Ingrid and the Bad Cat

A few years ago, Primo found what we believe to be a cat's skull while he was hiking around Poet's Seat Tower/Greenfield Mountain with our late dog Kaya. I'm probably the only one in the house who likes this thing, but I like anatomy and bones and bodily functions and biology-type things. Every time the discussion arises as to whether we should throw it away, I am the loud lone dissenter. And the cat skull now resides atop our CD rack, where the dog can't get it.

A few weeks ago, annoyed and exasperated by Sal, our male cat who still sprays despite being neutered, I threatened him with the skull. I stuck the skull in his face and I probably said something like "If you don't stop spraying, you evil cat, this will be what's left of you." Then I probably muttered on and on about how Sal is evil and bad. It hasn't helped at all. I can accept that all cats are essentially evil, but even evil cats can avoid spraying in the house. As much as it pains me, because he is technically my cat and I otherwise adore him, I've considered finding a new home for him.

Ingrid witnessed the whole thing, and has become fascinated with, if not a little afraid of the skull. After dinner this evening, she climbed into my lap and said, with the conviction of a 23 month old, "I want to see the bad cat." We weren't sure what she was talking about at first, but she kept on pointing to the CD rack. I asked her if she wanted to see the cat skull and pointed to it, and she said, "Yes! Cat skull. I want to see the bad cat." So Primo handed her the bad cat, and at first she recoiled. But he said that it was the bad cat, and happily she took it and carried it around singing "bad cat! Bad cat!" Her older sister, who is into Living Dead Dolls and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, won't touch it.

I bet I can get Ingrid to eat a waterbug.