Well, we’re going on week 3 and Josie/Clover/Cat face/Mrs. Bigglesworth still doesn’t have a name or should I say she has too many? How am I ever going to teach her to fetch, and roll over, and play the keyboard, and fold the laundry, and pose for pictures (so that I can make a fortune like ICanHasCheezBurger), if she doesn’t know her name?
What, cats don’t do those things?
Of course they do, you just have to teach them to fold using one of those boards they use at the Gap, also you may have to implant little sticks into their paws so you can control them like marionettes.
And have you not seen Keyboard Cat? She proves to me on a daily basis that anything is possible.
She’s my hero.
Anyhoo, our kitty who will one day be an internet sensation (or at the very least, fold my laundry) has no name. After my kids refused to name her *Clawwdia Schiffer or Justin Bie-purr or Jimmy Talon, or Will Feral or Oprah Winfrey (there’s no play on words there, we just thought it’d be really funny to say, look Oprah Winfrey pooped in the litter box) we were really lost.
We had finally found a boy name we agreed on. That name was Carl.
We all truly got a good laugh out of people coming to the house and having this conversation:
“Awww so cute, what’s your cat’s name?”
See, it’s enjoyable to you even now, isn’t it?
But alas, we picked a girl cat and we had nothing… We decided on Josie the Pussycat, but it never really stuck… so now we call her The Kitty. As in, “Where is The Kitty?” Or “Do you see The Kitty, she’s hanging from the drapes.” Or “The Kitty won’t stop attacking the sinewy, yet highly sensitive part of my ankles, fucking Kitty.”
Last night, I told the kids that if we don’t name the kitty, someone might eat her.
11YO: What are you talking about, mom, no one is eating the kitty!
Me: I’m just saying you can’t eat something once it has a name (as if that’s a rule everyone knows and more oddly as if that’s something that needs to be discussed in normal life, like, ever).
8YO: Mom, you’re not eating the kitty.
Me: I’m not saying I’m going to eat the kitty I’m just not saying I’m NOT going to eat the kitty — and that should be reason enough to name her.
Then I took a cloth napkin and tied it around my neck and held a fork and a knife in my fists while licking my lips like characters from the Looney Tunes.
No one even flinched. They just walked away and went back to their Instagram posting, and Futurama watching. Seriously, my kids don’t fear my threats even the least bit???
… which is why I ate The Kitty.
That’ll show them to be so glib.
If they ever take what I say lightly again I can simply remind them of that one time when I ate their kitty.
It’s a shame too, because I think she would’ve had a real future:
PS After eating her I think we should have named her “Chicken.”
*See Adam Levine Just Coughed Up a Hairball for the story mentioned above.
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