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May 26, 2006

You name it, you buy it

Yes, I know I said I was taking a break. But people, know this: I do not shut up. Please don't meet me in person. I will exhaust you.

I used to have this spider who lived by the front door. It was a scary and gross spider, with its little insect legs and stealth. I do hate spiders, not because they may kill me or cause me bodily dysfunction but because they are so creepy crawly, with the quietness and the legs. When I first got separated, I lamented to Jennifer, "But who will kill the spiders now?"

Apparently no one.

Because after weeks of coming home and getting my mail and putting the key in the door and so on, I named the spider Charlotte. And once you name something it is yours forever -- take it from me, A Cautionary Tale. People would come visit me here at the house and say, "Laurie you have a frightening, ugly spider living by the front door!" and I would say, "Ya'll that is Charlotte!" as if we were all about to sip mint juleps together on the sweeping front veranda of Tara. It was a trying time in my personal history, so folks gave me some leeway. They probably assumed I was drunk. What with the divorcing and all.

Mr. X and I were married a long time, our family consisting of me and him and Roy and the Sobakowa (who got her name from an infomercial. I was working nights at the Daily News, and I would come home late, 2 or 3 a.m., and we would watch old game shows on the Game Show Network, then infomercials because, ya'll, I have an infomercial gene. I will tell you about this node on the DNA one day, but this parenthetical is becoming unweildy as is.) Anyway, we had a nice little family, two of whom were covered in fur.

Then we moved to the house in North Hollywood, and one day Mr. X comes in and says he has made a discovery behind the garage. A buried treasure? A stack of Playboys from the 50s? A rich uncle? No. Two kittens covered in fleas and not lovng humans. They also maybe smelled. And hissed, and had Fangs Of Death.

Me, with the Cinderella "Oh come alight on my shoulder and sing me your song" thing went outside and sure enough there were two damn kittens, scared but feeling on my Cinderella vibe. Hissing optional. We captured them ("Here, have some broiled albacore...") and took them terrectly to Sherman Oaks Veterinary Clinic, where they were de-flead and de-whatevered, and then the nice girl at the counter told us, "We have no room for these kittens right now. Just keep them for one week, and then bring them in and we'll find them homes... we hope."

So we took them home and about fourteen minutes into the foster parenting, I said to Mr. X, "This one with the painted face, the calico, looks like a Frankie. As in Frankie & Johnny. But the butterscotch one... he is no Johnny. He is a Bob." And ya'll know the rest, because when you name that shiite, YOU BUY IT.

And I am thinking of this as I sit on my patio (wireless internets you are my love, my number one with a bullet, my new Tivo) because ya'll. I am sitting next to a potted plant that houses a monster cobweb, a Thing I planned to eradicate just now with a garden hose and some huzzah, until I looked closely and could see what may or may not be Charlotte's kid, Carlotta.

And you know what happens once you name that. Reader, you have bought it.

Posted by laurie at May 26, 2006 9:32 AM