Today Boychild, out of the blue, turns to me and says, "When the cats die, can we get a dog?"
Highly sensitive cat lover that I am, I laughed. "Go ask your father."
So he wanders into the other room and asks Dad the same question. I can hear Dad explaining about how dogs are a lot more work and he and his sister would have to pitch in and help a lot more yadda yadda yadda.
Naturally, this means our cats are officially on notice. "You can be replaced," I told Buster as he started yowling at me later in the evening.
I think I'll be writing a column on this at some point.