I haven't really had a pet in years, not since I moved out of my parents' house and haven't yet gotten a place that allows cats. And I would have cats. Because let's face it, I'm just a crazy cat lady waiting to happen.
But since I couldn't get a cat, I tried a few years ago to get a Betta fish. Now I had owned a Betta fish for a few years. His name was Gene Kelly...because that fish gotta dance!
I didn't name him, but I thought the name was brilliant. He was a brilliant fish, in every sense if the word. Well, for a fish he was smart, anyway. He had at least a fraction of the memory capacity of Dory from finding Nemo.
Anyway, Gene Kelly the fish lived to be about three or four, which is a long time for a fish. Gene Kelly the man lived well into his eighties, and danced in roller skates IN the eighties...or seventies...whenever that weird Xanadu movie came out.
So after Gene Kelly died, the fish, not the actor/singer/dancer/God's gift to women, I figured I knew how to keep a fish alive for awhile.
So I visited Pet Smart and adopted the lovely Julie Andrews. She didn't make it through the night. So I packed up her fish carcass and returned it to Pet Smart. I wonder what they do with all their returned fish carcasses....
That night, I brought home Johnny Depp. He made it abut six days before going the way of his fathers. Sleeping with the fishes. Whatever you want to say. He was an ex fishy.
So that was the dark time known as The Week I Killed Julie Andrews and Johnny Depp.
It was also the week Michael Jackson died (the real one, not some fishy moonswimmer). So in retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to post on Facebook that Johnny Depp was dead, without explaining myself....
The actor, Johnny Depp, to my knowledge, is still alive. Captain Jack Sparrow did die once, but they brought him back. Incidentally, Captain Jack Harkness has got Sparrow beat by a LOT on ressurections. But who's counting?
And who's counting how many fish I killed? In a week. Yeah. Even if I named a fish John Barrowman, I couldn't keep it alive.
I couldn't have fish. I couldn't have cats. I refused to make friends with the palmetto bugs that invaded my apartment (those things are harder to kill than Jack Harkness!). I had my Dragon-Muses, but they aren't pets. I'm more like their pet!
So...it seemed that I would be doomed to have no pets, no little friends to keep me company.
I tried to make the most of it. I pet sat a lot. I borrowed the dog of the kids I watch so I wouldn't have to walk alone. I talked to the stray cat that sometimes lives on my porch, who won't let me come near because it can smell the crazy cat lady on me. But...it just wasn't the same.
Then, one morning, I heard it. It was the strangest sound. Oh, how can I describe it. It was as if a giant witch had swallowed her own pointy fingernails as they were being dragged across a chalkboard while she cackled and simultaneously choked on her aforementioned pointy fingernails.
I had never heard such a noise, so I peeked out my window. And there he was, literally bright eyed and bushy tailed: A SQUIRREL!
He was squawking at some birds who, in his mind, were stealing his breakfast.
But I soon learned that Phil, as I had named him, was not just a morning squawker. And he didn't just squawk at birds. He squawked at thin air, because that's the kind of nutty squirrel that Phil is. He's actually kind of cranky.
Well, I've realized now that Phil has claimed that tree right outside my bedroom window as his own. He squawks outside at various times throughout the day. It would be nice to think a handsome squirrel was serenading me, but truth is, he's probably singing for some cuter squirrel-type ladies.
But I wasn't completely sure.
Cuz, well, really, all I know abut squirrel love is from the squirrel scene in that Disney flick, "The Sword and the Stone." So, since I wanted to be a good fake owner to Phil, I decided to Google some squirrel courting rituals, you know, just in case the obnoxious squawking wasn't working for him.
It is, right now, in fact, squirrel mating season #2. Squirrels are too squirrelly to have just one season of love. And Phil's eager, persistent, repetitive squawks were probably intended to attract the ladies.
If he had been successful, my Google searches led me to believe that the female would choose a male to chase her. Then she would make sure he was chasing her. Then she would run away until either he caught her or she just got tired of running. Then, badda boom, badda bing, the lady squirrel would boss the guy around, the squirrel stork would visit, and the guy squirrel would be like, "See ya!" In other words, a pretty typical romance.
Single mom would raise her kids, kick them out after about three months (abut time, you freeloaders!), then look for a new Mr. Right (Now) to chase her.
Which is so not cool of cartoon Merlin, who led generations of Disney-raised kids to believe that lady squirrels mated for life. Not cool. I mean, as a child (and possibly also last month), I think I cried a full week on behalf of poor dejected rejected red-headed squirrel.
But Phil, good ol' Phil. I think he's cute, but for some reason, he's just not hitting it off with the ladies. No wonder he's so cranky.
But if I know Phil, I know he won't give up! He won't give up squawking and screaming and chattering, not until he chases a fine lady squirrel right into that tree outside my window.
Right outside my window.
...I want Phil to be happy, but I sure am NOT looking forward to being woken up one morning by the sounds of him entertaining a lady friend.
Sigh.
Maybe I'll just get a pet rock.
And name it Patrick Swayze. He's already dead, so I can't kill him.
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