Mother's Day: Meow

Mother's Day has come and almost gone, and this was a good one for me: My only son appeared out of the rest of the world with a long-stemmed red rose, a lovely card, my favorite chocolates and a bug-eating plant. (Not saying I wouldn't have preferred a hug and a big, wet kiss from his former six-year-old self, but alas, some things are just not possible.) Also in tow was a giant Maine Coon cat named Big Lurch I had agreed to care for while Zack finesses his living arrangements this summer. And so, in addition to our two cranky 15-year-old cats who hate each other, we now have a feisty two-year old who is bigger than the both of them combined.

Thus far Lurch is still in shock under the guest room bed, but when he gets comfortable with his new surroundings, I fear there might be fireworks. But what's a mother to do? By the time your child is 23, there are few ways left to show your love, and you have just as much of it as when he was little and you fed him and bathed him and clothed him and baked him cookies and made him breakfast, lunch and dinner every day and helped him with those science fair projects and applauded him in the school play and soothed his fevered brow and endured the flag football and karate and swimming lessons and later drove him to the mall and took him to the orthodontist and taught him how to drive and packed him off to camp and then unpacked him after eight weeks and there was all that dirty laundry; what's feeding his cat for a few months?

One friend, never a mom herself, said, "It's a big imposition--you should have just told him no!" Another one, a mother of two, said, "Of course, you take the cat--you can't say no!" And that's why there is a Mother's Day.