My Cat Doesn’t Even Know Its Own Name!

To be precise, none of my wife’s three cats know their own name. My guess is that they don’t know each other’s names or mine either. Yesterday I was yelling at George (the cat). Try as I might to inspire George to come to me, he would have none of it. His ears would not even perk up at the sound of his name. This would naturally lead me to believe that George is deaf, but he does come running if I pour food in his bowl. Therefore, George is not deaf, but rather he is egg like.

Egg like can be good. Have you ever talked to a carton of eggs? I have. It’s rather refreshing sometimes. No matter what I say they don’t frown, express shock, or get angry. They just sit there blankly and refuse to interrupt.

Just the other day I had a carton of eggs out and I was lamenting the impending birth of my first child. I relayed the story about how my wife was telling me to clean out my closet so she could fill it with baby stuff. From now on my wife and I will share a closet. So I said, “It’s not fair that the baby gets a whole closet while I have to share a closet.”

My wife, in an effort to console me I am sure, said, “Well, it’s not like you have your own room either.”

The whole process of getting ready for the baby is a humbling one. Wherever I was in the pecking order, I have been taken down a peg… A WHOLE PEG!

The eggs were unresponsive, so I fried one up. The others were still not talking. Like I said, the eggs betray no emotion. They didn’t scowl or frown. It’s like talking to a dog without the drool. Wal-Mart patrons are a different breed all together, completely unlike eggs. Recently we were at Wal-Mart (buying baby stuff). My wife told me to get the Vaseline, (babies need Vaseline) while she looked for something else. Not wanting to forget my task, as I pushed my cart across the store I made up a song to remind me what I was doing. It went something like, “Vaseline, Vaseline, Vaseline, Vaseline…” I was moving to the beat of the song as I pushed my cart up and down the pharmacy isles.

As I came around a corner I met a woman who gave me a weird look. She proceeded to put eight bottles of antacid in her basket and walked off. She glanced back at me one more time when she reached the end of the isle. I looked at the shelf and said rather loudly, “Generic petroleum jelly, how can I go wrong?” She looked at the end cap display and grabbed a jumbo bottle of Gold Bond Medicated Powder, and briskly exited the isle. I noticed that generic petroleum jelly is about half the price of Vaseline. Babies love jelly.

I pushed my cart toward the checkout. I met my wife and we stood in line. As I considered my experience it occurred to me why so many people see Wal-Mart in such a negative light. I stared at my petroleum jelly and realized that Wal-Mart was my enabler. The president has told us we are addicted to oil. There I was, buying oil (in jelly form) for a child who is not even born yet. The president was right. I am addicted to oil. I threw away the petroleum jelly as soon as we got home. I didn’t want to pass my faults to the next generation. No petroleum jelly for my child. Our president has picked up the mantle of his hero Jimmy Carter. I too will stand with him and fight the evildoers, one jar of petroleum jelly at a time.

The cat apparently smelled that sweet smell of petroleum jelly because he was clawing at the wastebasket. I told him to get away and was reminded that he doesn’t know his own name. Rather than naming our cats George, Ringo and Lennon, we could have just named them after their colors, Black, Orange, and Cow (because he is white with black spots like a dairy cow). We could have saved a lot of time with that strategy. Instead we spent countless hours coming up with the perfect name for each cat. That way we would know which one was ignoring us.