Trusted With Cats
Generally, my personal gravitas is on a par with "Uncle Billy" in It's a Wonderful Life. I am the Dan Quayle of my family. I'm the guy in the corner. The after-thought. After I'm dead for... Oh, about ten minutes - the people I love most will have to scratch their heads a bit and really concentrate to remember me.
But I'm trusted with cats.
A member of my family is going to Florida and has given me the responsibility to care for her barn cats. Oh, this person has a son and daughter who dwell just as close to her home as I do... But she has chosen me to feed and water her cats.
Ironically, I'm really not that big a fan of cats. (No, really!) And yet, I am the kitty-care-giver. I am the pussy-provider. I am the only person standing between these cats and certain death. I control their water. I am in possession of their food. Their 9 lives are in my hands. Will they survive my guardianship, or will they be found frozen and strewn across the yard... stiff and frosty?
And what about those medical experiments I've been formulating in my spare time? If I neglect my research opportunities will I be able to face myself in the mirror?
What shall I do?
My nephews are celebrated. My nieces are admired. My brother earns praise and my sister garners affection. My mother is self-sacrificing and my father is venerable.
I'm trusted with cats.