Nighttime has become something to dread. This is odd for me, because by nature I am a night owl. But lately, nighttime seems more lonely and tends to stretch endlessly til dawn. R and I are on different internal schedules, due to my unemployed status and his non-unemployed status. So he goes to sleep before me and rises before me. This is all fine, but I find myself now, at 1:30am, curled up in the bed next to my snoring fiance, typing in the soft glow of 48 hours mystery on the tv. There are two cats entwined between us, leaning against me and bathing each other with all the seriousness that kittens can muster. Their measured laps create a sweet rhythm in the dark, and periodically I reach over and pet one of them reassuringly. My hand comes away slick with cat spit.
I just caught Hank gazing at me in the dark with his intense yellow eyes, as if to say "thank you, mama, for giving me my very own bella to love." You're welcome, my feline son.
Tomorrow morning we will drive to Col. Springs to visit R's youngest grandkids, L (1 1/2) and C (6 months). Neither of them can talk yet, so the issue of what to call me has not presented itself; but I think I want to be "Miss Lisa". Reasonable, no? I am NOT their "Grandmother", and it's not that I hate the ancient connotations that go with that term (although please - I'm not even 40! or related by blood!). It's that I have not earned such a title. No spawn have passed through my body and I have raised nothing but felines of dubious character. I don't think it's fair to hold that title when it's not accurate. What do you think?