Furley

Very emotional morning.  My sweet, nutty, energetic, and very hilarious 3 year old boy is about to start Montessori school.  The questions ricochet in my head and I boo hoo.  Am I ready for him to be a student and be gone every day?  Will he do OK?  What if he doesn't poop in the potty there?  What if I really miss him and we are spending a fortune to send him to school and I can't do anything other than sit here and fret?  What if I decide I want another baby?

Oh, but the days with him are so long.  He asks a million questions and, what's more, has two million demands.  Latest one is that he be referred to only as Furley.  I asked if he wanted juice (using his given name) and it resulted in being berated for 4 minutes over me not respecting his wishes and calling him Furley.  He is not a boy, he does not drink juice from a cup, he is a cat and he wants to drink milk from a bowl.  His request is punctuated by a very loud meow.

I glance at the clock.  3 more hours.  3 hours until my little one goes for his trial run at his very exclusive school.  3 more hours of being the only source of guidance and structure in this little guy's world.  I tear up more.  3 more hours.  It's just school; he'll be fine.  Everyone goes to school.  It's just for a trial run, anyway...he doesn't start until tomorrow. 

I look over.  Furley grins.  I've been at the computer for a few minutes...thought he was watching Tom and Jerry.  What is that fluff I see and where did he find the glue stick?  Furley the cat has taken his dulled scissors to our real cat, Minka.  Minka now resembles a chemo patient on one side and Furley is gluing cat fur to himself.

And it occurs to me that this week is not indeed over.  Andy doesn't start school until Friday and his time to visit school is tomorrow, not today.  That means I have 27 hours to clean chopped cat hair and enjoy more quality time with Furley.