And because I’m blogging from the seat of my pants this week, today you get a random story from my life.
Because I have cats people tend to think I want more. So they leave furry gifts on my doorstep in the middle of the night. And while I’m acerbic about people, other mammals have my heart. One such special delivery came in the form of a big, healthy tabby who was of course, female. Which meant that I had to get the female de-femaled before she started taking sex walks.
My oldest daughter was two at the time, and I gave her the option of naming the new arrival. At that moment in her life everyone was Scott.
BBC: Look at the deer in the field, aren’t they pretty?
BBC Offspring: Dat deer name is Scott.
BBC: What about the one behind Scott, what’s his name?
BBC Offspring: Scott.
I tried to explain that our new kitty was a girl, and so Scott wasn’t an appropriate name, but my daughter just shook her head and said, “Dat cat Scott.” So I took to calling her Scott The Female Cat.
So when I took Scott to the Humane Society to get spayed there was some minor confusion at the desk.
BBC: Hi, I’m bringing my cat in to be spayed today.
Receptionist: *filing through papers* And what is your cat’s name?
Receptionist: *blank look* You said to be spayed, right?
BBC: Yeah, this is Scott The Female Cat.
Receptionist: *bright smile* Okay then, pick Scott back up at four.
I go home, do some things, point out more denizens of the animal world that my daughter promptly names Scott, and return at four.
BBC: Hi, I’m here to pick up my cat Scott, she was spayed.
Different Receptionist: You mean neutered?
BBC: No, Scott’s a girl.
Different Receptionist: *looks at papers* Um, no Scott’s a boy.
BBC: *trying not to sound defensive* Uh, I grew up on a farm, pretty sure Scott’s a girl.
Different Receptionist: No really, Scott was a boy all along, his testicles never descended.
BBC Offspring: See momma, dat cat Scott.