OK, close enough.
Hello, my name is Louis, and I am a shameless cat parent.
What few pictures I take, most are silly portraits of my cat Apple as shown here. Whenever I have a chance, I pick Apple up in my arms and cradle her as though she is a real child, and as though I am not crazy enough to be committed. I use baby talk with her. I let her get away with murder. Once, while watching Twilight, I put her on my back and did the “You better hold on tight, spider monkey” line and ran around the apartment.
This is something I’m not proud of. But neither were the makers of Twilight.
I don’t know what happened to me when we got this cat to turn my cold, chrome, android* heart into mush, but let’s face it, I’m a cat parent. The funny thing was that this was supposed to be Queta’s gift for herself, something I grudgingly went along with. “It’s this or a kid,” she threatened. So, I went with the one with fewer legal ramifications.
But then we had to pick the cutest fucking kitten we could find. And then she had to imprint upon me, like Osment in AI: Not the Steak Sauce. And now I have to be that annoying parent.
(As I write this, she is laying next to my computer. Soon, she might stretch out and invade my keyboard. If anything else did this, I’d be angry. Because it’s her, AWWWWWWWWWWWWW.)
And now, all of Queta’s female co-workers, to whom she reports my every shameless interaction with Apple, agree that I am secretly ready for a child. A real child, not the anthropomorphized child I have twisted the cat into being. And I’m worried.
I’m not really worried about actually having the kid (I mean, I’m not birthing the kid myself), but rather about extending this shamelessness toward my future kid. I am an avid reader of STFU PARENTS, and I’ve gone on record many times as despising the state of parenting today. I hate kids named Tyler and Cassidy, and the capacity for parents to overshare and yak on and on about their kids like they’re the greatest thing ever irritates me.
And yet, I do that with Apple. “OMG! She totally fought with that piece of ribbon! We gotta take a picture!” I post constantly about her exploits. Am I going to be “that parent?” Am I going to flood everyone’s Facebook pages with news about the baby’s feeding errors, and bowel movements, and “OMG! She totally thought that marble was a grape! WHOOPS!” Will I be that annoying about our future progeny?
Nope. I ain’t going there. Whew! Just as long as I know where the ceiling is. Now, where’s Apple so I can dress her up like EVE and we can play WALL-E?
*That’s TWO Google references in a row! PAY ME.