For the last eight months my daughter Quincy has been a cat.
Me: Go potty before we leave.
Quincy: It’s a litter box!
Me: Sigh. Fine. Litter box. Make sure to wash your ha…paws.
Unfortunately she does not kill mice. I paid eight bucks for two of these:
Karena: YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST BOUGHT ONE OF THE CARTOON ONES THAT SNAP. THEY COST LIKE TEN CENTS.
But like the woman in the picture I am tidy and dainty and slender and sexy and don’t want mice splattered all over the place.
Of course the stupid expensive thing didn’t work so Karena laughed at my folly and laughed again when I snapped my finger three times in the cheap one which of course killed the mouse that very night.
Quincy: I don’t like fish.
Me: Cats love to eat fish.
Quincy: Yum, yum. Purr.
Rex: You’re not a cat!
Me: Yes she is. Now shut up and eat your fish and stop being a dreamcrusher.
Why is she a cat? It is probably due to my influence: I love cats and have mistrusted dogs since my uncle’s German Shepherd knocked me down when I was five. I wouldn’t say that I hate dogs, or that I’m terrified of them. I guess I would compare my attitude toward dogs to my attitude towards convicted murderers: Ideally they are kept chained up and/or far away from me, but if a relative or close friend vouches for one, I’ll warily endure its presence.
Above: Instilling my predjudices in my child.
Left to right: Karena, Quincy, Me (in lawnmower)
Animals sense my attitude towards them and don’t bother to conceal their true natures:
Dog owner: This is Spot. He’s an Africanized Gnawing Hound (or something equally preposterous). They are known for caring for orphans.
Me (backing up slightly): Uh, hello. Nice dog?
Spot (snarling, straining at leash, foaming at mouth): RRRR!*
Dog owner: I’m so sorry! He’s not normally like this! Please can you go somewhere else, the leash is tearing the skin from my hand!
* Translation: “I’m going to finish what that German Shepherd started”
Cat owner: We have a cat but I doubt it will come out while you’re here. It’s my wife’s and it doesn’t even like to be around her.
Cat: Mew* (jumps on my lap)
Cat owner: What the hell – do you have fish in your pocket or something?
*Translation: “Greetings. The extraordinary sensory powers my race is endowed with enables me to detect that you are kind and have led a good life.”
Being a cat has other advantages for Quincy:
Random woman at Walmart: Ooh, you are so cute! You’re just a little princess, aren’t you?
I mean what else is she supposed to say to that?
My parents encourage this craziness: My mom writes her letters from their cat. My dad built her this “cat barn”:
Fortunately, he was wise enough not to call it a “cat house”
The other members of the family are sometimes animals too, according to Quincy. Rex is a “dirty dog,” although she’s not allowed to call him that. Coach Jr is a “dirty bird” (“He wets the nest”).
Me: What kind of animal is mom?
Quincy: A lady dog.
Me: ! 😀 ! (Holds up phone to record) Say that one more time.
Quincy (repeating more clearly): A ladybug.
I can’t decide if I want to be a lion or an ape (yes i get to choose, deal with it).
Me: Karena, would you say I’m more like a lion with the head of an ape, or an ape with the head of a lion?
Karena and Quincy: Ape with head of lion.
Topics for discussion: What kind of animal are you? Did anyone else own this action figure or others from the “Blackstar” line?