Cat Update

For anyone still keeping track of the cat's name changes, here are the latest developments in Kitty Cat Jones' life.

1. We started calling Kitty Cat Jones by his initials, so we've been calling him KKJ for a few months now. Then, one day, while yelling "KKJ" across the yard, we realized some of the neighbors might think we're racists if they misheard us or didn't listen too carefully.

2. I was asking a friend of mine whether or not she thought our neighbors might think we were extremely prejudiced when she paused.

"You know that Kitty Cat Jones' initials would actually be KCJ, right?"

So, not only might we be considered the white supremacists in the neighborhood, but we can't spell either.

3. I went home and told the SO about our mistake, and he responded, "No, that cat is KKJ. End of story. I don't care what his actual initials are."

4. Despite Coco, Cocoa, Toonces, Kitty Cat Jones, KKJ and KCJ, we've actually just been referring to the fluffy little dude as "the stationary cat" because he does not move from the spot in the picture for days. And I mean days. Other than raising his head occasionally, I don't think he leaves the dog's bed for hours (in the multiples of 24 variety) on end.

5. Meet the stationary cat! (Sure to be TSC or some other bizarre incarnation by Spring.)

Worst Pet Ever*

There are pets that are good ideas -- dogs, cats, parakeets. (Some people might argue for the ferret, but I'm not one of them.) Then, there are pets that are bad ideas -- rabbits, mice, anything that could become dinner if you live on a farm. (If you would pay someone to remove it from your home, I also contend it does not fall into the "pet" category, so I've never understood the market for mice, rats or snakes frankly.)

Of course, as a child, you have no idea what constitutes a good idea pet or a bad idea pet. And while my mother was in her "we're not getting a dog" phase, I'm pretty sure I begged for every pet under the sun -- chicks, kittens, bunnies and birds included. I started with fish, had a hamster and eventually, around the time I turned 12, graduated to birds. But somewhere in between, I had the worst bad idea pet there is -- the hermit crab.

We all know how it happens. You're down at the beach. You go into some store with a shark's mouth for a door, and within 15 minutes, no souvenir T-shirt, bag of shells or gull  perched on a piece of driftwood will do. What better way to take the beach home with you than in the form of a tiny hermit crab who lives in a portable, plastic case with sand and plastic green grass?

(I should probably also mention that I was the child who tried to catch minnows at the lake so that they could be my pets at home. I prayed that unsuspecting turtles would find their way into my yard, and I was heartbroken on the day that some other super lucky kid took the class chick home after we had all carefully incubated him/her from egg to hatchling.) 

"Please, please, please," were very common pleas the moment I came within the vicinity of anything that could warrant a name, habitat and feeding schedule. I was an animal lover from the get-go.

But, I digress. My primary point remains that there is no worse pet than the hermit crab.

My sisters and I were always allowed to purchase three of the creatures and take them with us after a trip to the beach. After all, they were cheap and didn't require too much in the way of care and feeding. Plus, it's not easy to take a five-hour drive home with three whining and disappointed girls in the back.

And every year, despite my high hopes for the hermit crab, nothing ever quite worked out the way I planned. I often wanted to "race" them, but considering their speed (and that half the time they hadn't left their shells when I called "go"), I usually forgot about the competition, wandered off to do something else and when I remembered my "pets" three hours later, it was a desperate search to find them in the house before my mom got home and wondered when I'd gotten the permission for free-range crabs.

The other joy I found in having hermit crabs was waiting for them to molt.

"You'll have to keep plenty of shells around," the teen at the shark's mouth star would always explain. "As they grow, they have to leave their smaller shells and move to bigger ones."

This promised transformation fascinated me, and I made sure plenty of shells were on hand, at all times, just in case. I even hand-picked the shells hoping my hermit crab would find an even prettier home than the one it had before.

On the one occasion my hermit crab did decide to move out of its shell, it walked around naked for a few hours before settling right back into its old shell. Then, it stayed curled up in there for the next month, or however long it took for my mother and I to decide that the hermit crabs were probably dead and throw them out. 

Years later, someone told me that hermit crabs actually hibernate, so I probably threw away live crabs every year, but I'm not sure my hermits and I would have had much of a future together anyway. There's only so much entertainment a crustacean and plastic grass can provide, and hence, why I stand behind the hermit crab as the worst pet ever.

I do sometimes wonder if landfills are full of hundreds of recently-awoken hermit crabs along the lines of the alligator/sewer urban legend, but despite my desire for infamy, I'm pretty sure the hermit crab/landfill legend isn't the legacy I'm looking for.

* Yes, I'm in to the absolutes lately.

All Smiles

Like most human beings, Iuse body language to give me clues about what another person is thinking orfeeling and how they are likely to respond to a given situation. I assume thatthe grimacing person with their arms crossed is unlikely to buy whatever I amselling or give me a good teacher evaluation at the end of the semester or evenwant to offer a flotation device if I was drowning. I hope the grinning personwho makes eye contact is a fan.

This might be just one of the reasons that I am continually amazed at the things people will say and do with a smile on. (Another reason probably has something to do with those who misrepresent themselves for the purpose of deceit and some underlying trust issues, but reason #1 seems far easier to tackle in a simple blog post.)

A few years ago, I was sitting at a party with a new acquaintance. We were discussing books because we both liked to read. Beers were in hand. We were both smiling and laughing. I mentioned how amazing I thought Oprah’s book club was because of the boon ithad given to so many writers sales- and publicity-wise.

“Yep,” he said, seeming to take in my words and give them some thoughtful consideration, “because she’s black.”

I sat there a tad surprised, to say the least.

“Don’t even get me started on the blacks.”

Now, let’s just say that based on his body language cues and everything that had gone before, I did not expect for racism to be on the menu in that conversation. A lively discussion on the true merits of William Faulkner? Maybe. Me having to feign interest inbooks related Nascar? Most likely. But outright racism? No. It made me thinkthat I really needed to listen more carefully.

Many people know that one of my personal pet peeves is fundamentalist churches that take a super casual approach to worship. I feel like there are a fair number of churches out there with the attitude of, “Come on in! Hey, we’re laid back here. Look, we wearjeans. Our minister is in a golf shirt. There’s a tambourine. This isn’t yourusual stuffy church; don’t be afraid.”

Only, then you find out, “Yeah, our church isn’t about being fancy or singing hymns from hundreds of years ago. We’re modern. We’re hip. And we’re super inclusive as long as you promise to hate gays, too.”

The point of all of this is that this is one of the reasons I was so upset by a visit to the vet a few weeks ago. I was having my cat fixed. Now, I want to say that overall, my experience was wonderful. The staff was caring. The facility was exceptionallyclean and convenient. The prices were astounding. Five stars out of five.However, shortly after entering the clinic, I was approached by a woman withthe brightest smile. She emanated warmth, and I kind of wanted to ask her for ahug -- just because.

“Don’t worry about your little one at all,” she said. “For the boys especially, it’s a really simple procedure.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

“So simple,” she said, still smiling. “All we really have to do is grab the testicles [there was a hand motion], make an incision, pull back the skin …”

Let me just say that there are many early morning hours when the last thing I want to hear about is testicles. (Call me crazy.) Also, while being a fairly sensible person, I still don’t like hearing words like “pull back,” “yank” and “cut through the veins” in relation to my feline companion. It was more than a bit much, and I could see the horror on the woman’s face behind my in line as the nurse continued to describe this procedure graphically and in too much detail.

All I’m really looking for is a little truth in advertising – a few more hints about what I’m getting into. Or, maybe just someone who knows that I don’t consider racism, homophobia and/or bloody operations things to smile about. 

*If you feel that the photo accompanying this blog post is false advertising for the subject matter, I apologize. Using only royalty-free photos has severely limited my options. I just really don't want to go to jail, and I can't afford fines. Sorry.