This is my nasty, “Courtney Love” cat. Her name is LaChonda Turner. She’s gross, but thinks she is glamourous. She has a limp.

This is how what my porch looked like when we got home from church today.

Caption Please.

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Kristin and I, for whatever reason, like to compare our kids to animals.  We have ever since Blue was born.  Originally we though of him as a snail.  You know the personality of a snail.  Just kind of sitting there.  Then we realized that all babies do that.  They just sit there for a while.  Then he became mobile and hyper and all that so we decided that he was more like a rabbit.  He prefers something cooler like a cheetah but it’s our game so he has to be a rabbit to us.  

Aiden is more like a turtle or something like that.  Slow and steady. He will do the same thing for hours and never seem to get bored. Now, as he gets older we are thinking of him more like a cat. A cat that lays in the sun all day, and isn’t really interested in what you have to say unless it’s directly affecting him. He’s not interested in all that much affection unless he wants it and when he does he’s constantly rubbing against you. For years we have described Aiden as “calm like a bomb”. He’s mellow until something happens that he really doesn’t like and then the claws are out.

Cooper is a rhino.  He’s the baby that figures out how to break everything.  If he cant get something to work he will smash it as much as possible to get it to work.  He’s the “head down, full force” runner and, even as young as he is, likes to pick on cats.  Especially ones named Aiden.

I think Kristin is a little like a bird.  Focussed but distracted.  She knows how to make nests and junk like that, but if she wanted to she could fly into the wilderness and come back whenever she decided.  She wouldn’t be a nasty pigeon or anything like that.  She’d be something cool looking and clean.  Not one of those dirty birds that lives under a bridge and attacks you for climbing into their nasty home.  She’d land on your shoulder and tell you some cool bird stuff and then fly away to tell someone else cool bird stuff.  I would like that kind of bird.

I think I am a little like a frog.  I don’t know why.  I like frogs.  I like how they are hard to see at night unless you almost step on them.  I like how they can climb on stuff.  I like how they are kind of gross, but not as gross as snakes, but still interesting to look at.  They look like you would want to hang out with them, but still gooey and slimy enough that demands personal space.  And there’s always that possibility they might pee on you.  I like that.  I think I’m a frog.

So what kind of animal are you?  Come on, don’t be shy.

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Growing up I didn’t mind it. In fact I don’t even think that I noticed it. I never paid much attention to the plastic grass like substance in the bottom of my yearly Easter baskets. I probably didn’t pay attention to it simply because there was candy distracting me. Even as I got older I never really thought much of it until roughly Junior High. (Or is that “middle school” to you folks in the South?) Now every time Easter rolls around, and I start thinking about Easter baskets, I have one image in my mind, and only one image.

I remember it clearly, and don’t think I will ever shake the image from my mind. I was laying on my floor in my bedroom reading a book or maybe something less studious, and my parents cat walked up begging me to pet him. Easter was a few weeks back and the candy was long gone, as were the baskets. Half-way ignoring the cat and half petting him he rolled around on his back as cats do. After a while of half-hearted petting the cat sat up and looked at me, and I noticed him sitting on something shiny, thin and green. You know where this is going don’t you?

Without thinking, and still involved in what I was doing, I reached to grab the small piece of Easter grass from the carpet and under the cat. As I picked up the end of it and began to pull, I noticed slight resistance. Resistance from the carpet? Resistance from the cat refusing to stand up and let me throw this small piece of garbage away? Apparently not. The harder I pulled the more I realized that the resistance was coming from directly under the cats tail. That’s right folks. This was on it’s way out. Only now I am committed as a humane pet owner to free this cat from it’s Easter grass “situation”.

Now I’m not sure how long a single blade of Easter grass typically is, but this was one of the longer ones that’s for sure. A good foot or so. I pulled and pulled as my parents cat embarrassingly arched it’s back and glared at me with a look as if I was moving things inside him that should not be moved. He wasn’t sure how I was doing it, or why and honestly, neither was I. I continued to pull until the resistance let loose, the cat looked at me with a glance of gratefulness, and walked out of the room. Here I am, left holding an eaten, digested then partially passed, and pulled out of a cat. Neat.

So naturally it’s not my first choice for something to fill our boys Easter baskets with, but we do because we love them or something like that. Marketing geniuses do now, however, have edible Easter grass, which we tried this year, but haven’t had time to try it out on the cat.

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