My kitties are getting older, and while their once subtle, yet unique characteristics have ripened into endearing personalities--
Sophie, the mischievous, happy go lucky cutie-fart (who, I may add, recently got her own Facebook account),
And Snorticus Maximus, the innocently confused, doe eyed, power meower (from hell)--
They simply don't need me like they used to.
Well, except every two hours when they need their tear-ductless eyes wiped. Or cling-ons clipped off their bottoms. Or their yummies mashed up with a fork. Or they need to be rescued from some crevice in my condo. Or they need barf cleaned off their faces. Or they need to be groomed. Or they need cuddles at bed time. Or toys thrown for them (and fetched, as well). Oh yeah, and my undivided attention every time my rear end makes contact with the toilet seat.
But besides that, the mother in me has lost my purpose.
I tried taking up a new hobby, and I really do enjoy listening to my police scanner for hours on end, receiving real time updates on local overdoses, wife beatings, and elderly women suffering from "general malaise and severe diarrhea". But it wasn't enough. So I did what any die hard, still in her prime mother would do.
I decided to expand the family.
And so I introduce to you . . . .
The ugliest, although most awesome Peru Apple Snail to ever hit foot, no, I mean slime pad in western Canada.
Choda is currently weighing in at 25lbs-- I'm kidding-- but he is massive, and intimidating, and the perfect creature to play a villainous character in a so-horrible-it's-awesome B movie. You'll all be thrilled to hear that he's thriving and doing well. Did I mention that his breathing tube looks like an elephant snout? Or an uncircumcised phallus?
I am glowing.