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Maybe Just Some Angel

I believe Chloe bridged the gap between us, and we began to communicate ideas about caring, nurturing, and loving through Chloe, who by the way is my cat, our family cat. As the preteen became a teenager and she began to trust me, I began to appreciate her moments of wisdom and sharing with me. She had treated me like I was an infectious disease, but has grown out of that. For me, it was painful. I sometimes hated her. I believe we have grown to respect each other, especially in that she knows how much I wanted her to get the puppy she wanted. Avy, our mini-golden doodle, is our family puppy, but she's really Audrey's fur baby, who worked for a couple months to earn the money to pay a breeder. I respect that. I also respect how she has trained this sweet addition to our family and home. We are much closer than we have ever been.

The Brat

To me, she is, at times, a brat.  At other times, I see her sweetness, the light hearted ever playful child.  The adolescent little girl with the most active imagination, who is artist, clown, and antagonist all in the same ever-changing body that presently at 12 is almost as tall as I am. Why can this girl who I, upon her mother's request, wake up early in the morning to get her to her school bus and often pick her up at the same location later in the day, get so under my skin that I want to burn her out like an inflamed wart?  I've had more obnoxious, circuitous, aggravating arguments with this 10 year old, 11 year old, and now 12 year old child than I want to admit to, and often it's over the most inane things.  Like who gets to sit in my chair.  My throne, which she claims as soon as she walks in the living room and often remains until bedtime.