The Lizard and the Turtle

My brother and I spent a majority of our early childhood begging and pleading our parents for a dog. We already had two cats but they were pretty boring. Well, except for Lucky, she was the devil reincarnated. You think I’m joking but this heffer would walk up to me, act all nice and sweet and out of no where she would grab my leg with her claws, bite me and run off. According to mom my screams of bloody murder were "overly dramatic."

This cat put so much fear in me that I was scared to turn a corner without some kind of confirmation that Lucky wasn’t hiding behind something. When I was 6 I was walking out of the kitchen when I saw this little white paw peeking from behind a corner before quickly disappearing. Cautiously, I took a tiny step forward but couldn’t see if she was still there.  My parents were in the living room and in full view of what was happening and with a voice filled with fear I asked if Lucky was behind the corner. They tried to hide their laughter as they reassured me that Lucky wasn't going to kill me. They said that last part with sarcasm and air quotes. 

We evetually came to love each other. She loved cat nip the most, though.

I may have been 6 but I could tell by the way my evil loving parents laughed she was there, lurking and waiting for me to walk into her death trap. After about 15 minutes of my parents convincing me that it was safe for me to walk into the living room, I mustered up all the courage my tiny body could and stepped forward. Wouldn’t you know it, that cat zipped out of her hiding place so fast she was just a white and brown blur, scratched my legs and bit my foot before darting off in the other direction. I spent the next 20 minutes crying and screaming about my parents being liars. One day I would find out the truth about Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny.   

Several years later my brother and I wanted our own unique pets seeing as how we had grown tired of the dog and cats. I got a gecko and couldn’t settle on calling him Reptar or Godzilla. My brother got a turtle and named him Eartle. REAL ORIGINAL BABY BROTHER. Mom hated Reptar/Godzilla, however, she was totally smitten with Eartle the Turtle. She thought it was disgusting that Reptar/Godzilla could lick his own eyeball, ate live crickets and was a lizard. The turtle ate dry pellet food, sat in a tank of water and hid in his shell anytime someone came near him.

Boring. Ass. Turtle.

Actual photo of my gecko. Way cooler then some lame ass turtle.

Oh how she fawned over that stupid turtle while she stuck her nose up at my precious gecko. I bet you’re rolling your eyes and thinking, “Oh Rosie, you’re reading too much into this.” For the record, I am not. Eartle the Turtle met his untimely death when my dear, simple brother decided to give him a bath with dish soap. A lot of dish soap. Not only did Eartle get his own little casket (decorated shoe box) but he got a ceremony in which my brother and dad spoke kind words about the damn turtle. Dad mentioned something along the lines of, "Farewell sweet prince."  The casket was placed in the hole in the back yard and as my brother was covering it up with dirt my dad placed an American flag near the cardboard tombstone. At this point I’m pretty sure I heard a tiny troop of ants give good ol’ Eartle the 21 Gun Salute while playing Taps.

Want to know what happened when Reptar/Godzilla died? He got a Walmart bag and was tossed in the trash can. I’m not bitter. Not one bit. Nope.