I (Tim) figured out how to put a picture in here! These are are our remaining pets. I don’t remember what pets I had when I was here before – I don’t think I had any dogs? And I know I didn’t have this cat. Winston is the rat terrier-looking one, Bitsy is the chihuahua-looking one and the cat is named…
Have I told you how our cat got her name? We got her a couple of Christmases ago as a kitten. The kids bought her for Tim because he likes kittens and we were all out of cats. Our cat Greeley had a stroke and we put him to sleep and our cat Kevin disappeared one cold cold day and never came back. I looked all over for him, called all the shelters and animal control and veterinarians. He even had a chip! So unless someone took him into their own house and adopted him (doubtful because he would find his way home), he must have either frozen, which breaks my damn heart, or gotten eaten by a coyote. He was such a good cat, but being an outside cat killed him and so…when we got this current cat, I put my foot down and said she would stay inside, and I still have to get shitty with Tim because he’s always wanting to let her outside. I don’t know what his deal is.
Anyway, back to her name. So that Christmas we were all sitting around discussing names. I was not doing well on my name game for some reason and couldn’t think of anything apt. We threw around “Jellybean” and “Chippie” and then Tim and Elliot started making jokes about how funny it would be to name animals one letter off from an obscenity and what the vet would think if you brought in a pet named “Fruck” or “Shatty” or whatever, and that, my friends, is how I ended up with a cat named Crunt.
The damn name stuck and now I am in the position of having to shift my feet around uncomfortably when people ask her name. Our vet and our housecleaner call her “Jellybean” and Tim often calls her “Chippie” but I can’t call her anything but “Crunty” and it’s just the worst.
I try to call her Kittycat or My Kitty (Dr. Evil voice) whenever possible, but honestly I still default to Crunty, and Cruntilicious and Cruntacular and I really need to just keep the name the shelter gives if I ever get another pet.
She’s a pretty good kitty all around, but she doesn’t like being petted or picked up. She sleeps on the bed though and loafs when she’s not tired. She very much distresses Tim because we have two unfinished? Unhandled? I don’t know, those wood beams that aren’t smooth, cedar pillars in between our kitchen and living room and she chose them for her scratching posts. I’m like, you can sand those down after she dies (I’ll outlive her probably) and add some stain, but you can’t fix the back of a couch or chair.
Bitsy is very very pitiful and timid which is all an act. One day I was giving treats (“Wipe your feet, get a treat!” – it works) and I tossed hers at her and it hit her on her tiny head and now FOREVER GOING FORWARD, she will not take any food from my hand. It wasn’t even a heavy treat! It was a Pupcorn! It was like a Cheeto hitting her! Nevertheless, I love her. She snorts and sighs like Chihuahuas do and it’s very gratifying.
Winston is the closest we have to a typical dog. He’s very energetic and annoying, even though he’s close to 8 years old. He wants to go in the car. He wants to go for a walk. He wants to play ball. He wants me to throw his “rope” (it’s not a rope; “rope” is his word for “toy” so god only knows what he’ll bring over) He gets to “help” with the trash. He is so smart that when we start taking the trash bags out of the cans he runs around like a goon, ready to “help” which consists of walking on a leash while I roll the can out to the end of the driveway. Tim does not prescribe to the “help with the trash” activity so he will ignore the dog and go ahead and do the trash without him, which means, of course, that I have to get the leash and take Winston to the trash can so he believes he helped. I’m not made of stone!
I’ve talked a lot about pets. I’m an old lady.