Blue Butter

Eight years ago, my ex husband come in from work with a puppy.  I was a little bothered because we’d just gotten another puppy, a border collie that I adored, but who was deaf and received all of my attention. I’d been training Cinderella and teaching hand signals to her, so for Mr. Jackass of The Year (he won that award ten straight years!) to come through the door with a six pack of Miller Lite in one hand and a black and white puppy that barely fit in his other hand, I knew what that meant - I’d be the sole trainer for yet another new member of the family.  Still, Little One grew on me just as Cinderella did.  When I gave the ex hubby back to his mother so she could finish raising him, I kept the two dogs.  It might interest you to know the dogs were raised, the ex?  Last I heard, his mom was still trying.  Anyway, Cinderella and Little One had been with me all these years.  Cinderella died two years ago, while Little One is still the “tramp of the neighborhood”.  My mom has sworn for years that Little One is gay.  Other than the way he sits and holds his left paw, I’ve no idea why she says this.  She can usually figure people out instantly.  She can spot a man who’s cracking the secretary from ten paces, she can accurately predict which marriage will last and which won’t make it through the first year - and she does this sitting in the pews at the church, watching the bride walk down the aisle.  So, naturally, as a rule, I’m inclined to believe her.  But this nonsense with Little One?  Nah - not true.  He roams the neighborhood too much.  Now, though, I’m beginning to wonder.  Maybe he is gay.  I sort of come to this conclusion when I read this post and found myself laughing at the entire blog - it’s great reading, for sure from one of the only other people on this planet who “gets” it.  Don’t get me wrong - it makes no difference to me if Little One’s gay, it’s just the fact that once - just once - I’d like to find myself in the rare position of being right at the same time Mom’s is wrong.  Who the hell am I kidding - I’m forty years old and it ain’t happened yet. 

So, if a cat a can be gay, maybe all those times I thought Little One was following the natural inclination to procreate; maybe he was following the male dogs that were following the female dog that was in heat.  And yes - I know what this means - I’ll have to call mom and declare, once again (just as I did in high school when she told me I’d get over my first love and each time over the years she told me my hair looks better blonde) that she was right.