Molly told me she was a cat this evening as I was putting her to bed. I'm not sure if this was a tactic to prevent bedtime (ie, some argument that cats don't have beds, or bossy mothers, or they can't understand English, or she's a cat that doesn't sleep...whatever). We tucked her into her kitty basket (oh man. who am I? I don't even like cats. I love Molly. Really don't love cats). Stroked her silky cat fur...etc.
I came downstairs and settled in for the evening. And Molly settled into her evening routine: twenty minutes of stalling and chatter. Tonight, she told me she needed to go to the bathroom. Fine. I heard her get up. Then she kept talking. I couldn't hear her exactly, but sometimes, at the end of the day, patience is low. I told her I was done talking and so was she. She hesitated. Then there was this:
"But Mummy, I just wanted to tell you that the cat is in her kitty litter..."
I laughed. Mixed message, I know. But it was funny. I didn't even know she knew what a kitty litter was.
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