Lifeintheinbetween's Blog

Meet the Fam

February 1, 2010 at 5:31 pm (The Family)

Before we really get into the comings and goings of my little family, I think I should introduce everyone in the house to you so that you have a visual when I mention them. Without further adieu (only had to spell that one twice!), here’s the fam:

You’ll get to know me eventually. I’ll let you make your own judgments.

This is Rob, my adorable boyfriend, and our cat, Scrabble. We’ll get to her in a second. (Hopefully he doesn’t kill me for this photo. He rarely likes any pictures I take of him). Rob and I have been together for three and a half years and living together for about a year and a half. He is a baseball fanatic and an autograph aficionado. One of his hobbies is sending out baseball cards through the mail to be autographed by both major and minor league players. As we are both originally from South Florida (representin’ the 305 and the 954), Rob’s team is the Marlins. The other important thing to know about Rob (which would make him blush, I am sure) is that he’s absolutely brilliant. I don’t say that as his girlfriend, but as someone who knows him well. People I know will talk to Rob and come up to me and tell me how smart he is. Yeah, I know. Why do ya think I picked him? Anyway, I could go on and dedicate an entire blog to all the nuances of Rob and how amazing he is. But I’m going to move on to our furry children. Starting with…

This is Kinsey. Also known as “Zoey”, “The Kinza-Kinz”, and “DAMMIT, KINSEY!” Kinsey is seven years old and is a Rhodesian Ridgeback mix. There is some Pitbull in there (Shh, don’t tell my landlord), so sometimes when we’re out at a dog park people judge her by the way she looks instead of the content of her character (sorry, channeling Dr. King there for a moment). She’s actually the sweetest dog ever. My mom adopted her when I was in high school and during my college career I took her to live with me in my first apartment. Kinsey always seems to get into trouble, whether it’s eating something she shouldn’t, putting her 61-pound self on someone’s lap, or making a huge mess in our apartment. Once, she even picked out her own stitches after a surgery and almost got herself killed. Luckily, she’s still alive and kickin’ and has more energy than some puppies I know.

Next, we have…

Also known as “Cout [K-Owt]” (my mom’s bird came up with this name), and “The Biggles” (don’t ask, this is Rob’s special nickname for her). Scout was also adopted from the same shelter as Kinsey, just a couple years later. My mom told me I could have a kitten, so we went down to the shelter to pick one out. The moment I saw Scout, I knew she was The One. Sounds crazy, I know, but it really was a kind of love at first sight. Scout is five years old. Her favorite place is Rob’s lap and/or his computer chair. Also drawers, as you can see in the photo. She’s obsessed with the sink in our guest bathroom and insists on having it dripping when she’s around. If we don’t put it on, she will cry incessantly until we give in. Also, she likes to punctuate our conversation with little “Meh” sounds. She’s very chatty, but we rarely get her to do it on command. At one point I was trying to teach her a “We are the Knights who say ‘Meh’” routine. I was going to take it on the road. Maybe get John Cleese or Eric Idle. But I’m still here, blogging to you.

Finally…

This is Scrabble. Also known as “Poof”, “The Fluff”, “Fluffa”, and anything other than her real name because Rob does not refer to people or animals by their given names very often. Not even me. I think he’s called me “Ashley” about three times in our entire relationship. Anyway, this is the baby of our family. You know how some couples before they get married (or just after) get a puppy, and it’s like their first baby? Like a practice run? That’s basically The Fluff. I found her (read: Kinsey tried to eat her) when she was about five weeks old outside of my apartment complex in Tallahassee (I went to FSU. Go Noles!). She was all by herself, hissing away at anyone who came close. I watched from the third-floor balcony of my apartment to see if an adult cat would come by and fetch her. That didn’t happen, but a maintenance guy in a golf cart came by and was about to take her to Animal Control. I had visions of them putting this tiny thing into a gas chamber or euthanizing her (I’m a tad dramatic), so I said, “No! I’ll take her!” They put her in a cardboard box and I brought her to a vet. They told me she was feral, but I think she was full of piss and vinegar, as they say. Once I picked her up, she could hiss but there wasn’t too much she could do to hurt me.

I kept her for a few days before realizing the following:

a) She needed to be bottle-fed

b) She couldn’t use a litter box

c) I was in the middle of college finals and I had no idea how to deal with any of this.

I found a foster mom for her who ran her own cat rescue. She was Scrabble’s caretaker for about a month while she learned to do all the things cats are supposed to do on their own. Then I adopted her from the cat rescue and took my little monkey home. And she’s been the spoiled child of our family ever since.

So, that’s us! Now you’ve met everyone. Welcome to our world.