We Remembered

The tradition continues.  December 7th was Lincoln's 7th birthday.  Our yearly excuse for pie.  Happy Birthday, you annoying bag of fur.  Love.

He Still Lives Here Too

I really feel for this cat.  I mean, his life has completely changed over the past year.  He used to be the most important baby in this house.  Now he gets pushed away by us and chased by Sam.  He is still a playful and great cat, just a way too needy cat.  

Like when I have to physically move him away from my body every time I want to roll over in the middle of the night.  I mean, we have this brand new king size bed.  There is enough room for the entire family plus a great dane in that bed!  No reason to have to smoosh his cat body against my armpit.  But it could be worse.  Both the cats could want to sleep with us.  Thankfully, Weena is not a cuddler.

While we are on the subject of Weena - Why do I never post pictures of her?  She is a mystic.  I try and try, but it's near impossible to get a picture of her.  Even though she is the larger of the two cats, she seems to disappear in magical ways.  Or she is completely blurry.  I'm convinced she is a mystic.

See?  That little gray wisp is her tail.  By Sam's shoulder you can see her ear.  How does a crawling baby block the entire view of a 17 pound cat?  Mystic.

Six

We remembered.  His life has changed quite a bit.  Poor thing doesn't get the kind of attention he used to get.  I often feel bad for him, our 4th class citizen.  And that Wegman's cake is delicious.

Second Class Citizen

What is this?  A dutch apple pie with a candle in it?  Why?

There is a running joke in our house right now.  And the butt of that joke is my beloved Lincoln.

Today is his 5th birthday.  Yes, I know what day my cat was born.  Yes, I realize this is not a normal thing to keep track of.  Lincoln has been the victim of my misguided nesting instincts for several years. And the birthday tradition of getting a cake/pie/dessert of some kind and taking a picture of the stinkin cat next to it has been observed every year of his life.

But will this be the last year?  I have this little human in my lady bits that will be born in less than 3 months.  A child to focus my no longer misguided motherly and nesting instincts on.  Poor little Lincoln is about to become a second class citizen.  Does that little peanut of a brain have any clue what is about to happen to this family?  Will it be a rude awakening or a relief that I am finally leaving him alone and not trying to smoother him with snuggles?  Will we remember this time next year that Lincoln is 6?

I don't know the answer to that.  But I do know I love apple pie with vanilla ice cream, so maybe we will remember.  Food is one hell of a motivator.

In Which His Will To Live Is Sucked Out

These photos are from a while ago, but I just found them this morning lurking in an ignored folder.  I got Lincoln another shirt.  Too bad I didn't post this yesterday on National Talk Like A Pirate Day.

A cute little pirate skull and cross bones.  I don't remember where I got it from.  It was probably CVS or The Dollar Store or something like that.  But I brought it home and promptly put it on the poor creature and watched as his life force was slowly sucked away.  He hates his shirt.  He pretty much refuses to move when he is wearing it.  Which is also fun to take advantage of.

Poor Lincoln.  But don't worry.  I only made him wear it for about 15 minutes and then the sad little eyes were too much for me to take.

It's a Good Thing I Don't Own a Dog

I have wanted a dog for a very long time now.  We don't have one because we are gone for 9 to 11 hours straight when we are both at work.  Not fair to the poor dog.  Plus doggy day care (yes, it is a thing) is very expensive.  And so I just steal time with my brother's dog Alex whenever I can.

Now enter Target and my endless love for that store.

Oh yes.  It is a very good thing I don't have a dog.  Cause that poor creature would jump into oncoming traffic just to avoid the humiliation of Halloween.  The cats are only mildly safe.