Watch your tongue

Last night, sitting in the parent's kitchen, J-man upon Granny's lap and extremely fussy. I'm trying to make conversation with him to get him to stop whining.

Recently he's begun to realize that our two cats are, indeed, individuals and that they have names of their own. Up until now they were just "kitties", a collective furball fun for chasing and otherwise tormenting. But the other day I was pleasantly surprised when he paused to squeeze one of the slumbering furballs and said "Look Mama, this one Bumper."

Yay!

And later in the day, he correctly pointed out the sour-puss Chloe.

So, back to last night. We're all sitting around the kitchen island, J is fussing and being uncooperative. Trying to get him to focus and engage in something other than fit-throwing, I ask him "J-man, can you tell Granny what the kitties names are?"

He thinks for a moment, and then with all his two-year-old sincerity he tells her "Kitty Stupid."

A little shocked and wondering where he picked that up I gently remind him that her name is Bumper, and she's a good kitty.

Not content to leave things as they are, I ask him what his other kitty's name is. And once again, he didn't fail to amaze me when he piped up "Kitty Fucking!"

Everyone was in stitches, except me, of course.

Thinking back, I realized that the other day, while cleaning up the cat urine incident on the couch, I did indeed utter something along the lines of "Stupid F@%$ing cats!" Of course, I believed at the time that J was well out of earshot.

And so, excuse me while I go chomp on this bar of soap.