huge speckled pan in the center of the table. And I almost upchuck. Fish. Crabs. And...is that squid hair? Before I can think of a polite version of the truth-I'd rather eat my own pinky finger than seafood-Galen plops the biggest piece of fish on my plate, then scoops a mixture of crabmeat and scallops on top of it. As the steam wafts its way to my nose, my chances of staying polite dwindle. The only think I can think of is to make it look like I'm hiccupping instead of gagging. What did I smell earlier that almost had me salivating? It couldn't have been this. I fork the fillet and twist, but it feels like twisting my own gut. Mush it, dice it, mix it all up. No matter what I do, how it looks, I can't bring it near my mouth. A promise is a promise, dream or no dream. Even if real fish didn't save me in Granny's pond, the fake ones my imagination conjured up sure comforted me until help arrived. And now I'm expected to eat their cousins? No can do. I set the fork down and sip some water. I sense Galen is watching. Out of my peripheral, I see the others shoveling the chum into their faces. But not Galen. He sits still, head tilted, waiting for me to take a bite first. Of all the times to be a gentleman! What happened to the guy who sprawled me over his lap like a three-year-old just a few minutes ago? Still, I can't do it. And they don't even have a dog for me to feed under the table, which used to be my go-to plan at Chloe's grandmother's house. One time Chloe even started a food fight to get me out of it. I glance around the table, but Rayna's the only person I'd aim this slop at. Plus, I'd risk getting the stuff on me, which is almost as bad as in me. Galen nudges me with his elbow. "Aren't you hungry? You're not feeling bad again, are you?" This gets the others' attention. The commotion of eating stops. Everyone stares. Rayna, irritated that her gluttony has been interrupted. Toraf smirking like I've done something funny. Galen's mom wearing the same concerned look he is. Can I lie? Should I lie? What if I'm invited over again, and they fix seafood because I lied about it just this once? Telling Galen my head hurts doesn't get me out of future seafood buffets. And telling him I'm not hungry would be pointless since my stomach keeps gurgling like an emptying drain. No, I can't lie. Not if I ever want to come back here. Which I do. I sigh and set the fork down. "I hate seafood," I tell him. Toraf's sudden cough startles me. The sound of him choking reminds me of a cat struggling with a hair ball. I train my eyes on Galen, who has stiffened to a near statue. Jeez, is this all his mom knows how to make? Or have I just shunned the Forza family's prize-winning recipe for grouper? "You...you mean you don't like this kind of fish, Emma?" Galen says diplomatically. I desperately want to nod, to say, "Yes, that's it, not this kind of fish"-but that doesn't get me out of eating the crabmeat-and-scallop mountain on my plate. I shake my head. "No. Not just this kind of fish. I hate it all. I can't eat any of it. Can hardly stand to smell it." Way to go for the jugular there, stupid! Couldn't I just say I don't care for it? Did I have to say I hate it? Hate even the smell of it? And why am I blushing? It's not a crime to gag on seafood. And for God's sakes, I won't eat anything that still has its eyeballs.

drink it had been put on hold. Reverend Joe, it turned out, had to leave the office earlier than usual. Mrs. Staples, who was supposed to clean the Church, had gotten an emergency call from her pet sitter. One of her cats was stuck in a wall again. The Church would be empty. “How did you hear him?” Matt asked, keeping an eye on the Church office. The Reverend’s car idled in its parking spot. Their religious leader would leave at any moment. “It was last night,” Carlton said. “I was helping my mom clean up after youth group. She was pretty upset about something and was talking to Dan’s mom. When I passed by the Rev’s office, I heard him on the phone.” “What did he say exactly?” Matt asked, looking away from the Church, for a moment, and at his friend. Carlton brushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of his eyes and said, “The Rev said, ‘I’ve got a headless ghost running around the Church.

Come on,” I hooked my arm through Aphrodite’s and started to pull her to the Street Cats tent. “You haven’t been good enough to watch.” Before Aphrodite could argue, we were at the Street Cats booth, facing a beaming Sister Mary Angela. “Oh, good, Zoey and Aphrodite. I need the both of you.” The nun made a gracious gesture to the young family standing beside one of the kitten cages. “This is the Cronley family. They have decided to adopt both of the calico kittens. It’s so lovely that the two of them have found their forever homes together—they are unusually close, even for littermates.” “That’s great,” I said. “I’ll start on their paperwork.” “I’ll help you. Two cats—two sets of paperwork,” Aphrodite said. “We came with a note from our veterinarian,” the mom said. “I just knew we’d find our kitten tonight.” “Even though we didn’t expect to find two of them,” her husband added. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder and smiled down at her with obvious affection. “Well, we didn’t expect the twins, either,” his wife said, glancing over at the two girls who were still looking in the kitten cage and giggling at the fluffy calicos that would be joining their family. “That surprise turned out great, which is why I think the two kittens will be perfect as well,” said the dad. Like seeing Lenobia and Travis together—this family made my heart feel good. I had started to move to the makeshift desk with Aphrodite when one of the little girls asked, “Hey mommy, what are those black things?” Something in the child’s voice had me pausing, changing direction, and heading to the kitten cage. When I got there I instantly knew why. Within the cage the two calico kittens were hissing and batting at several large, black spiders. “Oh, yuck!” the mom said. “Looks like your school might have a spider problem.” “I know a good exterminator if you need a recommendation,” the dad said. “We’re gonna need a shit ton more than a good exterminator,” Aphrodite whispered as we stared into the kitten cage. “Yeah, uh, well, we don’t usually have bug issues here,” I babbled as disgust shivered up my back. “Eesh, Daddy! There are lots more of them.” The little blond girl was pointing at the back of the cage. It was so completely covered with spiders that it seemed to be alive with their seething movements. “Oh, my goodness!” Sister Mary Angela looked pale as she stared at the spiders that appeared to be multiplying. “Those things weren’t there moments ago.” “Sister, why don’t you take this nice family into the tent and get their paperwork started,” I said quickly, meeting the nun’s sharp gaze with my own steady one. “And send Damien out here to me. I can use his help to take care of this silly spider problem.” “Yes, yes, of course.” The nun didn’t hesitate. “Get Shaunee, Shaylin, and Stevie Rae,” I told Aphrodite, keeping my voice low. “You’re going to cast a circle in front of all of these

So what did you and Landon do this afternoon?” Minka asked, her soft voice dragging him back to the present. Angelo looked up to see that Minka had already polished off two fajitas. Damn, the girl could eat. “Landon gave me a tour of the DCO complex. I did some target shooting and blew up a few things. He even let me play with the expensive surveillance toys. I swear, it felt more like a recruiting pitch to get me to work there than anything.” Minka’s eyes flashed green, her full lips curving slightly. Damn, why the hell had he said it like that? Now she probably thought he was going to come work for the DCO. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t, not after just reenlisting for another five years. The army wasn’t the kind of job where you could walk into the boss’s office and say, “I quit.” Thinking it would be a good idea to steer the conversation back to safer ground, he reached for another fajita and asked Minka a question instead. “What do you think you’ll work on next with Ivy and Tanner? You going to practice with the claws for a while or move on to something else?” Angelo felt a little crappy about changing the subject, but if Minka noticed, she didn’t seem to mind. And it wasn’t like he had to fake interest in what she was saying. Anything that involved Minka was important to him. Besides, he didn’t know much about shifters or hybrids, so the whole thing was pretty damn fascinating. “What do you visualize when you see the beast in your mind?” he asked. “Before today, I thought of it as a giant, blurry monster. But after learning that the beast is a cat, that’s how I picture it now.” She smiled. “Not a little house cat, of course. They aren’t scary enough. More like a big cat that roams the mountains.” “Makes sense,” he said. Minka set the other half of her fourth fajita on her plate and gave him a curious look. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?” His mouth twitched as he prepared another fajita. He wasn’t used to Minka being so reserved. She usually said whatever was on her mind, regardless of whether it was personal or not. “Go ahead,” he said. “The first time we met, I had claws, fangs, glowing red eyes, and I tried to kill you. Since then, I’ve spent most of the time telling you about an imaginary creature that lives inside my head and makes me act like a monster. How are you so calm about that? Most people would have run away already.” Angelo chuckled. Not exactly the personal question he’d expected, but then again Minka rarely did the expected. “Well, my mom was full-blooded Cherokee, and I grew up around all kinds of Indian folktales and legends. My dad was in the army, and whenever he was deployed, Mom would take my sisters and me back to the reservation where she grew up in Oklahoma. I’d stay up half the night listening to the old men tell stories about shape-shifters, animal spirits, skin-walkers, and trickster spirits.” He grinned. “I’m not saying I necessarily believed in all that stuff back then, but after meeting Ivy, Tanner, and the other shifters at the DCO, it just didn’t faze me that much.” Minka looked at him with wide eyes. “You’re a real American Indian? Like in the movies? With horses and everything?” He laughed again. The expression of wonder on her face was adorable. “First, I’m only half-Indian. My dad is Mexican, so there’s that. And second, Native Americans are almost nothing like you see in the movies. We don’t all live in tepees and ride horses. In fact, I don’t even own a horse.” Minka was a little disappointed about the no-horse thing, but she was fascinated with what it was like growing up on an Indian reservation and being surrounded by all those legends. She immediately asked him to tell her some Indian stories. It had been a long time since he’d thought about them, but to make her happy, he dug through his head and tried to remember every tale he’d heard as a kid.

In her eyes, he could see the fear, but also the love. The need. Time to show her, that to him, she meant everything. “Before you shower me with kisses for saving you –” “I think it could be argued that I played a part.” “Not when I retell the story you won’t. But we can argue about that later, naked. As I was saying, I have something for you.” Remy pulled the sheet of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it. Initially he’d worried about it being too short. But as Lucifer assured him when he made the contract and binding, the less clauses he put in, the more his promise would stick out. Handing it to her, he waited. Fidgeted when she didn’t say a word. Almost tore it from her grasp. Then stumbled back as she threw herself at him. I, Remy, the most awesome demon in Hell, do declare to love the witch Ysabel, fiery temper and all, for an eternity. I will never stray. Never betray her trust. Never do anything to cause her pain upon penalty of permanent death. This I do swear in blood, Remy A simple contract, which in its very lack of clauses and sub items, awed her. “You love me that much?” He peered at her with incredulity on his face. “Of course I love you that much. Would I have done all the things I did if I didn’t?” “Well, you are related to a mad woman.” “Yes, and maybe it’s madness for me to love you, but I do. Do you think just any woman would inspire me enough to take on a bloody painful curse. Or put up with the fact you have a giant, demon eating cat. I know you have trust issues, and that I might not have led the kind of life that inspires confidence, but I will show you that you can believe in me. I want you to love me.” “I know you do. And I do love you. Only for you would I come to the rescue wearing nothing to cover my bottom.” His eyebrows shot up. “You came to battle in a skirt without any underwear?” A slow nod was her answer. He grinned, then scowled. “You will not do that again. Do you know how many demons live in the sewer and could have looked up your skirt? I won’t have them looking at what’s mine. On second thought. Throw out all your underwear. I’ll lead the purge on the sewers myself so you can stroll around with your girl parts unencumbered for my enjoyment.” “You’re insane,” she laughed. “Crazy in love with you,” he agreed. “But I do warn you, we’ll have to have dinner with my crazy mother at least once a month.” “Or more often. I quite like your mom. She’s got a refreshing way of viewing the world.” “Oh fuck. Don’t tell me she’s already rubbing off,” he groaned, as he pulled her into his arms. She snuggled against him. This was where she belonged. But she did have a question. “As my new… what should I call you anyway? Boyfriend? Demon I sleep with?” “The following terms are acceptable to me. Yours. Mate. Husband. Divine taster of your –” She slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’ll stick to mate.” “And I’m going with my super, sexy, touch her and die, fabulous cougar, ass kicking witch.” “I dare you shout that five times in a row without stumbling.” He did to her eye popping disbelief. “I told you, I have a very agile tongue.” “I remember.

You remember that documentary they showed us in sixth grade? The one about Hurricane Katrina?” “Yeah.” I shrug, remembering how we’d all piled into the media center to watch it on the big, pull-down screen. I don’t recall much about the movie itself, but I’m pretty sure Brad Pitt had narrated it. “What about it?” "I had nightmares for weeks. I have no idea why it affected me the way it did.” “Seriously?” He nods. “Ever since, well…let’s just say I don’t do well in storms. Especially hurricanes.” I just stare at him in stunned silence. “You’re going to have fun with this, aren’t you?” “No, I…of course not. Jeez.” How big of a bitch does he think I am? “I’m not going to tell a soul. I promise. Okay? What happens in the storm shelter stays in the storm shelter,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood. His whole body seems to relax then, as if I’ve taken a weight off him. “Did you seriously think I was going to rag on you for this? I mean, we’ve been friends forever.” He quirks one brow. “Friends?” “Well, okay, not friends, exactly. But you know what I mean. Our moms used to put us in a crib together. Back when we were babies.” He winces. “I know.” “When we were little, things were fine. But then…well, middle school. It was just…I don’t know…awkward. And then in eighth grade, I thought maybe…” I shake my head, obviously unable to form a complete sentence. “Never mind.” “You thought what? C’mon, don’t stop now. You’re doing a good job distracting me.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Call it a public service. Or…pretend I’m just one of the pets.” “Poor babies,” I say, glancing over at the cats. Kirk and Spock are curled up together in the back of the crate, keeping the bromance alive. Sulu is sitting alone in the corner, just staring at us. “He’s a she, you know.” “Who?” “Sulu. Considering she’s a calico, you’d think Daddy would have figured it out.

For several seconds, we stand there staring each other down. Anger radiates off the both of us in waves, crackling like electricity. And then…he sort of staggers back. All his swagger, his bravado, crumbles away in a split second, just like that. “Why do we keep doing this? Yelling at each other like this?” I let out my breath in a huff. “Because you always piss me off, that’s why, acting all smug and superior.” “Yeah, and you always throw temper tantrums like some kind of spoiled brat. That’s just who we are. We’re not perfect.” He takes a deep, rattling breath. “But we’re good together, Jem.” He’s right. I know he is, but… “You say you love me, but you can’t even be bothered to tell me that you’re applying to a school in the same city as me? Not until the cat’s out the bag and everyone knows? What am I supposed to think, Ryder?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? I want you to follow your dreams. To do what you want to do with your life--not what your parents want, or what Nan wants, or what I want. I didn’t want to take that away from you. If you knew I was thinking about going to Columbia…” He shakes his head. “Then what? I’m having a hard time following your logic here.” He sighs, his enormous shoulders seeming to sag. “I didn’t want you to apply just because I’m going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I’m going to be there. I was going to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you’re freaking out.” He throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I’ve totally fucked this up.” It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course. Hell, if it hadn’t been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that’s the truth. I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot. “No, you haven’t,” I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones. “Haven’t what?” “Fucked it up.” I take a tentative step toward him. “I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?” “Perfect? I’ve been in love with you for so long now, and I’ve never managed to get it right, not once.” I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “News flash--I think you’ve finally got it this time.

Didn’t you ever notice that whatever you wanted or whatever you set out to do, Cora wanted to do it too?” Noah asked. “She wasn’t like that.” “She was, Mer. And it’s okay to admit it. One of the hardest things about Cora dying is that everyone wants to erase her—the real Cora. They talk about her as though she were perfect. She wasn’t. ‘Don’t talk ill of the dead,’ people say. But if we aren’t truthful about who our loved ones were, then we aren’t really remembering them. We’re creating someone who didn’t exist. Cora loved you. She loved me. But what she did was not okay. And I’m pissed off about it.” Mercedes reeled back, stunned. “Geez, Noah. Tell me how you really feel. She still deserves our compassion,” she rebuked. He nodded. “Everyone deserves compassion. And I know suicide isn’t always a conscious act. Most of the time it’s sheer desperation. It’s a moment of weakness that we can’t come back from. But regardless of illness or weakness, if we don’t own our actions and don’t demand that others own theirs, then what’s the point? We might as well give up now. We have to expect better of ourselves. We have to. I expect more of my patients, and when I expect more—lovingly, patiently—they tend to rise to that expectation. Maybe not all the way up, but they rise. They improve because I believe they can, and I believe they must. My mom was sick. But she didn’t try hard enough to get better. She found a way to cope—and that’s important—but she never varied from it. Life has to be more than coping. It has to be.” Mercedes nodded slowly, her eyes clinging to his impassioned face. She’d struck a nerve, and he wasn’t finished. “I know it’s not something we’re supposed to say. We’re supposed to be all-loving and all-compassionate all the time. But sometimes the things we aren’t supposed to say are the truths that keep us sane, that tether us to reality, that help us move the hell on! I know some of my colleagues would be shocked to hear it. But pressure—whether it’s the pressure of society, or the pressure of responsibility, or the pressure that comes with being loved and being needed—isn’t always a bad thing. You’ve heard the cliché about pressure and diamonds. It’s a cliché because it’s true. Pressure sometimes begets beautiful things.” Mercedes was silent, studying his handsome face, his tight shoulders, and his clenched fists. He was weary, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t wrong. “Begets?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye. He rolled his eyes. “You know damn well what beget means.” “In the Bible, beget means to give birth to. I wouldn’t mind giving birth to a diamond,” she mused. “You ruin all my best lectures.” There was silence from the kitchen. Silence was not good. “Gia?” Noah called. “What, Daddy?” she answered sweetly. “Are you pooping in your new princess panties?” “No. Poopin’ in box.” “What box?” His voice rose in horror. “Kitty box.” Noah was on his feet, racing toward the kitchen. Mercedes followed. Gia was naked—her Cinderella panties abandoned in the middle of the floor—and perched above the new litter box. “No!” Noah roared in horror, scooping her up and marching to the toilet. “Maybe it won’t be a turd, Noah. Maybe Gia will beget a diamond,” Mercedes chirped, trying not to laugh. “I blame you, Mer!” he called from the bathroom. “She was almost potty-trained, and now she wants to be a cat!

The rules are so different in the World Outside Synanon. The answers come in pieces, bit by bit as we explore the neighborhood around the house on Breys Avenue: bullets explode if you hit them with a hammer, there is no Santa Claus, do not cry in front of other boys, cats land on their feet no matter how close to the ground they are when you drop them, dog food tastes bad, don’t say what you’re thinking, kids can buy cigarettes from vending machines, gasoline will burn on water, candy bars can be stolen, Mom has read over a thousand books, a Labrador can beat a German shepherd in a fight, parents are supposed to protect you, bullies are mean, we’re bad at baseball, we’re good at reading, we’re latchkey kids, we’re poor, we’re special, we’re smart, we’re different, we’re alone.

Chloe:...Regardless, you need to bring her. Mom’s making lasagna. Me:Chloe, I’d like to, but I can’t. Me:Well, then, you leave me no choice. Bring her to dinner or I’m telling Mom about the time you and Carter broke the vase with Great Grandma’s ashes playing baseball in the house and blamed it on the cat. Me:You wouldn’t dare. Chloe:Oh, but I would. Poor Gigi ended up in a dust buster because of you. Me:Fine. I’ll ask, but she may have plans. Chloe:I love you. Seriously. I’m really happy you’re back in town. Me:I am too :)

Mr. Max jumped up out of his chair. It fell behind him and crashed on the floor with a loud thud. “We’re leaving,” he said to Melissa. His chest heaved up and down like it couldn’t get enough air. “Put the cat down.” Melissa set PJ on the floor and stood. “Uncle Max,” she said, “I told you about PJ.” She put her hands on her head. “He really did help me with my math homework.” “Let’s calm down,” my mom said. “We can talk about this.” She didn’t take her eyes off Mr. Max. He looked around the table at all of us. “I thought it was just a story. You know, for fun.” He cleared his throat and said to Melissa, “I forbid you from coming here anymore. I have to talk to your father. Let’s go. Now.” Melissa put hands in the air. “These are my friends. Don’t do this.” She shrugged her shoulders at me.

Whenever I meet a young Hoosier, I tell them, ‘You call me Mom.’” “Uh huh.” “Let me hear you say it,” she urged. “Mom?” She smiled and let go of my arm. Some piece of clockwork had completed its cycle. My calling Hazel “Mom” had shut it off, and now Hazel was rewinding it for the next Hoosier to come along. Hazel’s obsession with Hoosiers around the world was a textbook example of a false karass, of a seeming team that was meaningless in terms of the ways God gets things done, a textbook example of what Bokonon calls a granfalloon. Other examples of granfalloons are the Communist party, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the General Electric Company, the International Order of Odd Fellows—and any nation, anytime, anywhere.

Mom sent me to therapy specifically for my fascination with gory horror movies. She thought I was a psychopath. And really, I just get off on being scared.

Villagers are weak and pathetic. They- AAAAHhh!!” he screamed when Elijah came around a house squeezing Bruce.  “KITTY!” he was shouting as he squished the black and white cat in a hug after hug.  Larry fainted. “Oh dear,” Mom said.

I will never forget the look on my mom’s face when she discovered what I had done to that cat. All the color had drained from her cheeks and she clasped a hand over her mouth as her legs gave way beneath her. I hadn’t been able to suppress a smile, even when she slapped me hard enough to leave a mark.

Dad shook his head. “That cat, I was hoping being in a video game would make his farts stink less. If anything, they’re worse.”  Mom cocked an eyebrow at Dad. “You know I don’t like that word.”  Dad rolled his eyes. “Sorry, his TOOTS are stinky enough to do the mining for me.

Probably one of Billy’s dad’s old sweaters that his mom had hung on to would fit Luke better, but Billy liked the idea of Luke in his clothes and he wasn’t going to think about why.

He snarled. I showed him my teeth. A rolled-up newspaper landed on my head and then on Jim’s. “None of that in my house!” Oh my gods. The alpha of Clan Cat just got smacked with a rolled-up newspaper. “Mom!

Yes, that’s it. Love. That’s the expression Mom wears on her face in that photograph. What else could you call it apart from love? And love, this magical thing that’s unique to human beings and can sometimes make us absolutely miserable, is also the thing that buoys the human spirit. Like time, color, temperature, and loneliness, love is one of those things that only humans experience. These things can rule over or control us, but they also allow us to live more fully. They are precisely what make us human.

DO YOU SAY MOM OR MUM?? Mum. WERE YOU THE COOL KID IN SCHOOL WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG? No. I’ve always been very uncool, unfortunately. DO YOU HAVE A CAT? No, just a dog.

She learned that her best adventures were right at home with her mom and dad.

I see I might have scared you off. It's okay. My mom taught me if you put food out for stray cats, they'll keep coming back.

That’s the problem with people,” she said. “Not just you. All people. Not a one of us can be everything somebody else wants us to be. Trouble comes when we try to pretend we can. Or when people see it like a betrayal. You know. That somebody won’t meet all their needs. My mom used to say it’s because we weren’t put here on earth to take care of each other. And that it’s silly to get mad at someone for letting you down when they’re just being who they are. She said it’s like getting mad at your dog for not being a cat.

Have some more to drink,” Mom encourages, pouring more red wine into Molly's glass. “With as stiff as you are, I fear my son will be marrying a wooden puppet. He'll be picking splinters out of his—” “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan. “Quit talking.” “I'll make sure to buy him a magnifying glass then,” Molly says, one corner of her lips curled upward.  “For the splinters or his penis?” “Ma.

Awe, poor guy. You really hate that diet cat food, don’t you?” Dad looked all around to see if anyone was watching. “Here, don’t tell Mom I gave this to you.” He pulled some of the roasted chicken leftovers from dinner out and put them on the floor. “Meow!” Bruce said and gobbled it up. He had trained his humans well. Except for Mom. She was a tough nut to crack.

This wasn’t the delicious food he was used to. The food that tasted of salmon and tuna and other remnants of deliciously smelling fishes. This was some new poison Mom had given him. It tasted of cardboard and salt. He heard her talking about it one time, calling it, “Die cat! Food.

Bruce grabbed the rotten flesh with his teeth, tossed it into the air, then snatched it up and gobbled the whole thing down happily, his tail swishing. He didn’t look back at Mom as he began cleaning his paws.  “Darn cat!” Mom yelled. Chapter 5 Mom’s yelling had woken up the entire village and everyone came out of their homes, yawns on their faces. “KITTY!” Elijah shouted

I’ve told you about this. It was fucking hot. Not just a little bit. Not uncomfortable-hot, but kill-you-hot.” “You’ve told me, but I like how you get so defensive every time you talk about it. It’s sexy when men have a weakness.” “And women have to save me from it?” “It’s what we’ve been doing since the beginning of time, my invincible star warrior.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, encouraging him to smile. “I was raised to believe that men were the providers and could never show vulnerabilities. We have to be the pillar of strength, the bedrock on which the family is built,” he tried to explain. “But if you know that isn’t true, why do you persist?” “It’s not an easy habit to break,” he admitted. “I’m trying. Give me that much, and as long as you and Rivka keep reminding me, we’ll get to where it will be second nature. And then if we ever have kids, we’ll raise them differently. Mom and Dad, out there side by side blasting the ever-living shit out of bad guys.” Lindy chuckled. “Nice image.” She met Red’s eyes and looked deeply into them. “Weren’t you the one who said the men had the women outnumbered on Peacekeeper? You, Chaz, Hamlet, Ankh, and Erasmus. Something like that. Five to three. ‘We are manly men!’” Red liked the way Lindy’s eyes sparkled when she was giving him a hard time. She was making a valid point, though. He had said those very words. “Hamlet is the manliest of us all. That cat doesn’t give a shit.” “And what’s this bit about kids? I’m not even sure I’ll let you be my boyfriend.” He brushed the hair from beside her eye and tucked it behind her ear. With the tip of his finger, he slowly and lightly traced the outside of Lindy’s ear.

That cat. I was hoping being in a video game would make his farts stink less. If anything, they’re worse.”  Mom cocked an eyebrow at Dad. “You know I don’t like that word.”  Dad rolled his eyes. “Sorry, his TOOTS are stinky enough to do the mining for me.

We have a vested interest in how this plays out.” “Well, I have a vested interest in making sure my neighbor’s cat isn’t left without a mom,” I sneer, pulling my legs up into my chest to get them away from where he’s crouched in front of the bed.

The silence that surrounds mom rage is filled with fear. This fear gets instilled in us through cultural messaging that tells us motherhood is just the best. And if anyone dare disagree? Shame! We worry if our shameful words hit the air, our monstrousness might be true. So many of us struggling with mom rage don't tell our partners. We are afraid our friends will think badly of us, or they won't relate. We are terrified that if we share how furious we've become since having babies, it will get twisted into "I hate being a mom," which will further twist into "I don't love my children." At the end of the a rage-filled day, we lie in bed curled in a fetal position, sobbing. We think of the softness of our babies' skin, the way our children have a dep knowing that our bodies are nests, and they snuggle in till everything's just right, like a cat turning circles before she settles down. Not loving our children? This couldn't be further from the truth. But the fear that someone might misunderstand takes our breath away. So we retreat - into our beds, our cars, our drinks, our screens, ourselves. We shut the windows. We lock the doors. We don't tell a soul.

She was always smiling and humming, while Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

Nana always had a positive, sunny outlook on life, viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. She was always smiling and humming, while Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

Floyd hopped up on the loveseat next to me. "Hi, pal," I said, feeling a little drained. "Your mom should be back soon." His meow sounded like a whine. "I know the feeling. But maybe I can help you out?" When I went to the kitchen and cut up a scallop, he meowed again and went up on his hind legs, begging. "Did you just twirl?" I said, astonished. I sat back down on the sofa and put my hand out, and he became a little furry seafood vacuum. "I didn't know you could purr as you ate. That's kind of amazing." He headbutted my empty hand, and I took a hint and ran it through his silky fur. I dug my fingertips around his ears and chin, and he closed his eyes and purred even more loudly. "Such a good boy," I said, feeling a little better. "You like that? Is that, oof!" His big back feet drove the air out of me while he climbed onto my chest. "Jesus, cat, at least buy me a drink first." He ignored my smartass comment and stretched out from my thighs to my shoulders. "I guess this is me now. Your throne, forever." Green-gold eyes blinked slowly. "Are you smiling?" He rested his head under my chin and sighed. We hadn't had animals when I was a kid. Too messy, Mom said. Too needy, Dad said. But maybe this was the upside of being needed. Quiet, sweet moments like this one. "OK," I told him. "Just for a little bit." Ellie Was Kieran crooning? Maybe the wall of the cottage was distorting his voice? "That feels so good, doesn't it, bud? Such a big, nice cat. Yes, you are." Yes, he was. He rubbed Floyd's cheeks and my cat melted for him like fluffy butter.

I miss him,” Ashley says at dinner. “Yep,” Nate says. “What are you going to do about it?” Ashley asks. “Well, both of you are heading back to school tomorrow,” I say, thinking that at least buys me some time. “He needs us more than just once in a while,” Nate says. “We want him in our family,” Ash says. “We talked about it.” “Behind my back?” “Yes,” Nate says. “But you realize I’m the one who’d be taking care of him?” “We think you can do it,” Ash says. “He could be our little brother, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes…” Nate says. “Didn’t Ricardo say that he’s allergic to cats?” I ask. “We’ll get rid of the cat,” Ashley says. “I never liked the cat.” “How can you say that? She’s your cat, she just had kittens.…” “I like the cat,” Nate says. “Maybe we can get Ricardo made unallergic,” Ash says. “Maybe the cat could stay out of his room,” Nate says. “Which room is his room?” I ask. “His room is my room,” Nate says, like it’s obvious. “I don’t think I’m ready for a full-time live-at-home child,” I say. “Send him away to school,” Ashley says. “We kill his parents, take him from his family, and send him away to school—it’s starting to sound like an old English novel.” “Is that a bad thing?” Ash asks. “Plus, you two can’t adopt him, you’re underage.…” “But you can,” Ash says, nonplussed. “I am in the middle of a divorce and recently unemployed.” “You quit your job?” Nate asks. “I got fired.” “You got fired?” “Well, not exactly fired. I’ll finish teaching the semester, but, basically, yes.” “And you didn’t tell us?” Nate is shaken. “I didn’t think you needed to know.” “Well, that sucks,” Nate says. “Talk about a lack of trust. What’s the point if you don’t think you can tell us anything? It’s not all about you babysitting us, this is supposed to be some kind of relationship—a two-way street.” “It’s true,” Ash says. “You should tell us things. No one ever told us anything except Mom.” She bursts into tears. “I love the cat,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said I didn’t—I really do.” And she gets up and runs from the table.

I was about to rush out the door when I realized that I’d be stealing his clothes. Frantically thinking of some quick way to repay him, I spotted his kitchen trashcan and decided to take his trash out as a way of thanking him. It wasn’t a fair payback-He’d saved my life after all – but at least it was better than nothing. To appease my guilty conscience, I ended up taking his recyclables as well. “I couldn’t help myself. Your mom’s a MILF,” the TV blared. It was the last thing I heard before I opened the front door and stepped outside. I planned on looking for the dumpster around his apartment but when I reached the bottom of his stairs, I heard his door open. Panicking that he’d catch me, I slung the garbage bags over my shoulder and sprinted in the direction of my dorm. Running across campus in an oversized shirt and jeans, wet, dirty clothes in hand, and two trash bags jangling over my shoulder, I probably looked like a deranged homeless person. A homeless person who saw imaginary cats.

Cats have the largest eyes of any mammal.

Cats use their tails as a way of balancing; they can walk with each foot in a line, along the top of a fence or on narrow paths.

  Cats were considered valuable in ancient Egypt, and they appear in ancient art showing that they were important.

Cats have an extra eyelid.

Cats can have five or six kittens and they can have three litters (sets of kittens) each year, so one cat could have eighteen kittens in one year - that’s a lot of kittens!

Cats will knead their paws to show they are happy; they will purr too. If a cat is pleased to see someone, it will pull its tail up vertically; however, if a cat is wagging its tail, unlike a dog, it means that it is angry!

Cats can become ill if they hunt and kill mice.

A cat has five toes on each of its front feet and four on its back feet.

Cats’ whiskers are not only to make them look pretty, they are their radar system. Because the whiskers are sensitive, they notify the cat if a gap is too narrow. If the whiskers can get through a gap, so can the cat.

Most cats do not like regular milk. They cannot digest it.

Kittens are born blind and rely on their mother’s milk for the first week. They grow quickly and are soon walking and play-fighting with their brothers and sisters as they learn how to be a cat.

Dear Children, I am your dad. The father of all five of you pale creatures. Given how attractive and fertile your mother is, there may be more of you by the time you read this book. If you are reading this, I am probably dead. I would assume this because I can honestly foresee no other situation where you’d be interested in anything I’ve done. Right now, you are actually more interested in preventing me from doing things like working, sleeping, and smiling. I’m kidding, of course. Kind of. I love you with all of my heart, but you are probably the reason I’m dead. All right, you didn’t kill me. Your mother did. She kept getting pregnant! I don’t know how. Don’t think about it. It will give you the willies. At one point, I was afraid she got pregnant while she was pregnant. She was so fertile I didn’t even let her hold avocados. Anyway, this is a book all about what I observed being your dad when you were very young and I had some hair back in good old 2013. So why a book? Well, since you’ve come into my life, you’ve been a constant source of entertainment while simultaneously driving me insane. I felt I had to write down my observations about you in a book. And also for money, so you could eat and continue to break things. By the way, I’m sorry I yelled so much and did that loud clapping thing with my hands. I hated when my dad would do the loud clapping thing with his hands, so every time I do the loud clapping thing, it pains me in many ways. Most of the pain is because that loud clapping thing actually hurts my hands. You may be wondering how I wrote this book. From a very early age, you all instinctively knew I wasn’t that bright of a guy. Probably from all the times you had to correct me when I couldn’t read all the words in The Cat in the Hat. Hell, I find writing e-mails a chore. (Thank you, spell-check!) I wrote this book with the help of many people, but mostly your mother. Your mother is not only the only woman I’ve ever loved, but also the funniest person I know. When your mom was not in labor yelling at me, she made me laugh so hard. Love, Dad P.S. How did you get that hula hoop into that restaurant Easter 2011? Who’s Who in the Cast Jim Gaffigan (Dad).

And because I’d begged my mom for the damn cat, guess who got stuck picking up after her?” I poked both of my thumbs hard into my chest. “This girl. But that wasn’t the worst of it.” “Should I pull over for this?” Jamie teased. “This is serious, Jamie Shaw!” I smacked his bicep and he chuckled, holding the steering wheel with his thumbs but lifting the rest of his fingers as if to say “my bad.” “Anyway,” I continued. “So, Rory would always find small ways to torture me. Like she would eat her string toys and then throw up on my favorite clothes. Or wait until I was in the deepest part of sleep and jump onto my bed, meowing like an alleycat right up in my ear.” “I think I like this Rory.” I narrowed my eyes, but Jamie just grinned. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you? Do you just sit around and laugh at your own jokes? Do you write them down and re-read them at night?” Jamie laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “As I was saying,” I voiced louder. “She was a little brat. But for some weird reason, she always loved to be in the bathroom with me when I took my baths.” “You take baths?” “You’re seriously missing the point of this story!” “There’s a point to this story?” I huffed, but couldn’t fight the smile on my face. “Yes! The point is, I thought that was our bonding time. Rory would weave around my legs while I undressed and she’d hang out on the side of the tub the entire time I was in the bath, meowing occasionally, pawing at the water. It was kind of cute.” “So you bridged your relationship with your cat during bath time?” “Ah, well see, one would think that. But, one night, that little demon hopped onto the counter and just stared at me. I couldn’t figure out why, but she just wouldn’t stop staring. She kept inching her paw up, setting it back down, inching it up, setting it down. And finally I realized what she was going to do — and she knew I did — because as soon as realization dawned, Rory smiled at me — swear to God — and flipped the light off in the bathroom.” Jamie doubled over that time, and I spoke even louder over his laughter. “I’m terrified of the dark, Jamie! It was awful! And so I jumped up, scrambling to find a towel so I could turn the light back on. But because I’m a genius, I yanked on the shower curtain to help me stand up, but that only took it down and me along with it. I fell straight to the floor, but I broke my fall with my hands instead of my face.” “Luckily.” “Oh,” I chided. “Yeah. So lucky. Except guess where Rory’s litter box was?” Jamie’s eyes widened and he tore his eyes from the road to meet mine. “No!” Ohhh yeah.

That is righteous, blondie! Hey, we need to come up with superhero names. How about capes—and codpieces? Just think about the idea for now, chew it over for a bit, let me know,” he said. “Hey, do you guys ever hear . . . voices?” I groaned. “All the time. I thought I was going crazy.” “Duude,” he said in agreement. “And before the Flash, all kinds of freaky shit was happening to me. I started speaking this weird language. And stuff started transforming—but only in front of me. I saw my cat walking on the ceiling, saw lava coming out of a faucet. The worst? I was doing this girl, and suddenly she looked like my gym teacher!” He shuddered. And I’d thought I had it bad. Matthew and Finn had also suffered. “What’d your parents think?” I asked, wondering if Finn had gotten institutionalized too. “Dad couldn’t handle my ‘erratic behavior’ anymore, so he pawned me off on Mom. Same result. They were just about to break out the straitjacket—or, worse, military school—when she got the brilliant idea to ship me from Malibu to North Carolina to rough it with my redneck cousins.” So Matthew and I hadn’t been the only ones deemed “damaged” by our folks. It made sense, though. I wondered what Selena’s story was. “Yeah, Mom figured they’d toughen me up mentally,” Finn said. “I can’t even make this shit up. Mental health—through the chugging of Natty Light, the chasing of hot hick ass, and the killing of ducks and bucks.

Where’s the pizza?” Something warm and furry came and leaned against my right leg. I reached down to pet Rocky, a black lab who was going gray around his eyes and muzzle. “Rocky wants to know where the pizza is, too.” “He’s the reason the food is in the kitchen. Last time we kept it out here on the picnic table, he helped himself to half of a large bacon pepperoni pizza and then he threw up in my mom’s closet. She was cleaning dog barf out of her shoes for days.” I squatted down and rubbed Rocky’s ears. “I bet you were framed, huh, buddy?” He leaned into the ear rub and sighed. “I bet it was the cat, wasn’t it?” He sighed again like he was agreeing with me. “Nice try, but there isn’t that much barf in a cat,” Trevor said.

The only thing that runs in this family are our great legs, our wit, and our ability to eat our body weight in ice cream.” Her mom folded her arms as her amber eyes reflected her emotions like a mood ring. “I mean it, Cat. Life’s a journey, and right now you’ve got a flat tire. It’s not the end of the road trip.

We should have a handout at the door to speed things along, a brief summary of Dad’s illness and all that transpired in the final days, maybe even a photocopy of his charts and a four-color printout of his last CAT scan, because that seems to be what all of his and Mom’s peers want to talk about. And at the bottom of the handout a simple asterisked declaration would state that it’s of absolutely no interest to us where you were when you found out our father/husband had died, like he was John F. Kennedy or Kurt Cobain.

Daniel.” “Ma.” “Are you well?” She was angry. If the straight-to-voicemail treatment for the last week hadn’t tipped me off, her tone now was a dead giveaway. “I’m great,” I lied. “And how are you?” “Fine.” I laughed, silently. If she heard me laugh, she’d have my balls. “Did you get my messages?” “Yes. Thank you for calling.” I waited for a minute, for her to say more. She didn’t. “I leave you twenty-one messages, three calls a day, and that’s all you got for me?” “I’m not going to apologize for needing some time to cool off and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Who do you think I am? Willy Wonka? You missed my birthday.” She sniffed. And these weren’t crocodile tears either. I’d hurt her feelings. Ahh, there it is. The acrid taste of guilt. “Ma . . .” “I don’t ask for a lot. I love you. I love my children. I want you to call me on my birthday.” “I know.” I was clutching my chest so my heart didn’t fall out and bleed all over the grass. “What could have been so important that you couldn’t spare a few minutes for your mother? I was so worried.” “I did call you—” “Don’t shit on a plate and tell me it’s fudge, Daniel. You called after midnight.” I hadn’t come up with a plausible lie for why I hadn’t called on her birthday, because I wasn’t a liar. I hated lying. Premeditated lying, coming up with a story ahead of time, crafting it, was Seamus’s game. If I absolutely had to lie, I subscribed to spur-of-the-moment lying; it made me less of a soulless maggot. “That’s true, Ma. But I swear I—” “Don’t you fucking swear, Daniel. Don’t you fucking do that. I raised you kids better.” “Sorry, sorry.” “What was so important, huh?” She heaved a watery sigh. “I thought you were in a ditch, dying somewhere. I had Father Matthew on standby to give you your last rights. Was your phone broken?” “No.” “Did you forget?” Her voice broke on the last word and it was like being stabbed. The worst. “No, I sw—ah, I mean, I didn’t forget.” Lie. Lying lie. Lying liar. “Then what?” I grimaced, shutting my eyes, taking a deep breath and said, “I’m married.” Silence. Complete fucking silence. I thought maybe she wasn’t even breathing. Meanwhile, in my brain: Oh. Shit. What. The. Fuck. Have. I. Done. . . . However. However, on the other hand, I was married. I am married. Not a lie. Yeah, we hadn’t had the ceremony yet, but the paperwork was filed, and legally speaking, Kat and I were married. I listened as my mom took a breath, said nothing, and then took another. “Are you pulling my leg with this?” On the plus side, she didn’t sound sad anymore. “No, no. I promise. I’m married. I—uh—was getting married.” “Wait a minute, you got married on my birthday?” Uh . . . “Uh . . .” “Daniel?” “No. We didn’t get married on your birthday.” Shit. Fuck. “We’ve been married for a month, and Kat had an emergency on Wednesday.” Technically, not lies. “That’s her name? Cat?” “Kathleen. Her name is Kathleen.” “Like your great aunt Kathleen?” Kat wasn’t a thing like my great aunt. “Yeah, the name is spelled the same.” “Last month? You got married last month?” She sounded bewildered, like she was having trouble keeping up. “Is she—is she Irish?” “No.” “Oh. That’s okay. Catholic?” Oh jeez, I really hadn’t thought this through. Maybe it was time for me to reconsider my spur-of-the-moment approach to lying and just surrender to being a soulless maggot. “No. She’s not Catholic.” “Oh.” My mom didn’t sound disappointed, just a little surprised and maybe a little worried. “Daniel, I—you were married last month and I’m only hearing about it now? How long have you known this woman?” I winced. “Two and a half years.” “Two and a half years?” she screeched...

One thing led to another, and, notwithstanding some moments in history that dogs and cats would probably not want to bring up (like the time Pope Gregory IX declared cats to be the Devil incarnate), pets have gradually become cherished members of our families. According to “Citizen Canine,” a book by David Grimm, sixty-seven per cent of households in America have a cat or a dog (compared with forty-three per cent who have children), and eighty-three per cent of pet owners refer to themselves as their animal’s “mom” or “dad.” Seventy per cent celebrate the pet’s birthday. Animals are our best friends, our children, and our therapists.

What's wrong?" "What makes you think something's wrong?" "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that you're frowning so hard that you're going to get wrinkles if you don't stop." Leaning closer, Zane reached out and ran one finger between her brows. There he went again, confusing her with his little touches. "Remember that summer you were a junior in college?" "I guess." "You were dating one of the waitresses." Missy used the word 'dating' as a euphemism for what Zane had really been doing with the girl. He smiled. "Yeah, I remember now." "I saw you get into your car with her one night. My Mom had asked me to run out to our car to get her sweater because the AC in the dining room was so cold and we were sitting right under the vent. Anyway, sitting in the car with you, reminded me of that time." Except Zane hadn't been able to keep his hands off the waitress. He'd been pawing at her during the walk to the car and hadn't stopped once they sat inside. Missy was sure they didn't make it much farther than the driveway that led to the stables, before he pulled over to have sex with her. Yet, with Missy, he was more concerned about making sure her coat was buttoned up tight and her seat belt fastened. "I'd completely forgotten about her. Funny, I can't even remember her name.

Make sure Mom gets home.” I swallowed. “She won’t want details. Just—let her make up her own mind about what happened to me. If you hung around for a while…after…that would be good too.” His tongue rasped against the tip of my nose. “She will want for nothing, and no harm will come to her so long as I live.” I wiped the backs of my hands under my eyes. “You’re not half bad for a cat.” “If I had found you as a pup,” he said on a chuckle, “I might not have drowned you either.

There's a pause in the conversation when I really want to ask Matt what he's thinking despite it being probably the most cliché thing to ask a guy. When Matt still doesn't take his eyes off the names, I open my mouth to ask if he has any questions. He beats me to it. "Where's Megan?" he asks. "Oh, she was Marcus Pitts then," I say. "She was born a boy. He dad took the accident as an opportunity to leave them, mostly because he couldn't take the transgender thing. After they moved, Megan's mom let her wear whatever- be whoever- she wanted. She dressed in girl clothes from then on out." "But she was only, what, like five?" "I guess when you know, you know," I say with a shrug.

Today, about one year later, I am still the happiest forever Mom to Calli. She is my shadow, my snuggle-bug and a wonder companion. Every morning we have our "talk," (she is very vocal) and I swear that she understands a lot of what I say! She's such a sweet girl and loves to lie on people, reaching up with her paws, like she's trying to give you a hug around the neck! My new best friend, Calli! Bonnie Hurlburt

truth4dogs.com and dogs4dogs.com. And don't forget truth4pets.org. It's full of videos, studies and articles about vaccination -- for dogs and even cats! For breaking news affecting your dog’s health, follow Mom on Twitter @K9Author.

Whatever! I still think you should’ve been planning your party!” “With who? Me, my two friends and a cat?” “Callie? Sure! Why not? She’s a party animal from what you told me.” “I said she was a slut, Mom. She’s always in heat.” “Scandalous!

My mom used to say that a man who hates cats is insecure, but a man who likes them is one worth keeping. If he can appreciate a cat, he can appreciate a strong, independent woman.

What happened?” Harper swallowed, unsure what to tell his daughter. What had Cat told her? “I was shot a couple of weeks ago.” Her eyes flashed to his as if to see if he were telling the truth. “Seriously?” He nodded. “But I’m okay. No big deal,” he assured her. She shook her head, stepping closer. Her hand lifted as if she wanted to touch the wound but she stopped. “Does it still hurt?” “Not much. I’m kind of used to it.” Crossing her arms, she looked up at him, considering. “Mom told me you had been hurt but she didn’t say how or why. I thought she was lying to me again.” Harper winced. “She wasn’t lying. I was shot in the chest and I was hit by glass when my scope was hit. I lost the vision in my right eye.” He rubbed at the scars on his face a little self-consciously. She blinked. “Isn’t that your shooting eye?” Harper looked at her, considering. Damn, she was sharp. “Yes, it is. I’m going to have to teach myself to shoot again. I don’t really shoot much at work, but it’s a skill I need to keep.” Dillon shook her head again, her expression forlorn. “Where do you work now? Mom didn’t know. And we haven’t heard from you in so long. It was like you disappeared off the earth. And now you’re hurt.” Tears filled her eyes again and one slipped down her cheek. She swiped it away angrily, but more began to follow. “Oh, honey.” Harper dared to take a step toward her, heartened when she didn’t bolt. “I’m okay. I really am. And I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you. Believe it or not I’ve missed you too—I just didn’t feel like I could be at home with you for a while. Not because of anything you did, but because of things that were going on in my head. I had to get them straightened out so that I could be with you guys.” Dillon didn’t look like she believed him, but at least she was listening. “I swear to you I wanted to come home, but I couldn’t risk you guys. In my old job with the SEALs I had to go to war in bad places.” “Afghanistan?” He stopped, surprised. But then, why was he surprised? Dillon was damn smart. “Yes. I was there for a good while. And a bunch of other places. And when you get used to doing something, like fighting in a war, it’s hard to change when you come home. I had problems getting used to not fighting. Do you understand?” She nodded, arms still wrapped around herself. “So rather than run the chance of maybe waking up one night and hurting you guys I moved out. It wasn’t because your mom and I had problems, it wasn’t because I didn’t love you and it definitely wasn’t because of anything you kids did. It was just me. Fighting myself in my head. And I worried that if I talked to you guys I wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Tears were still dripping down her cheeks. Harper dared to reach out and tuck a mussed strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “But I promise you I won’t leave you again. Not like this. And I promise I will always talk to you. Okay?” She nodded and took a step forward, as if seeking reassurance. Harper opened his arms for a hug and she folded into him, sobbing. “Oh, baby girl, I love you so much. I’m sorry I hurt you but I really did think it would be better if I just disappeared.” He ran his hands down her long hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Do you think you can forgive me? I really miss talking to you.” She nodded her head against him and wrapped her arms around him to squeeze, then pulled back with a gasp. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Harper smiled. “Nope. Not enough to notice.” He pulled her back for another hug and another kiss on top of her head. “Wanna grab some breakfast?” Dillon nodded and they headed to the kitchen, his arm around her shoulders.

Cat woke to giggles and a jiggling bed. “Mom,” Tate singsonged. She cracked an eye open, smiling. “Hey, little man.” Then her eyes widened. Both kids and Harper were standing over her. They were all grinning and Harper held a wooden tray with food on it. Cat pushed herself upright in the bed, glad she’d slipped on a t-shirt at some point. “What’s going on?” “We made you breakfast,” Dillon told her. Cat’s brows lifted in surprise. “Really?” The more amazing thing was that Dillon was grinning up at Harper like she used to. Cat met Harper’s gaze and he gave her a little nod. Huh. There was a story there she’d have to get later. Cat dug into her dubious breakfast but loved every minute of it because her family surrounded her, looking on with fun and enjoyment. For a moment her eyes filled with tears as she looked at their dear faces. “I love all you guys,” she told them softly. Harper leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Hey, Mom? If you love me can I have your last piece of bacon?” She pulled back, laughing. “Yes, my little dispose-all, you can have my last piece of bacon.

Laura, cats don’t come back home after a month.” No! This wasn’t true! Maggie was my freaked-out, skittish, black-and-white CHILD. She was not gone. “Your mom doesn’t come back home after a month!” “What?” “YOUR MOM—I don’t know . . . I’m sorry.” Craig put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. Grief is difficult.” “Your mom’s difficult,” I whispered. But he heard me. And then demanded I get the fuck out of his shelter.

Dad stood up from gathering the beds. “Well, I’m ready, so let's get going!”  “Finally,” Mom said. “Let’s go!” Jack said.  “Meow,” Bruce said. What? Everyone turned around. There was Bruce, or a cat that looked exactly like him, standing where the beds had been. The cat cocked its head in a very Bruce-like way. “Meow?” it said again.

Brows hiked, I turn to Mom’s caretaker, finding him just as surprised as Sibby. “I could ask you the same thing, Sibel.

God, please,” I scream, “help, Mom, he is going to kill me!” And she is standing just where she was three minutes ago. Three minutes ago my life was different. Three minutes ago I could have made it out of here intact, but now … And my mother, arms folded, body now relaxed and loose, is wearing the curly smile of a Cheshire cat, staring right at me, holding my eyes as I go down, crack, into the corner.

Naah.” The cat yawns, yet again, and curls up on the floor next to the 3D printer. “It’s some kinda dodgy business model to get you out of hock to your mom. Better be careful, though—he says its legality is narrowly scoped jurisdiction-wise. Your mom might be able to undermine it if she learns about how it works.” “Wow. Like, how totally cool.” In truth, Amber is delighted because it is her birthday, but Mom’s at work, and Amber’s home alone, with just the TV in moral majority mode for company.

mother cat and one kitten are still at the clinic,” Amy told her friends. “My mom said that the mama cat needs more rest. And even though the tabby kitten’s injured paw is getting better, he still needs to heal for a while longer too.

Boo!” Jack yelled at Mom, who was in the kitchen humming as she prepared a dish. “AAAAAAHHH!” Mom screamed, whirling around with the knife she was using to chop onions pointed straight out. “Whoa, Mom, it’s just me!” Jack said. “Jack Murphy Smith! Don’t you do that!” Bruce rubbed up against Mom’s leg and she screamed again, jumping almost a foot into the air. “Meow?” Bruce said. “Bruce! You darn cat!” “What’s all this commotion?” Dad asked on his way into the kitchen. Kate came out of the hallway, smiling. “Sorry, guys. I tried to tell Jack it was a dumb idea to scare you, but...” Mom and Dad grabbed the kids up in an enormous hug, Dad swooping down to grab Bruce as well. “It’s okay, we’re all back now, that’s what matters.” He released them, a big smile spread across his face. “Wait until you hear what we’ve decided to name the barbecue restaurant!” “Hold on, dear,” Mom said, pointing at the kids, and ending with her finger in Bruce’s nose. “No more going into Minecraft without us knowing. Alright?” The kids nodded. “Meow purr,” Bruce said. Over on the Nintenbox, the Minecraft seed the kids and Bruce had been in was still displaying. A strange black blob moved across the screen, then winked out as if it teleported away. The End

Lily is a rescue dog for two reasons,” Maggie Rose continued. I wagged again. “The first reason is that she was taken in by the shelter where my mom works, so she was rescued. And the second reason is that most days she goes back to the shelter to take care of all the animals there.” Maggie Rose started smiling and speaking a little more quickly. “Lily plays with the other dogs and helps them relax and not feel scared. She plays with the cats, too. She loves cats! Sometimes she curls up with the kittens and they sleep together. It helps because then the kittens don’t grow up to be scared of dogs, and they can get adopted into families with dogs.

Crissy and I were not really very much alike, but similarities between people do very little to bring them closer together, or help them to live in harmony. My favorite vice was cannabis, while hers was wine. I liked cats, while she loved dogs. I was from a privileged background in the suburbs of New York, while she was a latchkey kid from Brewer, Maine, growing up with a single mom.

Baby, if you want me dead, I’ll hand you the knife to stick in my chest. Sending us both over the cliff would be a little overkill.” “And I thought my mom was the dramatic one,” I mutter.

As the poet said, Mom, 'Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, 'It might have been.''' 'That's so beautiful, and so true.

Mom sighed, still holding Cat’s hand. “I depend on you, but I know you can handle it. You’re the glue holding the three of us together.

Yeah, Diana had to teach me how to read first.” Ian slung an arm around her shoulders like he just needed a place to rest it, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. “All better now. See, Mom?” He grabbed the top book off the table and pointed to the word Fundamentals. “That says ‘cat.

while Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina. I don’t know why her personality never developed past that of a porcupine—she was never raised to be a prickly bitch.

I just wish you had more ambition in life, instead of staying in the town you grew up in, sweetie. Do something more with your life than waste away in that house like your grandmother did. I don’t want you to become worthless like her.” A snarl overtakes my face, fury tearing throughout my chest. “Hey, Mom?” “Yes?” “Fuck off.” I hang up the phone, angrily smashing my finger into

The Wolf didn’t notice. “What difference does it make if I’m furry or not?” He pointed at Heather, and the look in his eyes made it clear he expected an answer. “Aaaaahhhh,” she said, glancing at Monty. “Weeeellllll. When my mom takes a nap, our cat curls up with her, and my dad doesn’t care. But I don’t think he’d like it if the cat suddenly turned into a man.” “Why?” Simon demanded. “The cat would just be a cat in a different form.” Heather made a funny sound and didn’t answer. Monty quietly cleared his throat before he said, “A form that would be able to have sex with a human female.” “I didn’t want sex!” Simon shouted. “I just wanted my share of the covers.

I hear from the sofa- ‘Wear a jacket, Karly!’ My mom thinks even when I’m dressed, I’m still half-naked. So, out the door, I see sis get on the yellow bus. Waving at me like a moron out the window! And the cold feels like a b*tch slap to my face, yet it is a good way to wake up. I got into the SUV that was wrecked the night before. Thinking that this thing is like a coffin to me, yet I could say anything, or Jenny would think I have completely lost my mind. So, we go down all the same roads, not stopping at any of the red or yellow lights or signs. When Liv gets into the car she leans forward and grabs my hot- chocolate, and the smell of her perfume is strawberry, it is a body spray she has been wearing devotedly ever senses she was twelve and her hips and boobs develop like the end of sixth grade, she buys like five bottles every time we go into Sally Beauty Supply. I know that she has it on her, so I ask her for a squirt, even though I am sick of it after all these years, and even though I don’t want to smell like her, I ask for it anyway, I don’t want to smell like balls! Even though it stopped being cool in seventh grade, to where kiddy stuff like she still does- I have to close my eyes, overwhelmed, and coffin as a puff of it surrounds me, or then what I asked for. Gross, I smell like a pre-teen after gym class now, just trying to cover it up. Closing my eyes was a horrible idea. One- I get to feeling car sick. Two- I can see where Jenny is driving, and the way it feels- it must be off the road. Three- I start to daydream about Marcel, plus heartsick over Ray still, even though I was done after what he did to me, I can stop having feelings for him, he was the first that took me from behind. Oh no, he was not my first love god no, I didn’t know what love was until I saw it in Marcel's eyes, but was it real? That is what I am afraid of- trusting my heart to a boy again. I could see all the flashes of sincere light within Marcel's home, I could see him holding as no boy has ever done with me. I could almost feel the tingle of his kiss on my lips. ‘Holy freaking crap balls,’ said Jenny. I snap my eyes open as Jenny swerves to avoid hitting a cuddly black cat, walking past. That is when I start to look out the window into the side mirror, and the glossy dark trees are flocking on either side of us like outlined ghosts in the navy-blue sky. I smell something hot. I said- ‘Yeah that’s just me.’ I hear Jenny shrieking not too long after I feel relaxed, and yet once more, I feel my stomach go to the bottom of my feet and back up, as the SUV rolls to the one side, tires wailing- ‘It was a family of deer this time, trying not to get murdered. You should have seen their faces. It’s like mine every time I ride in this SUV.

Still, in the many topics that suggest a realistic world, there are some that are winners and others that are losers. Among the good, the popular, and (for writers) the go-for-its: marriage, death, taxes (yes, really). Also technologies—preferably modern and vaguely threatening technologies—funerals, guns, doctors, work, schools, presidents, newspapers, kids, moms, and the media. By contrast, among the bad and unpopular, we already have sex, drugs, and rock and roll. To that add seduction, making love, the body described in any terms other than in pain or at a crime scene. (These latter two bodily experiences, readers seem to quite enjoy.) No also to cigarettes and alcohol, the gods, big emotions like passionate love and desperate grief, revolutions, wheeling and dealing, existential or philosophical sojourns, dinner parties, playing cards, very dressed up women, and dancing. (Sorry.)5 Firearms and the FBI beat fun and frivolity by a considerable percentage. The reading public prefers to see the stock market described more so than the human face. It likes a laboratory over a church, spirituality over religion, and college more than partying. And, when it comes to that one, big, perennially important question, the readers are clear in their preference for dogs and not cats.

For biting, there are two corrections that work extremely well. In most cases, the ssssst! that imitates Mom-cat stops young kittens cold. Make the sound very percussive.

They’re still airing new episodes of Sam & Cat, so I’m still on the cover of all the tween magazines with a sassy hand on my hip and a bright smile on my face, portraying the image of a carefree starlet with the world on a string. Tee-hee.

It’s been over two weeks now since he’s had a conversation with anyone other than his mom.

I think I arrived just in time,” Leo announced a second before he grabbed a swinging Jeoff. Leo plopped Arabella’s brother onto the couch. “Stay or I’ll sit on you.” A wise man— some of the time— Jeoff didn’t budge. “You were told,” Hayder taunted. “Don’t make me duct tape your mouth again.” Count on Leo to take the wind out of Hayder’s sail. Few people argued with the massive man. Nor did anyone ever tell him to leave, even if Hayder really wished both Leo and Jeoff would go so he could resume the interesting moment he’d shared with Arabella just before all hell broke loose. Alas, judging by Arabella’s guarded expression, that sensual moment was gone. He’d have to find another way to recapture it. But first he needed to convince Jeoff to let her stay, as well as get Leo to depart— without enforcing an omega-calming moment— and have Arabella lose the rounded shoulders as they fought over her. Poor baby. How overwhelming this must be for her. How upsetting. And partially his fault. Shit. Ignoring the others, Hayder dropped to his knees in front of her. “I’m sorry, baby. Don’t get upset. I promise to behave. After all, it’s normal your brother would want to protect you, and I shouldn’t have beaten the hell out of him for it.” “I think it was the other way around, cat,” Jeoff muttered. “Shhh!” Leo said in a loud whisper. “He’s apologizing. Don’t ruin it.” Arabella’s gaze briefly met Hayder’s. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s obviously not. I can see you’re disturbed. You know I didn’t mean for that to happen. I never meant to upset you.” “I’m not upset about the fight.” Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Boys will be boys, my mom used to say. I’m just sorry to cause all this trouble. Jeoff’s right. I shouldn’t be here.” “Ha. Told you so.” Jeoff crowed in triumph. “And I shouldn’t be with his pack either. With this danger hanging over me, I should flee the country and keep my problems away from all of you.” Leave? He meant to say no, but his lion spoke first. More like rawr-ed. And in reply? She sneezed. A few times as a matter of fact. “What’s wrong with you?” Jeoff asked his sister. “Stupid allergies,” she grumbled. Jeoff snickered. “You still suffering from those? That’s hilarious. And yet the cat thinks you’re true mates?” “She’s mine, and a little sneeze and spit won’t change that.” “Is he completely insane?” Jeoff muttered. “Utterly, but the doctors say he’s not a danger to himself or the pride. But I wouldn’t push him. And given these two are talking about the future, a future that isn’t ours to decide, we should leave them to work things out,” Leo politely suggested. “But—” Jeoff never got a chance to finish that thought because Leo had spoken. And when Leo spoke, he acted. “No buts. You. Come.” Leo grabbed a hold of Arabella’s brother, tossed him over a shoulder, and marched him out with a tossed, “Don’t you screw anything up with the girl. I’d hate to have to come back and teach you a lesson.

Alternatives to time-out Isolating children for a period of time has become a popular discipline strategy advocated by many child psychologists and pediatricians. However, newly adopted toddlers seem to be more upset than helped by time-outs. Time-outs are intended to provide an opportunity for both parents and children to calm down and change their behaviors, but it isn’t effective for children who do not have self-calming strategies. Isolation can be traumatic for a toddler who is struggling with grief and/or attachment, and so perceives time-out as further rejection. If the child becomes angrier or more withdrawn as a result of being timed-out, try another strategy. One alternative is for parents to impose a brief time-out on themselves by temporarily withdrawing their attention from their child. For example, the parent whose child is throwing toys stops playing, looks away, and firmly tells the child, “I can’t continue playing until you stop throwing your toys.” Sitting passively next to the child may be effective, especially if the child previously was engaged in an enjoyable activity with the parent. Another alternative to parent enforced time-outs is self-determined time-outs, where the child is provided the opportunity to withdraw from a conflict voluntarily or at least have some input into the time-out arrangement. The parent could say, “I understand that you got very upset when you had to go to your room yesterday after you hit Sara. Can you think of a different place you would like to go to calm down if you feel like getting in a fight?” If the child suggests going out on the porch, the next time a battle seems to be brewing, Mom or Dad can say, “Do you need to go outside to the porch and calm down before we talk more?” Some children eventually reach the level of self-control where they remove themselves from a volatile situation without encouragement from Mom or Dad. These types of negotiations usually work better with older preschoolers or school-age children than they do with toddlers because of the reasoning skills involved. As an alternative to being timed-out, toddlers also can be timed-in while in the safety of a parent’s lap. Holding allows parents to talk to their child about why she’s being removed from an activity. For example, the toddler who has thrown her truck at the cat could be picked up and held for a few minutes while being told, “I can’t let you throw your toys at Misty. That hurts her, and in our family we don’t hurt animals. We’ll sit here together until you’re able to calm down.” Calming strategies could incorporate music, back rubs, or encouraging the child to breathe slowly. Objects that children are misusing should also be removed. For example, in the situation just discussed, the truck could be timed-out to a high shelf. If parents still decide to physically remove their child for a time-out, it should never be done in a way or place that frightens a toddler. Toddlers who have been frightened in the past by closed doors, dark rooms, or a particular room such as a bathroom should never be subjected to those settings. I know toddlers who, in their terror, have literally trashed the furniture and broken windows when they were locked in their rooms for a time-out. If parents feel a time-out is essential, it should be very brief, and in a location where the child can be supervised.

None of us knows another mom’s truth. We don’t know her fears or insecurities. We don’t know how her morning went. We don’t know how she was brought up. That goes for the high-performing, control-freak moms, too. We don’t know what drives them, or the pressures they are under. We don’t know what goes on in their heads—or how they feel about themselves and their lives. So maybe we should just give everyone (including ourselves) a break.

work vehicles and a lone motorcycle, her SUV had the road to itself, which meant she would get there faster. Indeed, the familiarity of turning onto Caroline’s street was a lifeline. Once she parked in front of the mint-over-teal Victorian, she put Tad on her hip and hurried up the walk. The squeak of the screen was actually reassuring. And the smell of time when she stepped inside? Heaven. “Mom?” Caroline ran barefoot from the kitchen, stopped short, and put a hand to her heart. “Mother and child,” she breathed and slowly approached. Her hair was a wavy mess, and her face blushed in a way that made her look forty, but her eyes, moist now, held adoration. Wrapping a firm arm around Jamie, she said by her ear, “We will not mention the show. It has no place in this house with us right now, okay?” Jamie hadn’t even thought about the show, and certainly couldn’t think of it with Caroline’s soft, woodsy scent soothing her nerves and giving her strength. “Mom,” she began, drawing back, but Caroline was studying Tad. “Oh my. A real little boy. Hey,” she said softly and touched his hair. Jamie felt the warmth of the touch, but Tad just stared without blinking. “I think I know you. Aren’t you Theodore MacAfee the Second?” Those very big eyes were somber as he shook his head. “Who, then?” “Taddy,” came the baby voice. “The Taddy who likes cats?” Caroline asked, to which he started looking around the floor, “or the Taddy who likes pancakes?” “Pancakes, please,” Jamie inserted. “I promised him we’d eat here. Mom—” She broke off when Master meowed. Setting Tad on the floor, she waited only until he had run after the cat before turning back to her mother and holding out her left hand. Caroline frowned. “You’re shaking.” She had steadied the hand with her own before she finally focused on that bare ring finger. Wide eyes flew to Jamie’s. In that instant, with this first oh-so-important disclosure, it was real. Jamie could barely breathe. “I returned it. Brad and I split.” “What happened?” Caroline whispered, but quickly caught herself. Cupping Jamie’s face, she said, “First things first. I don’t have a booster seat for Tad.” “He’ll kneel on a chair. He looks like Dad. Do you hate him for that?” Tad was on his haunches on the other side of the room, waiting for Master to come out from under the spindle legs of a lamp stand. “I should,” Caroline confessed, “but how to hate a child? He may have Roy’s coloring, but he’ll take on your expressions, and soon enough he’ll look like himself. Besides,” she gave a gritty smirk, “it’s not like your father gets the last laugh. If he thought I was a withered-up old hag—” “He didn’t.” “Yes, he did. Isn’t that what booting me off Gut It! was about?” “You said we weren’t talking about that,” Jamie begged, knowing that despite this nascent reconciliation, Gut It! remained a huge issue. Not talking about it wouldn’t make it go away, but she didn’t want the intrusion of it now. Caroline seemed to agree. She spoke more calmly. “Your father’s opinion of me went way back to our marriage, so this, today, here, now, is satisfying for me. How happy do you think he is looking down from heaven to see his son at my house, chasing my cat and about to eat my grandmother’s pancakes, cooked by me in my kitchen and served on a table I made?” The part of Jamie that resented Roy for what he had made Caroline suffer shared her mother’s satisfaction. She might have said that, if Caroline hadn’t gone from bold to unsure in a breath. “I’m not equipped yet, baby. Does Tad need a bottle for his water?” “No. He’s done with bottles. Just a little water in a cup will do, since I forgot the sippy.” In her rush to get out of the house, she had also left Moose, which meant she would have to go back for him before dropping Tad off, which meant she would be late for her first appointment, which she couldn’t reschedule because she had back-to-backs all day, which meant she would have to postpone to another day, which

We have to decide how to start our research,” Ashley said. “Like, should we look for information on the whole town, or just one specific area. Roo and I decided we should all focus on the Brickway.” “You decided we should all focus on the Brickway,” Roo mumbled, popping the tab on her can. Gage nodded. “Ashley’s right. If this is a walking tour, some kids in our class might not want to walk very far.” “If, in fact, anybody wants to walk on this tour at all,” Parker couldn’t help adding. “Come on…we’re not really going to do this ghost stuff, are we?” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well then, maybe we should have transportation. Maybe we could use our cars?” “Our cars? Etienne and I are the only ones with wheels.” “What a perfectly brilliant idea, Ash.” Roo shot her sister a bland look. “Ghost BMW. No…wait. Ghost Truck. I’m all tingly with dread.” “Or Ghost SUV?” Despite Ashley’s wounded expression, Parker clasped his hands beseechingly at Gage. “Oh, pretty please, can we use your mom’s minivan?” Ashley’s lips tightened. “Parker, this is serious!” “Look, I know it’s half our grade.” Easing back down, he took a swig of beer and tried to reason with her. “But let’s face it--the whole thing’s pretty stupid. And impossible.” “It’s not stupid. And why is it impossible? All we have to do is research old places that might be haunted.” “And just how do you propose we do that? Oh wait, I know--let’s just knock on people’s doors. Excuse me, we’re doing a survey--are there any creepy ghosts living in your house? Ash, come on. We can’t force things to be haunted just so they can be close enough to walk to.” A disappointed silence fell. For several minutes everyone seemed lost in thought, till Etienne unfolded himself from the tree. “Don’t y’all know anything about your own town?” He walked over to the cooler and pulled out a beer. To Miranda, who watched him, he moved with all the grace and stealth of a predatory cat. “Well, I’m not going to flunk this project,” Ashley said crossly, “just because Parker’s an idiot.” Roo promptly frowned. “Where’s your compassion? Parker can’t help being an idiot.

Nana’s funeral was packed wall-to-wall. And I cried hard and dramatically, completely unable to keep it together despite having known for the better part of a year that she was going to die. Death was the worst, and I hated the way it reminded me of how out of control I was. But the older I go, the more death became a constant. Friends lost loved ones, my family lost friends, and my dad and mom put our family cat down after 17 years. With every death, I taught myself to emote a little bit less, pushing the acknowledgment of loss down as far as I could, desperate for a sense of control over the uncontrollable.

There was no running wild here like we did at home, adults around or not, ideally not. Emmy was not on her own for one second, due to all the unknown people and murder potential. After school she went to a lame place where they did crafts until the moms showed up, with kids that were not at her level. Her words. On Aunt June’s night shifts, because they kept that ER going around the clock, there was an old lady downstairs with two stink-eye cats where Emmy went for sleep, breakfast, and TV watching, meaning one neighbor at least was not a criminal mind. Her cats, possibly.

I Couldn't Believe It! I was sipping coffee and scrolling through cat videos one minute, and life was good. The next, my laptop screen flickered, turned black, and flashed back on, this time blood-red, with a message that sent my heart plummeting into my gut. "Your files have been encrypted. Pay $50,000 in Bitcoin, or say goodbye to your data forever." Hackers had hijacked my system, and I was locked out of my $450,000 Bitcoin wallet. I stared at the screen in horror, my coffee abandoned and my cat videos a distant memory. I rattled my fingers as I tried every password to which I believed I could gain access, but it was for nothing. The hackers had me in their sights. Tears accumulated in my head as a nasty thought ran through my mind, would I be forced to end up on my mother's couch again? I mean, I love her, but waking up under my childhood Justin Bieber posters at 35 wasn't what I envisioned for myself. On frantic hours of Googling, reading through forums filled with terms that I couldn't even start to make sense of, I stumbled upon TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT at web w w w :// trustgeekshackexpert. com/ . It was something from a fantasy novel, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I needed Gandalf at this point. I called them, praying for deafness or a scam, but their response was speedy and professional. They did not just talk tech, they listened to my desperation. They assured me that they had handled ransomware cases before, and their words were a lifeline in my sea of despair. The next nine days took nine years off my life, but our staff kept us up to date at every stage. I could envision them hacking around in their shades, like a scene from an action movie. When they called and informed me that they got back my wallet, I hit the floor on my knees and prayed to whatever higher power my mind could conceive. Every Satoshi was accounted for. My $450,000 was safe. Bonus? Mom can now go ahead and convert my childhood bedroom into the guest suite she's dreamed of—without me as a permanent houseguest. Email: Trustgeekshackexpert @ fast service ..c o m Thank you, TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT

I Couldn't Believe It! I was sipping coffee and scrolling through cat videos one minute, and life was good. The next, my laptop screen flickered, turned black, and flashed back on, this time blood-red, with a message that sent my heart plummeting into my gut. "Your files have been encrypted. Pay $50,000 in Bitcoin, or say goodbye to your data forever." Hackers had hijacked my system, and I was locked out of my $450,000 Bitcoin wallet. I stared at the screen in horror, my coffee abandoned and my cat videos a distant memory. I rattled my fingers as I tried every password to which I believed I could gain access, but it was for nothing. The hackers had me in their sights. Tears accumulated in my head as a nasty thought ran through my mind, would I be forced to end up on my mother's couch again? I mean, I love her, but waking up under my childhood Justin Bieber posters at 35 wasn't what I envisioned for myself. On frantic hours of Googling, reading through forums filled with terms that I couldn't even start to make sense of, I stumbled upon TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT at web w w w :// trust geeks hack expert . c o m / . It was something from a fantasy novel, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I needed Gandalf at this point. I called them, praying for deafness or a scam, but their response was speedy and professional. They did not just talk tech, they listened to my desperation. They assured me that they had handled ransomware cases before, and their words were a lifeline in my sea of despair. The next nine days took nine years off my life, but our staff kept us up to date at every stage. I could envision them hacking around in their shades, like a scene from an action movie. When they called and informed me that they got back my wallet, I hit the floor on my knees and prayed to whatever higher power my mind could conceive. Every Satoshi was accounted for. My $450,000 was safe. Bonus? Mom can now go ahead and convert my childhood bedroom into the guest suite she's dreamed of—without me as a permanent houseguest. E m a i l : Trustgeekshackexpert @ fast s e r v i c e .. c o m Thank you, TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT

A snarl overtakes my face, fury tearing throughout my chest. “Hey, Mom?” “Yes?” “Fuck off.

Generation Y, Millenials, whatever we were, we weren’t concerned about ancient doctrine or philosophy. Angels and devils were stories told to give us hope or scare us. All we wanted was to live, man, and enjoy our time while we could, come whatever may. Music was great, movies and games were great, and we couldn’t wait to graduate and leave our shitty little town. The horrors of 9/11 hadn’t happened yet, the economy hadn’t collapsed, and a gallon of gas cost less than a buck-ten. The millennium was coming up. The threat of Y2K was real and yet no one understood why. College was on the horizon, the gateway to our successful futures, and what an exciting time that promised to be. Who had time for ghosts and the words of dead men? Why worry about superstitious dangers? How many cracks have I stepped on without breaking Mom’s back? I’ve lost count of how many black cats have crossed my path. We—I—grew up in a time when none of that mattered because tomorrow was a million years away. Even now, as my peers are back home living with their parents, unable to afford what society promised them twenty years ago, we’re all still living day to day. Living in the moment. We have no time for superstition because, hey, I need to meet my hourly quota for the day, week, month so I can pay my bills and continue surviving.

That had been the name of their mom’s cat, who’d died of old age before the accident. Well, shit. His hands were tied.

As I slid off my coat and pulled a hanger from the closet, I noticed Gracie glaring at me sanctimoniously. Gracie had an uncannily strong drunk detector for a nine-year-old cat, and her you stayed out past curfew face was something to behold. It told me she knew I'd had too much to drink on a Tuesday night and lied to my family about having a boyfriend. It also told me I should have been home to play with her hours ago. "Meow," Gracie lectured. I couldn't even be mad. "I deserve that," I agreed. "Meow," Gracie said again, with feeling. Okay, that was a bridge too far. "Look. I've had a really rough day." Part of me knew it was ridiculous to get into an argument with a cat. The rest of me needed Gracie to understand. Instead of understanding, Gracie chose to jump onto the kitchen counter where Sophie put my mail. Right there, on top of the spring issue of the University of Chicago alumni magazine and the new issue of Cat Fanciers was the wedding invitation Mom had said was coming. I looked helplessly at Gracie, who seemed to have given up on judging my life choices in favor of bathing her right front paw. "I don't want to open it," I told her. Instead of backing me up, Gracie signaled this conversation was over by jumping off the counter and sauntering over to my living room couch. One downside to having a nonhuman roommate was when I needed someone to validate me, I was usually out of luck.

And so they stick to traps and tricks. And if one takes any of these informal fallacies home in hopes of making pets of them, giving them tidy roosts and appropriate newspaper potty spots in your brain, the mayhem will soon commence. You will soon find your mental furniture shredded, dead birds in your frontal lobe, wriggling worms in your moral outrage, and what can only be excrement in your aesthetic sense. And worst of all, you—like a hoarding cat lady—might be too far gone to even notice, because the culprits will be busily holding your loving gaze with wide glistening eyes. You might even find yourself voting for politicians because they promise to build us all a bridge to the future. As though someone was going to build one to somewhere else? The danger these creatures represent is considerable. The economic devastation they have caused has run up into the trillions, and that is just under the current administration.1 Families are under strain because Mom persists in saying “just because.” Climate change activists

Lorelai Gilmore is my favorite TV mom.

Would I never see him again or get to touch his soft fur, feel his warm body cuddled up against mine or see his dangling tail and hear the pitter-patter of his little feet? Both Mom and Lettuce were gone, and maybe now Cabbage was gone, too. I didn’t want to be left alone. My eyes filled with tears and I cried out in despair, but I kept on running, forcing my legs to move. I started panting heavily, and my mouth was dry, but I ran and ran until my head started to ache again and I collapsed onto the cold stone pavement. But I pushed myself to carry on, crawling awkwardly on the ground. That’s when I noticed the paving stones underneath my palms. Recognizing them, I looked up and realized that I had reached the square

A certain mother noticed that her ten year old daughter had a driving desire to take possession of everything – to the extent of using lies to claim something that does not belong to her; and besides that, she noticed that her seven year old son would crush an ant or any other insect cruelly and brutally with his foot – as if he were taking revenge on those weak creatures! To deal with these problems, the mother went to a library and borrowed some stories focusing on generosity and helpfulness, and on kindness to animals. The outcome of this is described by the mother in these words, "The story which left the deepest effect on the children's consciousness was that of 'The Blind Cat', which is about a cat which lost her vision during pregnancy; and when she delivered her kittens she had to face the problem of how to care for them, and how to keep them near her." Then she adds, "More than ten times I told this story to my children; and every time one or more of them wept at hearing it. Then one said, in perfect innocence, 'Mom, why don't you bring this cat to our home, so that we help her care for her kittens?

Carl: Mordecai. We just walked into a quest. Should we stay here and try to figure it out? Mordecai: You should try to figure out your face. Carl: What? Mordecai: Mom loved him more. Well, who’s the dead one now? I’m glad that cat used her ashes as a bathroom.

Amid the meows and hisses, the Labrador barks and the hound dog bays that mark the passage of hours and weeks, Mia feels the straight, rigid arrow of her ambition curl in on itself like a sleeping cat. Rather than strive to become as extraordinary as her mom could have been, Mia feels a growing desire to be entirely ordinary. The predictability feels safe, and the safety feels good.

Me and the cats love this book, and I think it’s purr-fect for elementary school!

Have some more to drink,” Mom encourages, pouring more red wine into Molly's glass. “With as stiff as you are, I fear my son will be marrying a wooden puppet. He'll be picking splinters out of his—” “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan. “Quit talking.” “I'll make sure to buy him a magnifying glass then,” Molly says, one corner of her lips curled upward.  “For the splinters or his penis?” “Ma.” A laugh bursts from Molly's throat, and instantly, I forgive my mother for being so crass. I'm used to her making jokes at my expense,

I have two kitties, Romeo and Coco. They are a part of our family and they are nine months old. They represent happiness and hope to our family, because they came during a harsh time when my mom was experiencing depression.

Perhaps, I will tell you about the cat. She is grey and white with a black spot on her face. She is very pretty. But she really annoys my mother. Whenever our side deck door is open, this “fur ball” races around our house, looking wild, and bumping into the furniture while my mom swings her dish towel, always missing!

Mom is cursed with a perpetual scowl on her face and looking at life like her glasses got smashed when she was plunged out of Nana’s vagina.