Mee-Yow

On my way to work last week (on the metro, pre-shiny happy people) I was perusing the Express, you know, just to make the morning metro commute a little more bearable. I came across an article that prompted me to write a short series of posts. The article reads:

TSA: All Cats Must Travel in 1-Quart Ziploc Baggies

Tabby Gracie Mae’s odyssey ended happily after she crawled into her owner’s suitcase, went through an airport X-ray machine, was loaded onto a plane, thrown onto a baggage belt and mistakenly picked up far from home. The pet was returned by a stranger who went home with the wrong bag. “I went to unpack and saw it wasn’t my suitcase,” said Rob Carter. “A kitten jumped out and ran under the bed. I screamed like a little girl.” (AP)

You can’t make this shit up folks. And that is why I am now going to tell you about the slew of weird pets (and the weird things that happened to them) I had throughout my childhood. I wish I could fit them all into one huge post, but I feel like most of you will stop reading halfway through…not because my posts are boring (please) but because you are probably busy and want a quick laugh. Hence, a short series of posts (that will probably be peppered with other posts, who knows).

Let me start at the beginning, with the very first pet I had: Sparky, the lovable, cuddly, furry gray cat my father brought home in his briefcase from work one day. His name came from his gray color, and the fact that he always looked like a giant ball of walking static.

[Ok, actually the first pet we had was a cat named Kitty Coke. He was named Kitty Coke because that’s how my younger sister, Sistah Girl, pronounced “Kitty Cat”. I’m just adding this in because I know I’ll get shit from her if I don’t make mention of Kitty Coke, who was mostly her cat. I just hardly remember the animal because we were so little when we had him. So yeah, Kitty Coke, then Sparky.]

Sparky was a dream cat…you know, the kind of animal who purrs while little girls dress him up in hats and dresses. Which is exactly what Sistah Girl and I did. I specifically remember a t-shirt with a carrot on it that came off a stuffed bunny that we would shove on Sparky and push him around in a baby doll stroller. Sparky liked to sleep in my bed, and every night I would tell Sparky how much I loved him before I went to sleep.

As you can tell, Sistah Girl and I obviously loved to play with Sparky. I really enjoyed placing Sparky IN things…for example, in the stroller, in a wagon, in a basket, in a box…whatever. I must have been on some sort of packing kick. Well, one day, I took playtime a little too far.

My mother had these giant plastic Tupperware containers that she kept under our couch. She would keep magazines and toys in them. They never were of much interest to me, until I got Sparky, and realized I could put Sparky INSIDE them.

Before I go further, I want to note that I was extremely young when I first got Sparky. I was so young, I only have a few flashbacks of playing with him. I’m going to estimate that I was 3 years old when my dad brought Sparky home. So, I still had a lot of things to learn, and all of my play was innocent, or so I thought.

So, anyways, one day I was playing with Sparky and thought it would be the most fabulous idea to put Sparky inside the plastic tubs that were under our couch. I gathered Sparky in my arms, shoved him in a giant Tupperware container, then slapped on the lid. In my mind, I’m sure I was thinking, “Oh, what fun Sparky will have inside this plastic container.” I then proceed to shove the plastic container containing my beloved cat under the couch and went to go have cookies or something. When a kid has cookies on her mind, she forgets about pets, and the fact that they are in plastic containers under the couch. Also, when a kid is 3 years old, she might not understand the concept of how important oxygen is for pets and people.

Fortunately, about an hour or so later (we estimate because no one is really sure how long it was), my mother started vacuuming the living room. She made her sweep around the room, and finally came to the couch. She lifted up the couch flaps, and pulled out the plastic Tupperware containers to vacuum underneath.

Surprise! There was Sparky, stuffed into one of the containers, which was fogged up with his breath. Gasping, she ripped off the lid and pulled out a sweating, panting Sparky. I didn’t really understand what I had done until I saw my cat, who looked miserable. To this day I still feel guilty about packing up Sparky in a plastic Tupperware container. I’m just glad my mother decided to vacuum that day.