Way more than nine lives

My cat Fort was a dumpster diver in his previous life. That’s the only way to account for his survival. He must have been a fair hunter, too. He survived fights with wild animals, rain, and freezing temperatures, not to mention another “owner” (I use that term very loosely.) who booted him out before we took him in. That explains why he attacks our food whenever our backs are turned. Doesn’t matter what it is. He ate my chocolate ice cream when I had my wisdom teeth out with as much enthusiasm as he licked my Lean Cuisine tray clean yesterday. However, none of that explains his fascination with beauty products. He eats soap, chases me around trying to rub against, bite, and lick my legs when I apply lotion, and he cornered me on the bed when I was applying aromatherapy oil the other night. You’d think he’d have more common sense after surviving on the streets alone, right? How did he survive when he thinks it’s okay to eat soap??

Baby vigilante or tit for tat

One night last week, my husband was walking around with Max, trying to put him to bed. Suddenly, I hear a cry from said husband, whether of pain or alarm or both, I’m not sure. Since I am a new mom and half asleep, I immediately overreact saying, “What? What???”, sure that the baby has launched himself backwards out of his father’s arms and landed on the floor. I look up to see my husband’s grimacing face and my son’s tiny fist, the nails of which were overdue for a trim, clenched firmly around his father’s nipple. My poor husband probably has some idea now of what it is like to breast-feed at the beginning. Not only that, but it was my son’s first attempt at a “purple nurple.” (Not sure about the spelling of that.) My brothers would be so proud.

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