MacKenzie is obsessed with cats. We had a cat once, but it shit on the Christmas Tree skirt and I had to get rid of it. Plus, I was allergic. It wasn’t just the cat, though. We had a miniature pot belly pig that shat in the laundry room and all over our side yard, and squealed uncontrollably anytime you came within a five foot radius. We had to get rid of him. We had a pound puppy that ended up laying butt worms in our eldest daughter’s bed, who freaked out, so we got rid of her. The dog, not my daughter.
I know, I know…. I can hear the comments flying already. But I just can’t do it…. I grew up with animals in the house; one stinky dog and three cats, to be exact. Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini Tipsy Killer Muttly, Otherwise Known As Mangy Mutt, or Rulu for short, was my dad’s adorable Benji-looking dog that farted worse than a grown man on a strict diet of hard-boiled eggs, protein shakes and beer. I despised the downstairs bathroom where Smokey, Zoro, and Baby’s shit box resided, constantly stepping on flung cat litter and even worse, having to endure the smell if I needed to use the toilet. It didn’t matter if the shit box was freshly changed; I am disgusted by the whole concept. Even worse, I have the nose of a bloodhound (no pun intended, really), so odors really affect me. I can’t stand going to zoos.
My husband and I tossed around the idea of getting an outdoor dog, but I dismissed that thought just about as quickly as it came to mind. I would feel so sorry for the poor creature, stuck outside. Chickens are one thing, but a dog outside all of the time? Too cruel, in my opinion. But I can’t have an animal in my house. I. Just. Can’t. The poop, the hair, the vomit, the punctures in my couch, butt worms, the waking up in the middle of the night with a mouthful of fur because the cat decided to sleep on your face, veterinarian visits, veterinarian bills, scattered food all over the kitchen floor, the smell… this list could go on and on. My mom has to massage her dog’s anal glands once a month, for Christ’s sake! Freaking anal glands?! You couldn’t pay me enough.
So what to do, when the three year old looks up at you, with those big blue eyes and asks, “Mama, can we get a kitty?”, with the other two chiming in, “Yeah, please Mom, can we get a kitten? Please?”
“Suuurrrrre,” I responded. “If you can catch one.” I didn’t think they would take me seriously.