Currently, this seems like one of those things I’ll never forget.  Because I hear it every night.  Sometimes twice.  However, from previous experience I know that in a year or two, this will likely become another one of those things that might as well have never happened.  (For the same reason I cannot hold grudges, I have learned I must write down all moments of cuteness when they happen.)

This is Eliott’s exact dinner prayer, every night it is her turn to pray:

Dear God.  Thank you for this day.  Thank you for this food.  And thank you for Mommy and Daddy.  Thank you for our jobs and thank you for our family.  And help us to get a job.  A-men.

That last part is carried over from the year John was about to graduate from Law School.  We figure, now, it could simply mean more clients, so we haven’t stopped her.  About two weeks ago, Carter decided she was ready to start praying at dinner as well.  At first, she copied Eliott’s words immediately after her, which of course made Eliott mad, and recite her prayer louder, which only made Carter raise her voice in response.  (The result was a little like a Pentecostal church service at the dinner table.)  Anyway, we’ve worked Carter into the dinner time prayer rotation.  Last night, her prayer was exactly this:

Dear Got.  Thank you for day.  Thank you…food?  Daddy?  (Incoherent noises including lots of spit.) No kitties.  Back yard.  AY-men!

Quick explanation: The outdoor cat who belongs to the neighbor behind our house knocked-up a stray who had her litter sometime last spring (wasn’t anyone listening to Bob Barker?!).  The stray, and the litter, frequently attempted to bed down in our swing-set playhouse, much to John’s and my dismay.  The last thing we need is worms in our sandbox, let alone a bunch of cats in heat right beneath our bedroom windows, know what I mean?  I for one am not much of a pet lover, and I hardly count cats as pets. (What John doesn’t know is that he might be getting a .22 for his birthday.)  Anyway, every time we see one or more cats in our backyard, John and I go the meal-time appropriate version of ape-shit.  I’m not sure if she’s on our side, or if Carter’s prayer is to save the kitties from Mommy and Daddy.  At any rate, between the two of us and the Holy Spirit, I’m feeling fairly confident we just might nip our little feline problem in the bud.

If that doesn’t work, my next step is a couple cans of poisoned tuna.

How to Get Rid of Stray Cats

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