Once upon a time, I was a kid. My childhood had some interesting twists and turns which make me an onion, apparently. My friend told me the other day that I was an onion after I told her that our house had a parachute roof. True story.
As I was saying, I was a kid. I have three sisters in law (amazing women all three) who have heard the tales of our youth and one of them declared that we were a breed known as bumpkins. I truly had no idea. I knew other peoples houses had solid walls and they pooped indoors, and we didn't, but it never occurred to me that I was a bumpkin. It made perfect sense after she said it.
Anyway, we lived for a time on a ten acre piece of property we called The Farm. We raised cats. To put a finer point on it, we had two male cats and one female cat who had never been to the vet. Our girl cat, Patches, was constantly pregnant and was, at the first, a wonderful mother. Until about the tenth litter when she'd finally grown so weary she'd just drop the litter and walk away. It was very sad.
In every litter there was at least one white kitten and one orange one. My middle brother always claimed the white one and ALWAYS named it Timothy. Every. Single. Time. Unfortunately Timothy always died. Every. Single. Time. There was a tree on the property where he would bury his Timothys (Timothies?). All around the circumference of the tree were little popsicle stick crosses.
By the time my mom took us away from the Farm, Patches and Bartholomew, had disappeared. Bartholomew had always been somewhat feral. The other cat, Nameless, probably died of old age. They were left to run wild at the Farm. I think back to those days and I'm saddened by the lack of care given to those animals. Now, as an adult with pets, I make sure we take care of our four-legged friends. Sometimes they give me a rash, especially the Idiot Twins, but my aim is to do better than the ones who came before.
Which is why my children live in a house with real walls and indoor plumbing. Nothing is too good for my babies!