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As kitten takes over, Dad could be left out
(by Christine Thome - November 26, 2008)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
As kitten takes over, Dad could be left out
"I thought I said no more breathers," my husband, John, seethed as he looked at the new little pile of fur curled up and sleeping precisely in the middle of his chair.
"But Daddy! Isn't she cute?" our oldest daughter, Jessica, cooed as she petted the little fluff ball of a kitten. "Her name is Maizy."
"You named it?" he asked. "You can't name it, because, once you name it, it has to stay."
"I know," she answered with a sly smile.
"But I'm allergic to cats," John whined, hoping his oldest daughter would be concerned for her father's health.
"Then don't touch her," she stated. Obviously, this is not the child John will want to care for him in his old age.
"But she's sitting in my chair!" he cried, pointing at the kitten as she stretched and rearranged herself in his chair.
With the roll of the eyes that only skilled teenagers can do, Jessica scooped up Maizy and proceeded up the stairs to her bedroom.
Following her to the stairs, John yelled up, "How much did that cat cost me?"
"She didn't cost anything. I got her free from a friend," Jess yelled back.
"I'm telling you right now -- there is no such thing as a free cat!" he bellowed as she ended the conversation with a slam of her door.
About an hour later, my other daughters and I returned from a shopping excursion. Loaded down with bags of stuff, I was relieved to find my husband waiting at the door for us.
"We have another breather," he stated through the glass. "I thought I said no more breathers." He obviously was at the door to be my information kiosk, not the bellboy.
"I see you've met Maizy," I said as I slipped by him.
"You knew about this? How could you know about this and not tell me?"
"Did you see her? She is the cutest thing in the world, John. I didn't think I was much of a cat person, but she is such a love," I said.
"She's a breather. We already have four kids and two dogs. I thought I said no more breathers!" he yelled.
"I know, but I thought that just pertained to fish, gerbils, guinea pigs, frogs and lizards. You know, anything that lives in a cage. Plus, Jess got her for free."
He was clearly getting a headache from my reasoning. "There is no such thing as a free cat. One little 3-pound kitten can add up to a $1,000-a-year breather," he said, rubbing his temples.
"Most importantly, did you forget that I'm allergic to cats?!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air.
`"Yes, but Jess said this one is hypoallergenic," I said.
"Hypoallergenic? In all my years, I have never heard of a hypoallergenic cat," he sneered. "Hypoallergenic cat is a, uh, um -- what's that thing we learned in English when two opposite words are used together to describe something?"
"Oxymoron," I said.
"I was just asking a question. You don't have to call me names," he pouted.
"No, honey, the word you're thinking of is oxymoron. I would never call you a moron -- at least not to your face." Now, I was getting the headache.
"Please just give it a try," I pleaded as I wrapped my arms around him and gave him my best I'll-make-this-up-to-you-later-tonight look. "The kids are already attached, and even the dogs love her. You take an allergy pill once a day anyway, so you should be fine."
"And if I'm not?"
"If your allergies become too much to handle, then we'll fix up the garage," I said. "We can add some comfortable bedding, put in better lighting, clean out the attic area for more space and add a heating element."
"You would do all that for a cat?" he asked.
"No, silly. Not for the cat -- for you!"
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