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My family has cracked up, big time.
For those who had better things to do for the longest time (and I don't blame you), we have three dogs. Yeah, I dunno why, they don't breed, but they multiply somehow. We started with Cody, who's half-mutt and half-something that looks like a breed I feel I should recognize, Smokey, a pure honest-to-goodness mutt who's only rational claim to the name is his chocolate color, and the latest is a pup named Midnight who has basically chewed up like half of my collection of house slippers. That, my dear friends, is a big crime in my book, because I live in a household where a number of people (resident mom and visitor cousins) have the same shoe size. Due to some unwritten rule that I've never been informed of, they somehow feel it is perfectly within their rights to filch my slippers at the drop of a hat. Which kind of sucks. Which kind of sucks terribly.
But I digress.
Anyhoo, Midnight was from my mother's friend, and the name was a hand-me-down. The friend's daughter named it, and its name ranks among the most ridiculous misnomers in my history because the pup's mostly white, although some people might stretch it because he has black spots over his eyes. Whatever.
So, from having no pets less than three years ago, we are now a certified dog household. I'm not sure anyone else read the announcement, though, because yesterday this kitten walked down (fell? parachuted? flew?) into the weird gutter-slash-crack between our house and the dividing wall of the next property. It spent about half the day yowling (because dude, whatever sound it made, it was NOT a meow; meows are the height of sophisticated animal sound and does not make one feel like one is chewing tin foil) at us. No one in my household speaks proper kitten (I'm reasonably sure), but we all spent some time convincing it to go away, citing reasons ranging from "your mommy will miss you" to "beat it, this is a canine-infested dwelling, don't you smell the dog breath," but apparently, we fail at persuasion. Or maybe it really couldn't get out. Maybe it has sikrit evil plans of infiltrating our domain and establishing itself ruler over the dogs. Maybe it's the spirit of my grandmother, who was always imperious about getting her own way, the word 'no' only being in her vocabulary whenever it suited her.
To cut my ramblings short, the adults (I don't consider myself an adult in our house, because hey, the verisimilitude of youth cuts you a lot of slack, you know?) finally gave in and rescued it from the crack, fed it, and adopted it. I assume that's what they did because really, you don't feed an animal, plan to give it a bath and a de-lousing if you're not thinking of keeping it. Most especially, you do not name it Sunrise.
Well, most normal people wouldn't name anything, let alone a kitten, Sunrise, if the damn thing were black all over except for its nose, right?
I don't know if this is a good idea, people. I'm torn between wanting to protect it from the (maybe well-intentioned) pawing of the dogs which are all, to an animal, at least ten times bigger than it is, or taking out my phone to record the fireworks.
Welcome to Animal Planet.
For those who had better things to do for the longest time (and I don't blame you), we have three dogs. Yeah, I dunno why, they don't breed, but they multiply somehow. We started with Cody, who's half-mutt and half-something that looks like a breed I feel I should recognize, Smokey, a pure honest-to-goodness mutt who's only rational claim to the name is his chocolate color, and the latest is a pup named Midnight who has basically chewed up like half of my collection of house slippers. That, my dear friends, is a big crime in my book, because I live in a household where a number of people (resident mom and visitor cousins) have the same shoe size. Due to some unwritten rule that I've never been informed of, they somehow feel it is perfectly within their rights to filch my slippers at the drop of a hat. Which kind of sucks. Which kind of sucks terribly.
But I digress.
Anyhoo, Midnight was from my mother's friend, and the name was a hand-me-down. The friend's daughter named it, and its name ranks among the most ridiculous misnomers in my history because the pup's mostly white, although some people might stretch it because he has black spots over his eyes. Whatever.
So, from having no pets less than three years ago, we are now a certified dog household. I'm not sure anyone else read the announcement, though, because yesterday this kitten walked down (fell? parachuted? flew?) into the weird gutter-slash-crack between our house and the dividing wall of the next property. It spent about half the day yowling (because dude, whatever sound it made, it was NOT a meow; meows are the height of sophisticated animal sound and does not make one feel like one is chewing tin foil) at us. No one in my household speaks proper kitten (I'm reasonably sure), but we all spent some time convincing it to go away, citing reasons ranging from "your mommy will miss you" to "beat it, this is a canine-infested dwelling, don't you smell the dog breath," but apparently, we fail at persuasion. Or maybe it really couldn't get out. Maybe it has sikrit evil plans of infiltrating our domain and establishing itself ruler over the dogs. Maybe it's the spirit of my grandmother, who was always imperious about getting her own way, the word 'no' only being in her vocabulary whenever it suited her.
To cut my ramblings short, the adults (I don't consider myself an adult in our house, because hey, the verisimilitude of youth cuts you a lot of slack, you know?) finally gave in and rescued it from the crack, fed it, and adopted it. I assume that's what they did because really, you don't feed an animal, plan to give it a bath and a de-lousing if you're not thinking of keeping it. Most especially, you do not name it Sunrise.
Well, most normal people wouldn't name anything, let alone a kitten, Sunrise, if the damn thing were black all over except for its nose, right?
I don't know if this is a good idea, people. I'm torn between wanting to protect it from the (maybe well-intentioned) pawing of the dogs which are all, to an animal, at least ten times bigger than it is, or taking out my phone to record the fireworks.
Welcome to Animal Planet.
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