The Redneck 'Fesses Up

15 November, 13

I tell the truth. Most of the time. I mean, come on. Who is going to tell me they haven't told a little white lie before? Maybe even today. No you did not like your co-worker's dress, or the fact that she got to take an extra 15 minutes for lunch. In fact, your jaw hurts from holding that fake smile a bit too long.

So let's work under the assumption that I have a lot of company when I say that, sometimes, I don't tell the truth. I don't want to be Bill Clinton here,

but I don't tell lies so much as I withhold information, until it is the proper time (read convenient) to disclose said information. The "not telling" is really just as bad as telling the wrong thing. It depends on what your definition of "is" is.

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact, we do spy on our citizens. Did we not tell you that before?"

Part of the decision to move to Spain involved figuring out what to do with our cat, Princess. We had two cats, Buddy and Princess. Buddy bought it trying to cross the street. Princess was a little smarter.

I am not a pet person. My brother and sister have pets. I appreciate pets. I admire people who have pets, except when they let their dogs bark ALL NIGHT LONG. We have a dog in our building that sounds like Gollum.

I swear he is gonna show up with Precious on his collar one day. When pet owners let their dogs poo on the sidewalk and don't clean it up, that fires me up, too. That's another blog post, coming soon.

I'm just not a pet person and neither is Susan. The girls have wanted a cat or a dog for years, but I was able to hold out, until I went on a business trip, and two little fur balls showed up on our back deck--hungry, cold and a little abused. Buddy's whiskers had been singed. The proletariat rose up and overthrew the dictator. It was never really up to me.

I have to admit that I liked watching the kittens grow up. They would play together and romp around the house. My only condition was that they spend the nights outside and we would have no litter box in the house. Ever. Even in defeat, a dictator can have some sway over the terms of surrender.

Then we decided to move to Spain. That threw a big wrench in the works, as far as a cat goes. You can't just move to Spain and show up toting a cat crate. My sister was gracious enough to offer to take Princess, sort of on a long term loan. Becky is like a real world Snow White. Wild birds perch on her shoulder and tell her the secrets of the forest. Lions limp up to her, looking for help with the thorn in their furry little paws. She has trained the squirrels in her backyard to eat at her neighbors' bird feeders. That's the "real world" part.

Our girls accepted Becky's offer, knowing her true love for animals. We brought Princess down to Hartsville and spent our last week or so there, to give Princess and the girls a chance to get used to the new arrangements. Then we left for Spain.

Two or three weeks later, Becky told me that Princess had run away. Houston, we have a problem. That was not part of the plan. Apollo XIII had duct tape. There ain't no duct tape for a missing cat.

And this is where the truth gets a little delayed. Princess disappeared in early September. I just told the girls about it the other night, two months later. I justified it by saying the girls were going through enough transitional issues. They didn't need another problem. Another concern. Another reason to not live in Spain. I didn't want them to get hurt. Those all sound nice, but the reality is that I didn't want to deal with it. I was more concerned with dealing with the fallout, than with telling the truth.

Elizabeth and Katherine were understandably upset. Elizabeth had laid claim to Buddy, so she had already gone through the mourning process. Princess was Katherine's cat. She went to her cave and closed the two foot thick, nuclear bomb proof, steel doors. Susan tried to go in once, but was rebuffed pretty quickly. I knew better.

The next day, we went over to Julio and Toñi´s house for a cookout. They have a kitten, so it was a perfect way for Katherine to emerge from her cave. Julio was even kind enough to offer us their cat, along with food and kitty litter for one year. If I pressed him, I bet we could have gotten free vet care as well. I refused his kind offer, knowing how sad he would really be at not having a furry companion by his side.

So the moral of the story? I learned to give my kids a little more credit for having some fiber in their backbones. They are resilient. They are tough. They deserve to get the truth, even when it's inconvenient for me.

Elizabeth and Katherine, I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I love you both.