santa paws

It is almost here! St. Nick is all porked up and will soon be ready to lock and load. This year promises to be a special one for the Maglets. Besides the orange & Nerds, there will be a surprise to beat all surprises in their stockings- a kitty! It all began months ago, très loads of moaning and groaning from the both of them- "Mommy, everyone has a pet. Everyone..BUT US!!!" For awhile, I was able to take a big swig and let my well-rehearsed 'our home is too small, my allergies to huge' monologue do the talking but as time went by, Mama Mag's heartstrings began to get plucked like a Glen Campbell banjo...and heck, I dunno- the next thing I knew, Daddy and I were at the shelter checking out a furry orphan. Don't get me wrong. Dad and I are huge feline fans. But, I am busy enough with my hairless rug rats!

I remember my first pet, a dog who took my heart captive the minute our eyes locked. It was around my 10th birthday. I have a beloved pic of us napping on the sofa together...me, awash in puppy breath and bell bottoms, and her on my chest...catching some canine z's. She was smart as whip, that dog- a Border Collie mix. She had an uncontrollable urge to herd the cattle, bless her, which resulted in a lot of yelling from my dad. :) I used to saddle her up with lunch and my journal. We'd amble off on the farm somewhere for a little respite. No D.S.'s or I-Pads in those days, just a girl and her dog, quiet...eating wild blackberries in the sun. It was a hoot watching her curl her lips back, toofies exposed, carefully picking the morsel from its thorny crown. That memory makes me smile.

So flash forward- here we were, looking for a cat. My hub and I had four of the little rascals between us when we first moved in together many years ago. It was a dandered Brady Bunch, let me tell you. But it was a critter we were most familiar with, so we decided it would probably be be the easiest new addition for our fam. A special Christmas morning delivery indeed. By none other than, Amanda, Santa's special rescue elf. I don't have to tell you that I have a sack of camera batteries and a jumbo box of Kleenex for this one. To say their heads are going to twist off their shoulders is an understatement.

I got my Gosselin on and named them already. "Dorian" is our eight week old smokey ball of feline lightening. He is at the pouncing-out-of-nowhere stage. Uh-oh. Strong martinis and moves like that, just don't mix. I figure since he is lucky enough to have nine lives, then he'll be the only Mag among us who doesn't age, so the name will fit him well. Yeah, yeah, I should be ashamed of my mommy self, but I'm not. I simply can't go through the next ten years or so, calling out to a Sparkle or a Cuddles. Another great gray meowy opportunity to drum up the fanfare and open our peepers to the fortune we have in our lives with appreciation and a renewed sense of wonder. All the gifts given me from two amazing little girls.