This post was going to be a lament for Spikeman. (When someone once asked me if I have pet names for my pets, I looked at her like she was weird and pathetic. No way was I going to admit that I call Festus Festasaurus, Bo Bo-Bo, Charlotte Charlottini, and Spike Spikeman. It would make me seem weird and pathetic.) Spike has been gone for almost a week. I discarded the more unlikely scenarios: bludgeoned by the fanatical gardeners next door; consumed by a fisher; attending a family reunion. I assumed he had been hit by a car, poisoned, or trapped and released somewhere far from the neighbourhood. I was sad about this. Even though I never included Spike in my official cat count, he would appear most mornings and evenings clamouring for food, after which he would engage in a round of psychological warfare with Festus, then stretch out in front of the fireplace. So he was missed. (By me at least. I can’t speak for Festus.)
But this morning when I got out of the shower, there was Spike, clamouring for food. Maybe he disappeared to assert his manhood, knowing that it’s on the chopping block if I ever manage to get him in the cat carrier again and he doesn’t manage to escape before we get to the vet (in which case, he’ll be quite justified in calling me a castrating bitch). Or maybe he’s got a bit of a paw de trois going. Maybe he’s clamouring at someone else’s feet some mornings and evenings, engaging in psychological warfare with their cat, and stretching out in front of their fireplace. Maybe he has another name. Eugene perhaps. Maybe he even has another pet name. Something weird and pathetic, like Eugenieweenie. And the only way I'll ever confirm this is if Spike commits a faux paw and purrs his other significant other's name (or worse yet, his other significant other's pet name)...
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Monday, December 1, 2008
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10 comments:
That's hilarious. You really should be writing a column somewhere to share your brilliance.
"Eugenieweenie"
That made me let out a guffaw that scared Joe (Joey-woey) and Halloween (Halloweenee-beanie).
Oh, I'll bet he lets out another name in a wild meow someday when his defenses are down.
Do not mock the -weenie. Two friends have nicknamed me something that includes this. (Bridgett knows.)
I have a sister well known as Colleeny Weenie Beanie. Or sometimes just Wiener.
You had me at sad and pathetic.
Oh Indigoeenieweenie, please do share ...
First, I was horrified. Not at your pet's pet names. (I refuse to elaborate.) But at the fact that Spike might have given up the (very) good life for the rough and tumble, freezing feral world from whence he came.
Then, I guffawed. Not once, but seven times. Yes, seven. I went back and counted. And there were quite a few smiles interspersed between those guffaws.
You are a very funny gal. (You know what I mean.)
Thank you all for your comments. They are great motivators, and sometimes I enjoy them as much as the posts (and I must confess, when I go to other people's blogs I tend to read the comments before I read the post).
Oh, Lord, Helen, that was good. I'm still laughing. How does your co-worker ever get any work done? Actually, I could ask that question both ways. She's hilarious, too.
Oh, and as for reading the comments before you read my blog, we can't have the Emperor's New Clothes phenom going on, you know.
Sorry it's taken me so long to get back here. Take Bridgett's sister's nickname, substitute my actual first name, and you have it. One friend dubbed me that, then another added Queen in front of the whole thing.
Fanny was sometimes Fannybones. As for Alfie, someone suggested Alfiebits but I'm not sure about that.
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