The Otis Feed

Mom traded in her beloved Volkswagen GTI just shy of four years ago fur a mom-car. The Kia has served its purrpose but has definiatlly sported the typical “mom-mobile” look. Needless to say, Mom is ready fur a mom-car glow-up. The purroblem is Mom is supurr picky about what she wants. (Who’s wearing the picky pants now, Ma?) With absolutely no negotiation, Mom’s ride has to be black on black, it can’t be too big as she’s not comfurrtable driving a big car, it also has to have enough horsepower to get out of its own way. Oh, and it must come equipped with a moonroof. I’m sure there are a few other bells and whistles I’m leaving off of Mom’s must-have checklist. Consequently car shopping fur Mom is a nightmare.

I’ve tried to put myself in Mom’s shoes, but it’s impawssible. The closest thing I can compare this car shopping fiasco to is box hopping. I don’t ask fur much. The box has to be open fur easy access. The color of the box I could care less about. Size; well of course the bigger the box the better – this allows fur twirling around to find the most comfurrtable corner to back into. But in all honesty, if it fits, I sits. And if it gets me furrom the start of a catnap to the end, that’s just an added bonus.

Moral of the story is, I’m sure my next check-up at the vets will be in Mom’s new ride. I just hope there are heated seats to keep me warm.