Now, I am not the mother of a human being, but I am the mother of five feline fur babies. And proudly so.

  My boys fill my hours with lots of belly rubs, head-buts, nose kisses, many a purr, and a lot of shed fur. 

  Occasionally a couple of fur-balls make their debut but, since my babies are so cute, I’ll forgive them that transgression.

  I love sitting down to read each evening or on the weekends with a cat, or cats, curled up nearby, and letting the stress of the day just fade away as I give them rubs.

  However, of late, it seems the word I utter most when trying to take a break often is, ‘NO!’

  Binx, one of the newest additions to our family, has entered into what we like to call his ‘terrible twos’ phase. 

  He is the most vocal of our bunch, often chirping or meowing for his brother Henry, thus imitating a sort of feline geo locator or trying his hand at a poorly played game of Marco Polo. The game only works if the sought out party answers. But, he hasn’t quite figured that part out yet. So, he continues on his solo diatribe in the hopes that he might one day receive a response. 

  When he is not chirping loudly, he is running back and forth from our front door, through our kitchen, downstairs and back again. Parkour is often employed, jumping on or over his brothers and bouncing off of the wall but, more often than not, turning over the water-bowl mid-pounce. 

  Binx has also recently decided to try his hand at gymnastics, regularly working to scale our doorway to the kitchen at top speed in a striking imitation of the the dreaded rope climb that took place in high school gym classes of the past. That has resulted in many a ‘NO,’ after which he runs to hide under a cabinet or chair, with his chubby bottom poking out from under it, thus placing himself in his own version of a time-out. 

  If there is any tissue lying around on a table or counter, he is there to tear it up. In a time of paper product scarcity, he is not a considerate housemate. 

  Binx is also what I dub our ‘trash cat.’ He has figured out how to press the opening to our trashcan and root around inside to find whatever discarded food tickles his fancy. We have now taken to putting heavy items on top of the trashcan to deter his efforts. Sometimes it works. Sometimes….well, I’m not going to get into it. 

  One time, he managed to get a chicken wing off of the stove when we had our backs turned. In a piranha-like manner, he cleaned the chicken wing to the bone and then attempted to hide the evidence under a kitchen mat. I think he was trying to save some for later.

  Binx has taken recently to scratching on our newly bought couches, as if we haven’t spent many a dollar on purchasing state-of-the-art cat scratchers from Chewy or our local pet store. That no scratch spray from the store? Doesn’t work. I think he might actually like the lemony smell. So much for that. 

  He has also been caught many a time in the sink, pre-washing our dishes in a manner that would put Dawn dish soap’s advertised efficiency to shame.

  One morning, we woke up to find that his late night bacon bits mission was a success. 

  I’m actually quite impressed, because I had no idea we even owned bacon bits. 

  However, he managed to root out a previously undiscovered bag of bacon bits and liberated the bacon bits from their packaging and onto our living room floor. I am predisposed to think he was attempting to share with his brothers, but I think his mission was primarily self-serving.

  His brother, Henry, is his veritable partner in crime. He doesn’t take part in the antics but drives the getaway car, if you will. He stands close-by and silently eggs Binx on, encouraging him to take part in whatever mischief he is orchestrating and only joining in when he finds it beneficial. 

  Like with children, I know to worry when it suddenly gets silent in the house. 

  For a cat that has been neutered, Binx’s energy levels tire me out. But, as much as I call out ‘NO!’ in his general direction at each misstep, I wouldn’t change him for the world.