Pussy in the house

A new resident is in the house, and she goes by the name Pussy.  A cat.  My sister’s Franciscan nun gave it to her.  My daughters especially the youngest are overjoyed.

Previously, my youngest told me she preferred cats over dogs, in other words, she was asking me to get one.  I’ve kind of put off the request because I’m not into cats.  A former colleague gets almost epileptic when she’s near a cat.  It’s the weirdest reaction to an animal I’ve come across.  She said that it was due to a childhood experience with cats that traumatized her.

I don’t hate cats in the extreme it’s just that ‘meows’ are not exactly music to my ears.  Plus, I get hives from animal hairs.  My daughters asked me why I don’t like cats, and with neither a justification nor a quip on hand I kept quiet.  My daughters provided me an answer:  “Mommy! You’re afraid of the cat!”  They then proceeded to show me there’s nothing to be afraid of the cat.  Still they can’t make me go near it.

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