Bringing Up Tuxie

Last summer, we had a close encounter of the canine kind. But once the family realized I truly wasn't "just pretending" to be a crank about the prospect of taking care of a dog for the next 17-to-21 years, the dealio fell through.

Ryan levied a two-day "Mom sucks" campaign before launching into, "Well, we should at least get a new kitten."

Cut to two weeks ago. Enter Tux.  Tuxie, for short.

We've already had Molly, the Maine Coon cat, for three years. She's awesome: beautiful, playful (with me, and a little with Cara), sweet (to me, and a little with Cara). Perhaps best of all, she sleeps by my feet and learned early on not to wake me up before 8:30 a.m. on weekends. What more could you want in a pet?

Ryan: "I want a new kitten. One that will sleep by ME. One that will sit by ME. Molly is YOUR pet."

Pets are funny that way. They gravitate to the person that feeds, pets, grooms and cleans the litter box for them. Weirdos.

But I always wanted Molly to have a pal for those rarified times we all leave the house for more than half a day.  Or, God forbid, actually take a vacation.  I feel like Molly feels like we're abandoning her.

Molly: "Seriously, this is not a problem. Don't be bringing in a new feline on my account. I'm good--really. In fact, I'm begging you... "

Me: "Molly, meet Tux!"

Molly: "God dammit! Doesn't anybody listen to me around here?!"

Tux: "What's her glitch?"

If anyone has ever seen the children's book or TV show "Little Bear," Tux looks like Cat.   He's not a kitten, but a one-year-old rescue.  He's quite handsome, black with white down the front and on his paws -- like he's wearing a tuxedo.  Awwww, aren't we clever?

I wanted to name him George Clooney.  But nobody else around here was on board.   But the cat IS so handsome he deserved the title.  And both know how to rock the tux look.  Plus, how impressive would it have been to be at the grocery store talking about what to get George Clooney for dinner?

Random Evesdropper: "George Clooney is at your house for dinner?!"


Me: "Uhh, yeah.  Like, all the time."

Molly: "What's wrong with you? You're in major need of a vacation.  Go ahead and take it.  And take George Clooney with you.  Freak."

Before you side with Molly and say we upset the apple cart and destroyed her quiet, happy life, Tux was rescued from a Dunkin' Donuts parking lot.  The good people from the Save The Animals Rescue Team (S.T.A.R.T.) offered him through the Totowa, NJ, Petco adoption event.

So we brought the little guy home (okay, he's big for a cat, and bigger than Molly).  But he was SO grateful to not be eating frozen coffee grounds for dinner.  We followed all the instructions about keeping the cats separated and giving them a slow introduction. Well, when Tux first saw Molly, he was happy!  Happy to see another cat!  Happy to have a playmate!  Happy to have humans feeding him and a warm home!

In turn, Molly decided to show everyone where the term "hissy fit" comes from.

Molly: "WHAT. IN. THE. HELL?!?!?"

Tux: "Hi, I'm new around here.  What's your na...?  Aaaagh!  That's wicked bile breath, sister!  No offense, but I didn't smell anything nearly that bad out back of Dunky D's.  You need to fix tha...  HEY!  Aaackk! Fine, I'll back away.  Oh my god, fix that."

Molly: "You know, hissing hurts me.  I've never even had to DO that before.  And now you're giving me crap about my breath?!  It's SUPPOSED to be offensive!  Boys are IDIOTS!"
                                   
                                        
So Molly spent the first week hiding from Tux.  Since he's a boy, and only one year old, he thinks galloping up and jumping on her is a great way to say, "Good morning."  But she's three and, like me,  not a morning person -- we don't want to deal with pleasantries until 5 p.m. or so.   She refused to eat or drink water with him around.  I had to carry her to her litter box so she would use it.  She was becoming an anti-social wreck.  I felt awful.

On the other hand, she mostly spends her days sleeping.  Lately, she seemed sorta bored.  Tux had the potential to add a little life to the party.  So what WAS her glitch??

Tux: "Seriously, I'm telling you.  She has diva issues."

Me: "She's being a brat, Tux, but come on.  You invaded her space.  And would it actually kill you to just WALK up to her instead of RACE into her face??  Could you just chill the hell out a little?"

Tux:  "Look, I'm a dude.  I do everything bigger and faster."

Molly & Me: "We know!"

Tux: "I eat fast."

Molly: "You eat like a pig is more like it.  Did you ever hear of NOT knocking your food all over the floor??  And stop eating MY food, by the way!"

Tux: "Ya snooze, ya lose."

Tux: "And I run fast.  Faster than you."

Molly: "You're a clod.  You crash into everything.  You already broke a vase!  I'm so glad they didn't name you George Clooney, you klutzy lug."

Tux: "They should have named you Mariah."

Molly: "Oh, my God.  I didn't ask for a bratty brother."

Cara: "Welcome to my world, Molly."

Ryan: "Tux, we're gonna be good, good friends.  Hey, ya wanna know what girls hate?  Farts."

Tux: "Right on, brother."

Fish Tales

Ya ever hear the one about the kid who wanted to play a carnival game to win a goldfish?

I have, too.  And I've raised those goldfish.  So guess what?  I've never allowed my kids to play carnival games that involve goldfish prizes EVER AGAIN!

Cut to my son having a sleepover with his aunt and uncle.  Two nice people who wanted to take him to a country fair.  Now, it seems, it's my problem to run around and scare up a fish bowl.  Because my brother let Ryan play, and WIN, a carny game that had a goldfish as the prize!

It's not like my brother doesn't know what's involved in taking care of pets.  He and his wife have two very happy, very healthy Springer Spaniels.  But my brother and his wife are indulgent with their nieces and nephews.  They don't want to slowly and scarily say, "No. God. Damned. WAY!" to any of them.  Because that would be viewed as being mean.  Or fun-sucking.  Traits that have long been ascribed to me by my own kids.

You might say, "Cath, why don't you just use the old goldfish bowl you must have lying around your house?"  Good question.  Because I did, indeed, have to have a goldfish bowl.  In the garage.  Along with a filtered fish aquarium, TWO hamster cages, a tadpole/frog habitat and a hermit crab crabitat.   But somewhere along the way, I came to my senses and said, "These creatures barely get a passing grade as  'pets.'"  So a few years after all those "pets" passed on,  I came to my senses and sold all those "pet homes" at a garage sale.

In the subsequent years, Ryan would beg to play carny games involving fish prizes.

Ry: "I'LL take care of it!"

Me: "Really? You'll scoop the fish out of it's bowl, dump the dirty water out of the bowl, refill it with clean water, add special aquatic drops, and then feed it... on a regular basis?"

Ry: "Wait, what?!  ...I just want to win a fish!!"

Let me just say, when I owned the first two goldfish, I did pretty well with them.  In fact, they lived for two years in a fishbowl on the kitchen counter.  When they died, it was very sad.  They got the full funeral with a burial in the back yard.  Twenty minutes later, the small voice of a wee little Ryan asked, "Can we go to the pet store and get new fish?"

Me, being idiotic, said okay.  Which started a hellish three-week cycle in which no fewer than 10 fish keeled over and died (sometimes within HOURS).  After the first two or six kicked, the pet store told me I needed a real aquarium with a pump filter.  I got the "SUCKER" sticker for free with that purchase. The two goldfish I bought with that purchase seized up after a day or so, so the pet store said I needed to get better fish.  About 45 minutes after bringing them home, one of 'em started listing.  GOOD GOD, THE HORROR!

The kids were turning to me like, "Do something, Mommy!"

I was like, "What in Sam HELL?!?!"

Against all odds, I had kept two carnival goldfish alive in an unfiltered bowl for two years!!  Suddenly, I was going through more fish than a sushi chef.  Mass burials were taking place daily.  After nearly three weeks of this, my kids were ready to charge me with genocide.  I put the collective mess of aquariums, fishbowls, filters, gravel and aqua decor in a sad corner of the garage.

So, yes, for years now I've avoided the fragile creatures.  Hell, I got a cat before taking on the uncertainty of another fish.  Clean water and fresh food, and felines are good to go.  Fish?  Clean water and they die.  Dirty water and they die.  Too much food?  Dead.  They get scared between the pet store and your house?  It's over.

I was hoping my brother's dogs would sniff out the fish before Ryan brought it home.  Instead, my son proudly walked in with not one, but TWO goldfish.  My sister-in-law thought the one would be lonely.  They generously bought Ryan a net, gravel, fish food -- they even let him NAME them!    

So, here's hoping I wake up to fish that aren't listing or doing the dead fish float.  And that my cat hasn't  procured them as a midnight snack....