Splash. "Son of a biscuit" Ouch. I stubbed my toe on the cat's water bowl again this morning, as I sleepily made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The cat - Marley - likes to move her -- despite the name, she's a her -- water bowl out the middle of the room. I should be used to it by now, but it's in a different spot every time.
Marley and I have a love-hate relationship. I do love her because she's our pet, has been for 10 years, and is sort of cool despite the fact that she's a cat. I don't like cats.
So how does someone who doesn't like cats, end up with a cat?
Marley came to be in our family when we were still in college. The summer of 96. Our college paper admin manager, Becky, had yet another batch of kittens in the office. Her country cats were prolific. I wasn't interested. I don't like cats. I'm allergic to cats.
But I was out on assignment somewhere,and my daughters happened to stop by the office with hubby. They, of course, loved kittens. So by the time I got back to the office, my daughters each owned a kitten because Daddy couldn't say no to them.
So they come home, dubbed "Doobie" in honor of the Doobie Brothers and in part in homage to the other's cat's name, which was "Bob Ziggy Marley." Yes, they were trying to suck up to the parents with the names.
Long story short, Doobie was not long for the world. A veterinary student did him in when we took him to the campus vet clinic to get spayed.
So we had Marley. That was 10 years ago. Since then our daughter has moved out, gotten married and now owns a dog. So Marley became our cat.
Liberating Plankton, part 1
6 days ago