I don't like cats. It could have something to do with the fact that when I was 6-years-old a neighbor's cat jumped on my head in the middle of the night and started clawing my face while I slept.
John doesn't like cats either. Perhaps his dislike is due to the fact that being within ten feet of a feline causes his airways to constrict. Or the fact that when he was 8-years-old a friend's cat had kittens...while he slept...on his pillow. I can't make this stuff up.
John and I do not like cats.
Sam does. A lot. If you have seen Sam, you have seen the ratty cat Beanie Baby he drags around. He named the cat 'Clara' after his little sister which I suppose is sweet but it still makes me shudder. I should clarify Clara the Cat does not always look ratty. We have a back-up cat that is much newer as well as a back-up back-up which is brand-spankin'. I thought I was clever to stock up on cats--I realized my mistake, however, when I tried to sneak Sam a different cat:
Sam: "Why does kitty have a tag on it?"
Me: (Shoot!) "That's strange." (Yank it off)
Sam: "Why does kitty have whiskers?"
Me: (Shoot--original kitty's have been rubbed off) "Well look at that."
Sam: (Long pause) "What did you do to kitty?"
And then there was the time I left back-up kitty on the kitchen table. Sam ran into my room yelling with great excitement, "I've got two kitties! I've got two kitties!" So my great plan to have a back-up back-fired. Now we have TWO cats to look out for. Ugh.
I don't like cats. But Sam really does. So much so that we recently had this conversation:
Sam: "Mommy, can I have a cat?"
Me: "No, Sammy, Daddy is allergic to cats."
Sam: (Pause) "If we don't have a daddy can we get a cat?"
He's finally given up on getting a real cat. Now he wants a newt.
Sam: "Mommy, when can I get a newt?" (Note: he doesn't ask "if", he asks "when".)
Me: "A newt?! Why do you want a newt?"
Sam: "Because you had one when you were little."
Me: (How in the world did he remember that?) "Honey, newts are a lot of work." (Huh? First of all, newts are not that much work. Second, did I really just say that? Isn't that what the parents say on all those television shows?)
Sam: "But I will take care of it!" (There we go again, following the age-old script.)
The funny thing is, if Sam even remotely hinted that he wanted a dog I would be all over it. I love dogs. I'm looking for an excuse to get one. I've even exposed Sam to this book over and over again thinking it would somehow stick in his brain and he would accidentally ask for one. But it hasn't happened yet.
Seriously, Sam, I'm willing to buy you a dog and all you can do is talk about a newt? This is where I insert that C.S. Lewis quote about making mud pies in the slums because we don't know there is something better waiting for us.