Butterscotch

I had to dedicate at least one blog to my precious fat baby, Butterscotch Pumpkin Pudgy Penguin Bobbing Muffles Rhythm Bouncer Pouncer Ball Friggstad, otherwise known as Butterscotchy, Babyson, or Poop. He is maybe the best cat in the world, and I gotta be honest, whenever I go home he's usually the first living thing I hug (that's not to say I hug nonliving things...I was just squishing humans and animals into the same category for the sake of minimalizing verbosity, which I have failed at miserably by now). But if Mom, Dad, or either of the sisters were living out on the front porch, they'd probably be the first ones instead. My baby's proximity when I pull up in the driveway gives him this special privilege.
I don't know why, but lately I've been thinking about him so much. I even went out and bought a picture frame just so I can look at his squishy little face every time I enter my room. Maybe it's cause if I were living in the olden days, I could very easily be having real babies by now. Butterscotch is therefore the receptor of my unfulfilled maternal outpourings. I wish I could write him letters to ask how he's doing, if the other cats are staying away from his food, if he's been climbing onto the carport lately...sighhh...I know I'm the only one who ever holds him, cause nobody likes his claws (or his weight). But I think that growing up with him is what gave me the rippling biceps and mountanous shoulder callouses I possess today. Jannaya, Courtney, pick up the cat! He needs the love, and you need the muscle! And he's just a sweet little baby who misses his mommy. Be nice aunties.