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ANIMALS AND PEOPLE
Confessions of a Cat Mommy
The life of a human pet parent
My cat Harmony is the boss of our apartment. Spoiling a pet is half the fun of having one, and I outdid myself. Not only does Harmony get everything she wants, but she also wraps me around her little paw as easily as she walks from one room to another.
This apartment is not my house. It’s hers. Everything in it belongs to the cat, including the bed, the recliner chair, and the bathtub, where she doesn’t hesitate to make herself comfortable. She won’t drink any water except what comes out of the bathtub faucet. She watches me intently whenever she suspects I might be headed for the bathroom, knowing she’ll get a drink if she follows me.
Harmony drinks a lot of water. She’s diabetic, like me. She takes after her Mommy. She gets two insulin shots every day along with a helping of wet cat food. If it’s time for my daily shot and also time for one of hers, she gets hers first. That is one of the rules. She pays no attention to the shots, which I give her in the scruff of her neck, but she looks forward to the food. She never eats it all at once. She’s a cat, and her eating habits are ladylike. She would never gobble her food like a dog. That would be beneath her dignity.
