Thinking about a cat whilst drunk on NYE.

It's December 31st. I am sitting on my couch at 10:36 pm, sufficiently inebriated. The baby (toddler) is sleeping. My husband (still not totally used to that word) is sleeping, and has been since before 8:30. I am watching times square on abc. It's weird, I feel old. It's been a year, for sure. I got married. My daughter turned one. My sister had brain surgery. Trever's dear uncle passed away. Lots of feelings. Lots of adjusting. We are all just doing the best we can, I'm sure of that.

(this country music is fucking terrrrrrible)

But what is prompting me to type tonight is Kiki. She is sitting next at this moment, seemingly happy, but there has been considerable meowing recently. She's always been loud and talkative (my AIM name was/is kikimeowstoomuch) but lately I feel like she is yelling at me. She wakes Hazel up during the day. At night, it's incessant. Sometimes she sneaks up behind me. Sometimes she stares at the cat pan. Maybe her kidneys are starting to fail? That's common in felines at a certain age. She is 17. Let's face it: she is not going to live forever. I know this. I've done this before.

But tonight, she's driving me crazy with meowing. I clench my jaw. I pet her forcefully. Just please, shut up, stop meowing at the top of your lungs for ten minutes straight (right now she is all fluffy belly exposed, front paws tucked, purring so loud) because I don't know if you are in pain or you are just being a demanding queen, and you will meow either way.

And now that she's quiet and purring (and Trever is standing here in his long johns commenting on the NYE program) I just want to press pause. Look at her pretty face and stare into her eyes. AND JUST AS I TYPED THAT, THE MONITOR GOES OFF and Hazel is making sounds.

SO I'm going to eat a popsicle. And love my family.

Happy New Years.