A quick note before we dive in. As a writer, I’ve always loved the idea of a cat sleeping on my desk while I'm writing my next piece. It seems idyllic, like something out of a novel. 

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

The universe decided to deposit kittens in my backyard earlier this spring, and now I have three small kittens on my desk. 

My laptop keeps beeping because one of them has decided the nice warm keyboard is the place to sleep and my newsletter has a sentence that reads,

"Happy FatherEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEttttkjldfkljghsNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN."

There’s a smear of yogurt on my monitor because someone else stuck their face in my empty yogurt cup and painted my monitor with their yogurt-covered whiskers. 

And the third has decided that my extremely sturdy Monstera pole is the best thing to climb in the world!

Right about the time I decide I’ve had enough, and they are all going to the local no-kill shelter immediately, they curl up and take a nap, and my heart melts over how sweet they are, and I decide they can stay for another day. 
 

You’ll note the similarities between my kittens and raising kids. Although, to my knowledge, there is no local shelter where you can drop off errant children. (It’s probably better that way.)

I know I certainly was no picnic as a child. If you ask the Engineer, he’d probably tell you I’m no picnic as an adult. But I’m still grateful to my dad for all the things he taught me. Even if I wasn’t particularly interested at the time. Much of that knowledge has served me well as an adult.

So, thanks, Dad. And no, I still won't, "Stay out of the peas!" but at least they're all mine now and I have to do the work to grow them before I gobble them all up while standing in the garden.