Luke is obsessed with the prospect of our cat, Abby's death and continues to talk about what type of pet we're going to get next. I know he absolutely adores Abby because she sleeps with him the most and he always says, "Oh, Abby's so ca-yute!" In fact we had the following conversation this morning as Abby strolled into my bedroom while Luke was watching me put on my makeup. "Oh, look. It's Abby. She's so ca-yute! Mom! Don't you think Abby is so ca-yute?" Me, "Yeah. I guess she's cute." Under my breath, "If the bitch would stop pissing me off she'd be a lot cuter." Luke, "What'd you say?" Me, "I said, yes she's cute." Luke, "Mom, when Abby dies, can we get a kitten?" Me, "Uh, maybe." Under my breath, "No way in hell are we getting another cat." Luke, "What?" Me, "I said maybe. It just depends. What about a dog instead of a cat?" Luke, "Nah. Cats are so ca-yute!" Me, "Well, we'll see. Abby probably isn't going to die anytime soon, with our luck." I personally thought she would have died from her self-induced bulimia a few years ago, or that a large rat or other animal would have eaten her skinny ass by now, but she's still around and cranky as hell. Luke was silent for a few seconds and then asked, "How do cats die?" Me with a heavy sigh, "Well, they can die all sorts of ways. Sometimes they just get old and die, sometimes they get sick and die, sometimes they get hurt and die. You just never know." Luke, "Abby is old. Is she going to die?" Me, "Not any time soon. I think she still has a few years left in her." Luke, "When do you think Abby will die?" Me under my breath, "Apparently never." Luke, "What?" Me, "Oh, I don't know sweetie." Luke, "Maybe she'll die when I'm six!" Me, "Maybe." Luke then got distracted and ran off to chase, the aged, dying, bulimic, psycho cat.
We have this conversation several times a week and he'll tell anyone that will listen that we're getting a kitten when Abby dies. He's a strange, sweet kid. I totally don't get him, but he's mine and I love him to death.