My cat is not a cat. She's a rebellious teenage daughter.

That is the realization that I have just found myself with. She talks back, listens to daddy more than mommy, is super messy, can be quite demanding, enjoys doing the things she's not supposed to be doing, gets gifts from the grandparents (My own grandma, so I guess it's her great grandma?) for no reason, has a fucking boyfriend (mate)?! When, in the actual fuck, did I give birth to a child? I do not recall getting preggers.

That cat has a mind of her own, compared to the others and she knows exactly how to drive me up the walls. She knows when she's in trouble when I use her full name (because she throws her ears back) and she purposely meows back at me when I scold her for whatever bad thing she's done (usually it's her need to dump plants out of their pots). If I try to make my voice go a little louder than hers she'll do the same. Our little arguments are amusing to my family, however, considering the fact that they're not the ones who get to parent her. I think it's all worth it though.... Even though she's a punk.

These girls I grew up with, they each have kids and they're only two years older than me. They got pregnant in high school and one of them is already on her third. Well, I managed to bump into them at the store a while back ago and, after catching up for a bit, she had the nerve to ask me how many kids I had. It was a serious question and I answered it truthfully.... I held up a can of cat food and told her that the only kid I had was a cat. She gave me a really funny look and ended up getting offended by me when I told her that I didn't plan on getting knocked up. That apparently made me look like an ass but, in my defense, she treated me like shit growing up and doesn't really take care of her kids (her mother does).

Meh. I'm a jerk but that's the story about how I realized that I have an actual child.