No, not mine. My 1918 mom is at rest with her twice-wounded husband out of WWII, my old man and beloved father at the Long Island National Cemetery. I miss them both very much.
Tonight, Mother is the momcat Mister Mittens. She's laid up in my recliner and after I go to bed and the lights are out she's going to jump into my bed and thump her rump into my left hip when she flops. She hissed at me earlier today and flashed some fangs with a snarl when I gently grabbed her tail but cats do not hold grudges and I suppose I'll be working her skull, neck, ears and shoulders while she purrs herself off to sleep. She's crazy off the street but she likes me a little bit.
