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I know I’ve neglected this blog and it’s because I’ve been busy Getting a Divorce, a New Boyfriend, a New (old) House, and breaking up with said New Boyfriend.  More on said New House later.

When we moved home whenever it was that we moved home, my father got us a kitten.  His name is Gregory Allen.  He is a manx, so he has this little stub of a tail, and he is all jet black.  He is as slender as Kiera Knightley, and he hates everyone.  Except me.  He loves him some me.  And, I in turn love him just slightly shy of how much I love my son.  Some days I love the cat more.

We went to great pains naming this cat, yet we call him Kitty.  It’s not like he comes when we call him or anything.  We could’ve named him Booger.  Wouldn’t have mattered.  But we call him Kitty, nevertheless.

About a year after we moved to the basement Cottage of my family home, my dad picked up a rat of a kitten who looked like she needed to be loved.  And, like so many other Things My Dad Picks Up, the kitten was immediately neglected.  Well, okay, maybe not neglected, but definitely not loved the way a kitty is supposed to be loved.

~This is how you love a cat: When it purrrrs, you purrrr back.  When it wants to rub his face all over your person, you let it, because you want the cat to know you love it. 

~This is how you don’t love a cat:  When it wants to play, you lock it in the bathroom because its “buggin’ the shit outta” you.

So, when my dad bought a house Up North, we obviously couldn’t let him take the cat with him.  So we took her in like the little orphan we knew she’d end up being.

My dad named her Pepper.  Which is a stupid name for a cat.  I’m sorry if your cat’s name is Pepper, but I will not change my mind.  Holden and I immediately renamed her Talulah Milwaukee’s Best Buttercup Peapod.  We had every intention of calling her Lulah, but, you know….we call her Kitty.  Since sometimes calling two cats Kitty doesn’t really differentiate betwixt the two, we call them Mr. and Mrs. because, of course they are married, and not living in sin.

Mrs. is white as snow (thusly, Pepper…der!) and she’s not very bright at all, but don’t say that to Holden because it will make him cry that you called his cat mentally impaired.  Mrs. has a tail that goes for miles like a piece of white silk ribbon comin’ out of her butt.  She uses that tail to tell Mr. that she isn’t interested, thank you very much, and swat! in the face, Mr.

Mrs. loves everyone, and this is good for Holden.  Since she isn’t the brightest bulb on the string of Christmas lights, she lets him pick her up with her front hunched over the crook in his arm, and her backside just dangling in the wind as he bobs along doing whatever unnecessary thing he’s doing.  Mr. knows better.  He takes one look at that kid, and says, “O hell know, buddy.  You do not need me in your arm while you are looking for your tennis shoes.  You’ll do very well without me.”  And, scram! he’s gone inaflash to hide under the sofa.

But, not the closet.  No, he won’t be hiding in the closet anymore.  Not since I inadvertently locked him in there for Lord knows how long.  To make matters worse, I called and called him for Lord knows how long, not thinking anything of it, since he doesn’t come when he’s called in the first place!

People who don’t have cats just cannot understand this kind of love.  People often think of cats as snooty and self reliant on account of the fact that they disappear when you have company.  This is not the case, Cat-not-likers!  Our cats just don’t like you.  That’s why they go away when you are over.  They hate your stinkin’ guts, and cannot figure out for the life of them why we keep your company. 

Well, except for Mrs.  She loves you anyway.  But, then again?  She ain’t too bright…

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