This week has been a little rough in the good ‘ol Reese household. My wife’s cat passed away after a long bout of sickness and it deeply upset my wife, daughter, and even ‘ol me at times. As many of you know, over the years there’s been an uneasy truce between the cat and me, but despite that I am sorry that she’s no longer with us.
That being said, there is some potential evil on the horizon. My wife has informed me of her desire to invite another feline into our home. She even asked me if I’d rather have a cat or another dog, to which I gave the obvious and intelligent answer…a dog. This was not well received.
No, she seems hell bent on getting a cat to take the place of the old one as a member of our humble but happy family. I am reasonably certain I cannot take another twelve to fifteen years of cat ownership at this stage of my life (stage of life=actually alive and not dead). It must be understood that I married into “catdom” and didn’t actually seek out the inclusion of that particular “pet” into my life. Because of my love for my wife, well, I caved and put up with it.
You all know my feelings toward cats. It has been proven historically that cats, and the supreme reverence held for cats, led directly to the downfall of the ancient Egyptian civilization (DISCLAIMER>>There is no such evidence, in either theory or in actual tangible form that supports this idiotic notion. Time to check on the author’s brain medication), and I will not purposely invite a similar fate to our family.
You all ALSO know my role in my family, which is to go to work, come home, make some smart ass jokes, break some wind, and make my wife look good through my severe lack of social skills. By all accounts, I exceed in all three. I also make all the important decisions in my family, but as comedian Bill Engvall said of his similar role in his family, no important decisions have arisen. She handles the rest. This may be one of those important decisions.
Is it worth the fight, though? This is a tough one. My wife can be the kindest, caring and giving woman in the world (c’mon, you know something to the contrary is about to be said, don’t you? Look at you, Mr. or Mrs. Overachiever!). Unfortunately, however, she tends to adopt a “scorched earth” policy when it comes to arguments, so I have to decide if a particular subject is worth the nuclear holocaust and massive collateral damage that would occur from an all-out offensive.
I even told her she could have any type of dog she wanted as long as it wasn’t a cat. Hell, drag ‘ol Cujo out from the scary Stephen King books if you want. Want an evil Cerberus instead of a cat? Sure, I’ll gladly feed the three-headed demon as long as it isn’t a cat. Resurrect Old Yeller? Sure, dig him up and send him our way.
Just please…not a cat.
So, does that mean we’re going to get a second dog, or has the die been cast and there’s already a cat at our home that’s discovered peeing on my shoes as a fun hobby?