Of course...

...the cat would have to make her debut at some point sooner or later in this blog. Frances was the name I gave to the cat I dissected my senior year of high school and swore that if I ever got another cat (other than the live one I already had at that time) I would name it likewise. Probably sounds creepier than it actually is. So my live cat went on to kitty heaven shortly after I went off to college after 17 long years of what probably amounts to an adventurous cat life. (The dissected cat was disposed of in a manner I am not sure of by my anatomy teacher.)

Many years later, my brother found two kittens under a dumpster in Luling while passing through. He picked them both up and took them home with him, much to his rommate's dismay, being deathly allergic to the poor little things. My brother, having a huge heart for helpless animals of all kinds, begged us to take one or both of them, and my husband agreed to take the "ankle-biter" of the two. I made good on my promise and named her Frances.

Now let me make something clear. We are not weird cat people. I don't have forty cats or even two. I have one. I enjoy both cats and dogs, as does my husband, but he is too allergic to dogs to even try and deal with. So it will probably be only cats for the rest of my life, which I can deal with, except for the unintended consequences of being bought all kinds of cat stuff by people that find out I have a cat and assume I want kitty everything. It's similar to when you say, 'Oh, I think lambs are so cute,' or something like that, and the wrong person hears you say it, so you are then resigned to a life of lamb-related gifts from that person for your kitchen forever. (To this day, it is the reason I have not bought a ceramic chicken anything for my kitchen.) To be fair, I know this pigeon-holed gift-giving happens to people with dogs, too, but I don't think it happens as often or to the extreme that it does to people with cats.

I also don't want to give the impression that I am not nice to my cat or that I don't love her. I do love her, but she is not the friendliest animal to people outside of me and my husband and definitely does things on her schedule. Even on the days I find her most remarkable, I have to remind myself that she is more or less a typical cat. We buy her stuff and she either loves it so much she tears it apart, or it goes unused most days of the year. Her bed falls into the latter category, so we have taken to storing her toys in it, which my husband claims is the reason she doesn't lay in it. It is a vicious cycle and we have placed the bed in all sorts of locations in an attempt to make it more appealing to her. Nothing seems to help. So you can imagine how hard I laughed and how perplexed I was when last night, my husband and I happened to look over from the couch and saw this:


As you can see, she decided that despite the presence of just about every toy she has, that it was time to lay in that bed.


I laughed so hard I cried.

Peer Pressure...

...I haven't succumbed to it since my much earlier days, and even then it didn't happen very often. I have set this blog up at the gentle goading from my friend, Natalie, and mainly so that I can post comments on her little blog.

I hope you relish in what you have created, young lady. Never forget--no good deed goes unpunished!

Since this specific post is being done at work on my lunch hour time limit, I cannot even begin to describe what this entire blog monstrosity will center around--probably just what me and the hubs are up to, for the benefit of family and friends who we cannot always see, talk to or be with, but miss every day and wish to keep updated. I know--boooooorrrring. *yawn* I am not making any promises, however, because while it may start out as this, I can definitely see it being an organic thing that will change many times and take on a life of its own as my will sees fit.

Ok. Enough verbal diarrhea for one day.