The Stories I Tell ~ from The Word Cellar

Stories. Anecdotes. A free round of words for everyone!

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Location: Pennsylvania, United States

I love stories. I'm the one at social functions with a dozen new anecdotes. But I worry about hogging the conversation. Sometimes I tell myself that I'll be quiet and let others do the talking. But no matter how hard I try, my stories insist on bursting out! Here I can let my stories (the classics that I tell again and again, as well as new ones that unfold along the way) run free. I'm a professional writer and editor, and sole proprietor of The Word Cellar. I write for a variety of publications and clients on everything from green buildings and nuclear reactors to entrepreneurship and the arts. If you need words written, edited, or enlivened, I can help. Contact me.


Gatwick the Catwick

I got a cat last week. He's my very first pet. He's a five-month-old grey tabby named Gatwick, and I love him.

If I sound like a child as I write this, it's because I feel like one. After all, he is my very first pet apart from the random strays that my parents took in from a few days to a few months when I really was a kid. But more on that later.

I see myself as a six-year-old girl, carrying the cat around the house under one arm. Actually, I like to cradle him in my arms and carry him around. And have him sit in my lap. Lucky for me, Gatwick is a total lap cat. Sure, he gets frisky, but he's a lover at heart. And I'm just eating it up, man.

I've never really been a cat person. Or a dog person, for that matter. I like them both. And I've always been equally afraid and fascinated with each. Animals, even lovable house pets, tended to freak me out. I think I caught a weird Twilight Zone episode with a creepy dog once. Anyway, I like animals, but have never been terribly comfortable around them. Especially when their eyes do that eerie reflector-glow thing in the dark.

But Gatwick is not creepy. Still, I'm surprised to discover just how much I love having a pet around. I initially wanted a rabbit because I heard you can train them and let them hop around the house. But James (my husband) wasn't so keen on the free-range bunny idea.

We moved into our first house about 2.5 months ago, and discussed the possibility of a pet before we even sent the first mortgage check. An encounter with a stray cat that we named Filibuster was probably the precipitous event that sent us to the Humane Society to adopt Gatwick. Even if the Filibuster did send me to the emergency room. (More on that next post.)

Gatwick was at the shelter for about two weeks, during which time he was called George. We promptly renamed him. Well, promptly is an overstatement. It took us four days to settle on a name. In the running were the following: Avery, Chester, Slate, Pewter, Jenners, and Eddie.

Come back later for the Filibuster story, along with the saddest dog story in the world.

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add to kirtsy | 9:02 PM


Blogger Julie said...

Hmm. I'm glad you went with Gatwick...Jenners sounds a little too much like he could be your butler.

Gatwick is a tomcat, right? Or is it a girl?

10/19/2004 10:22 PM  
Blogger Julie said...

Ha ha. Of course he's a boy...he was named George and you were in full use of the masculine pronoun. Silly me. :)

10/19/2004 10:25 PM  
Blogger Jennifer said...

If males are called tomcats, what are females called?

10/20/2004 9:44 AM  
Blogger jessie said...

they're actually called queens. i think they refer to the cross-dressing tomcats as queens, also.

10/20/2004 10:59 AM  
Blogger Kim from Hiraeth said...

Oh, do tell the rest of the story! You've engaged my curiosity!

(I found you through a link at Allyson's blog.)

BTW, I love the name of your blog. Very clever.

12/14/2005 9:07 AM  

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