There's Room For Everybody

Today's guest post is from Carla, at Blah Blah Blog-o-Licious. She's a blogger from Western Washington who writes about a wide variety of topics, ranging from Seattle rain to kitchen remodels to her Sweet Husband. I have no idea how I stumbled upon her blog, but I've long enjoyed her quirky view of everyday life. It's a nice break from the 137 dad blogs in my reader.


There's Room For Everybody, Including The Cats
by Carla, Blah Blah Blog-o-Licious

When I first met my step-daughter, she was 10 years old. A few short weeks ago she turned 18 and WOW, those eight years sure went fast. I met her when dad was still cool and I thought I was. What I didn’t know was how uncool I really was. Nothing like a 10-year-old to put you in your place.

But I was acceptable because I had two cats and she had none. I could have easily been snatchin' the pootie, but my situation was legit. I didn't have to "get in good" with the dad or the kid, I had it made. It was the child’s acceptance that I was worried about.

Now keep in mind that while my Sweet Husband was off being married the first time around and having a family, I was content with living in the work a day world and not being married.

I had lived in my home for about ten years and was pretty settled in. I knew where all the cobwebs were and which door needed WD40. When they came to live with me the hardest adjustment was my step daughter's sleeping habits. She had always had separation anxiety at night and a new house and a new person didn’t help the matter much.

But the saving grace was the cats. She had never had cats before and she loved them. I had always been rather fond of the little beasties myself because they always seemed genuinely glad when I came home. You may interpret that as, "the feeder’s home, the feeder’s home," but I choose to think they like me in spite of my innate ability to open cans and doors.

So it was a bonus that she liked them and they liked her. I should point out that "they" are two aged cats. In fact our eldest cat is the same age as our daughter - 18 years old (they could share a room at college). The other cat is 15 or so, she’s a bratty younger sister. I lose count when it comes to their birthdays, but the cats don’t seem to mind. As long as I remember the daughter’s birthday, things are all good.

You would think that me living by myself for several years and having not only a man invade my space, but a part time child as well, would have turned my world upside down. But not so. It was so easy. I equate them moving in to my house with scooching over on the couch to make room for someone. The move is graceful and effortless. There’s room for everybody, including the cats.

One of the first nights we had dinner together we had just sat down to the table when Sweet Daughter announced there was a cat hair on her plate. Being the fast thinker that I am, I told her that finding a cat hair on your dinner plate was good luck. And that it was important to take it off the plate as quickly as you found it and make a wish.

Yeah, uh huh.

Hello kid, and new man in my life, yes I actually do clean my house occasionally. I was so embarrassed and it was even before I knew that my Sweet Husband had a thing about cat hair or any hair for that matter. As I recall he did turn an odd color and didn’t eat much dinner that night.

It was a year or so ago that Sweet Daughter brought up the good luck cat hair, asking about its origin. I think I mumbled something like, "Embarrassment. Embarrassment is the origin."


Check out more from Carla at Blah Blah Blog-o-Licious.