I have an affinity for cats. They are smart, relatively self-sufficient, and they don’t drool. Their teeth are of a size so as not to pose mortal danger. Cats are everything dogs aren’t. I’ve had several cats over the years, but not since we turned pirate and moved to the Caribbean. Now that we are back permanently on the mainland and not looking forward to long plane rides to get home, I have started thinking about adding a purring, furry friend to our family.
That’s a little bit of a problem. Concerning the cats we’ve had in the past, Karl has been no more than tolerant. He claims he doesn’t much like cats. When the kitty is under foot, or naughty, or annoying, Karl’s favorite battle cry has always been, “Shoot the kitty!” It’s a phrase that often hurt my feelings a bit. Undaunted, I broached the feline acquisition subject with my dear husband recently and was met with affirmation. Yes. We go forward now, both knowing that he will sometimes pet and love our new friend, and sometimes shoo it away mumbling, “Shoot the kitty.”
So, ta dah! On Saturday we became the happy owners of a six-week old kitten. She’s been fun so far – and has taken well to living in the trailer by evening and night and riding in her carrier to the house to work by day. And even though Karl claims to not like cats, he’s picked her up. In fact, he’s clearly a little taken with her. He has petted her and played with her, then yesterday while we were taking a break he shared a corner of his ice cream sandwich with her! See, I knew his faked dislike of cats and his gun-related grousing about them were just ways to tease me. Huh. By the way, I’ve found the perfect name for our new kitty. Now, every time Karl is bothered and exclaims in irritation, “Shoot the kitty,” I’m going to smile and answer “Indeed.”
May I introduce to you, Shoot, the kitty! Yes folks, commas save lives!
