Annual shopping trip with Mama Bear

One of the buys from today

For the last eight years, my mom has taken me shopping for new clothes as a birthday gift. It works out perfectly. My birthday is the first week of January, so we shop a few days after Christmas when sales are INSANE. She always tells me a dollar amount limit before the day starts, so I know how to budget throughout the day. It's a super fun challenge. We come up with a list of stores and are on our way.

This afternoon, she was to pick me up at 11:00am. I texted her at 10:00am and asked that she get here closer to noon (I love my sleep). I went back to dreamland. The next thing I know, the doorbell is ringing, the dogs are barking, and my alarm clock reads 11:57. FUCK.

I open the door at 11:58. "I slept in."

My mom is on the phone with her best friend and mouths, "No problem."

I shower, dry my hair, and get dressed in 30 minutes, and we are on our way.

We shopped for four hours, going to six stores. I asked her each time she swiped her Visa, "What's the total now?"

She laughed hysterically at me throughout the day. I have proportionately huge boobs, so shirts often fit me in a really odd way. She'd laugh, wipe her tears, and say, "Please, oh please, don't get that one!" If anyone else laughed at me like she did, I would feel judged, and my self-esteem would plummet. But Mumsy is different. We had a blast today.

I ended up being $5 over budget.

I love my mom so much. More than I could ever put into words.

The Cat

I'm seventeen.

It's a scorching afternoon in the middle of summer, with no breeze at all, and the freshly cut grass is tickling my bare legs. Sitting cross-legged in the front yard, watching my dad garden, I feel happy. He is weeding and asks me what flowers he should plant this year. I don’t know anything about gardening, and he knows it, so I roll my eyes. As I stretch out my legs, close my eyes, and lie back, I hear the snap of weeds breaking off the earth.

Something soft brushes against my leg. My eyes flutter open, and a long-haired, one-eyed cat is looking at me expectantly. It is mostly grey with white clumps of fur matted around its paws and neck.

“Hello, kitty.”

I spend the next few minutes giving the cat love—it walks across my lap and rubs against my legs—until my friend arrives, and I have to go.

...

Over the next few weeks, the cat finds me. Whether I am in the front yard, the back yard, or the garage, the cat is there. 

It's pouring rain today, and the poor cat is drenched. Why is this cat not at home? I will look after it until the rain dies down. I put the cat in the garage, walk out, close the door behind me, and go into the house. As I pull out a can of tuna from the pantry, my dad asks what I'm doing. I tell him I'll be with the cat. I don’t know when the rain will stop, so I grab a book, too, in case I am here for the long haul.

Together, the cat and I spend the next ten hours in the garage. Cat and I snuggle in a blanket; it purrs, I read. I feed the cat tuna and water. When the downpour finally stops, I go into the house but leave the garage door open, letting the cat linger until it is ready to go home.

...

The next day when I get home and walk in the back door, I’m not sure who is home. “Hello!” I yell.

My dad yells back, "Come see me for a minute!" I kick off my flip-flops, walk into the living room, and see he has the cat on his lap. My mind spins. Why is the cat inside? My parents have never allowed a furry animal inside. I have grown up with fish, turtles, tortoises, and lizards.

“Go look under the tortoise tank in the kitchen," Dad says.

I run to the kitchen. There, under the tank, are two small bowls. One is full to the brim with water, and the other contains hard cat food.

I run back to the living room. “Why do we have cat dishes?” I ask, dumbfounded.

Bootsy

“I asked around the neighbourhood, and it turns out this cat has no home. The owners left him when they moved. His name is Boots, and he is yours.”