The paradox of being needed

Everyone needs to be needed.

Even those who claim they would be happy flying solo ... everyone needs to be needed.

I do have a confession, though. Sometimes being needed can get to be a little much. Especially when there is that transition from kid to cat.

My daughter needs me to do everything. Brush her teeth? "Mommy do it!" Hand her a cup? "Mommy do it!" It's taxing, even if we combat it because ... well ... then we're combating it.

As much as we love our children there is that moment at the end of the night when we take a collective sigh of relief at the quiet.

Then the meowing starts.

It's as though an alarm goes off in Luke's kitty brain the second the children are securely in bed. It is his time. Nothing will deter him. It's as though I am walking catnip.

I suppose it's endearing. I love Luke. He's really annoying, though. Like ... really annoying.

I could walk from the living room to the kitchen with him at my heels.

What happens when I try to exercise.

"MOOOOOW. MOOOOOW. MOOOOOW."

For the love.

It's not so much the need for attention as much as it's the need to be intrusive.

Apparently, sitting with me, purring, is out of the question. He must be biting, clawing, head-butting.

"Cat people" hear my stories and I can tell they're judging me. Then they come to my house and experience the craziness. I have literally had people look at me with wide eyes and say, "Wow."

Yeah. It's that bad. I wasn't lying.

It is impossible for me to do any sort of exercise in the living room because he attacks my head. He jumps on furniture so he can bat at my shoulders. He claws my legs. He bites my arm.

Ah, Luke.

Then when I'm sitting peacefully (the rare occurance), where is Luke? Snuggled peacefully on a chair, or the floor, or ... somewhere. He couldn't hang with me then. When it's convenient for me.

No, he has to make sure he gets his attention when it's really tough to handle.

And people don't think you can compare kids and pets.