When I was little, we had a cat named Charlie. He died. We got another cat and I named him Charlie number 2. Very original, I know. We didn’t keep him long because my mom had a daycare and the cat scratched one of the kids.
From then I was taught to hate cats.
What does that mean?
It means that I have a tough time coming up with my own opinions and let others dictate how I feel. And that included how I felt about cats.
My friends hated cats. My parents and other family members talked down on them. Me being the impressionable child and teen I fell into that notion too.
It wasn’t until I was a senior in high school, when the therapist I was seeing at the time recommended to my mom I should have an animal to focus on, that I saw the error of my ways.
A guy my mom worked with at the time was looking to get rid of a kitten.
The stars aligned and now I have a son.
His name is Milo and he is now four. Check back here for posts about mine and Milo’s adventures.