Happy Mother's Day to everyone. I spent our morning walk today trying to think of what to write about. My own mom passed away almost 20 years ago. I have many memories of my mom but what I remember most was her coming to my room to tuck me in as a child. She would sing me a song called Little Papoose and tell me to not let the bedbugs bite.
My favorite pet related memory was of my cat Bonnie. Bonnie and my mother had an odd relationship since my mother's allergies really meant she should not have a cat at all. Instead she endured shots so we could keep Bonnie. She was the one who found Bonnie who had been abandoned in our local park. She followed Mom home shortly after my Dad died and we took the mangy grey cat to the vet. When we went to get her they brought out a pure white Persian cat. She was gorgeous. Mom insisted it was the wrong cat but they told her no - they had vaccinated, spayed and washed her and this was the result. Mom had always been a pied piper for cats - we placed a number of strays over the years - but when we saw how beautiful Bonnie was mom let her stay.
In the winter one year Bonnie took to sneaking out of the kitchen after her breakfast on the weekends and sneaking upstairs and climbing into bed with me. We would snuggle and doze until we heard from downstairs: "Where's that cat?" We'd here mom stomping around downstairs muttering that over and over. Bonnie would tense when she would hear my mother near the stairs. At the sound of her foot on the first stair Bonnie would fly off the bed and into the closet which I always kept slightly open. My mom would come up and walk into my room.
"Jerrienne Barrett, where is THAT CAT?"
"Don't know. I was sleeping."
"She's not in bed with you?"
"No." Mom would huff a bit then head back downstairs. A few moments later Bonnie would emerge from the closet and get back into bed with me.
In retrospect I think Mom had to have known what was going on but this was her way of keeping us on our toes.
After Bonnie died Mom was followed home one day by a large English sheepdog that she named Bo. She was crazy about that dog, she got him groomed and proudly walked him every day. My stepfather would not let her keep the dog which is a shame. I think Mom may have felt that special bond with Bo, like I feel with Bizz. She talked about him with me for years.
I find myself today missing my Mom and some of the other women in my life who I came to think of as Moms but who have passed on - Connie, Virginia and Jill.
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