A Boy Named Nancy

Luke is nothing if not predictable. There are certain things I can count on that he would never do. He’d never sing karaoke. He’d never eat a hotdog. He’d never wear a shirt with a store logo emblazoned across the front. Before yesterday, I would have sworn he’d never show mercy towards a stray animal.

Until yesterday.

That would be the day that he brought home a white, scrawny kitten abandoned at our local gas station. Apparently, it was running between the cars pumping gas (the cat wasn’t pumping the gas – the people were) and he was afraid it was about to get hit. So, in total un-Luke fashion, he put it in the back of the truck and brought it to the house.

The kids fell in love right away and begged to keep it. However, I tried to explain that whether you keep a cat is not up to you at all. It’s whether the cat decides to keep you. We fed it some milk, a little meat, and sure enough this morning the cat was still here. Dern. If the thing was going to stay it needed a bath and since Luke’s quota on compassion towards the animal kingdom has been met for the rest of his life, the job was mine.

I want y’all to know that crazy cat actually let me bathe it, in water, with barely a wiggle. I’ve never seen anything like it. In fact, it purred. I’ve not ever been a huge fan of felines, but if a cat is going to take up residence at my house I at least want it to be grateful for The Promised Land into which it has been delivered. 

The next issue was what to name it.  Luke said he thought it was a girl (double dern) so I voted for Providence.  The Girl said, “Mommy, what does Providence mean?”  I explained that it was meant to be for the cat to belong to us since God caused our paths to cross.  Girl said, “Mommy, the kitty is never going to understand that.”  So, the kids came up with Nancy instead.  Nancy.  Because the kitty is going to understand Nancy over Providence, perhaps?  All I know is that Nancy was better than Snow Belle, Snow Flake, or Snow Ball.   

Tonight after church we played a few more games of volleyball and the kids decided to bring the kitten over to show their friends.  Luke had said he was pretty certain it was a girl and because that’s just our luck, I went along.   It dawned on me to confirm by asking the crew if anyone knew how to tell if a cat was a boy or a girl.  Seriously, y’all.  I have no idea how to tell and if I never learn the rest of my life, that is fine by me.  Because, well, ewww. 

So imagine my delight when Clay, someone who’s cat gender identification skills I trust, pronounced “That’s a boy.”  Are you sure?  Yes, pretty sure.  A couple more people took a look and they concurred.  We had a boy.

A boy named Nancy.

So now the search for a new name is on.  The boys are leaning on Bartholomew.  I’m liking Abraham since he’s a wanderer.  Right now I’m just grateful he can’t have kittens.  Though his descendants be as the sands of the seashore, at least they won’t be living in my yard. 

And please don’t lecture me on the spay/neuter program.  We’ll determine what to do about that at a later date if it looks like Abe will survive the highway in the front yard and the dogs who wander through town in the back.  

For now, let me introduce you to the boy with no name. (The cat, not the child).. 

We’d love to hear your suggestions?

p.s.  Blech.  I just noticed all the black nasty in its ears.  Looks like we’ll be Qtipping tomorrow.

cat2

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