Something my sister wrote reminded me that I have never written down the story of our "cat" which should be preserved for all time. Or, at least, as long as the internet, or Blogger, exists.
The story begins with the fact that neither Dennis nor I like animals. And when I say we don't like them, I mean that we would rather not touch them. Or smell them. Or see them, really. And we certainly do not want to live with them. I don't know when this developed in my life, but somewhere along the line, I became an non-human animal-disliker. And luckily, I married one of those, too.
When I became pregnant with Annalivia and began reading all of those magazines that prepare those who have not given birth to become mothers by presenting the worst-case scenarios alongside cheerful advice on what cocoa butter to rub on stretchmarks, I saw a TON of articles on the necessity of preparing one's cat or dog or, if you are my sister, ferret, to receive the new addition to the family. These articles always involved helpful suggestions like, "Bring an article of clothing worn by the baby home from the hospital and introduce it to your pet so that the pet gets accustomed to the smell of the baby, thus reducing the likelihood that your pet will attack your newborn child." Like I said, very helpful tips in these publications.
Dennis and I were grateful that we didn't have this problem because since we have been married, we've only had one pet, an imaginary black cat named "Sassy" which is a shortened version of her full name, Sweet Sassy Molassey. She is not only quiet and maintenance free, but also very useful as a scapegoat/scapecat for household accidents and misplaced objects. There's a pile knocked over? Must have been Sassy. Keys gone missing? That darn Sassy. Puddle of something on the floor? Saaaaasssyyyyy! (Or Annalivia).
Sassy is a pretty carefree pet. In fact, most of the time we forget she's there. Because, um... she isn't.
