Geronimo-

Jump out the window! Well, don't, because it's raining outside and you're not likely to bounce in the rain. Usually though, a great idea.

We watched and cared for some cats over the Thanksgiving weekend in exchange for a real bed. One cat was named Lightening and the other Ally. Lightening was older and white. She drooled when petted and shedded comforters worth of hair to boot. Ally was a friendly kitten that loved attention and her little toys. She also loved to torment Lightening, so she was not allowed into Ally's room.

Cat toys- Ally's toys were suspended from what looked like the end of a downsized fishing pole. There were two- one that looked just like a mouse when it was quickly moved back and forth and the other a bird. She could have played with her two fishing poles for hours. Too bad she needed a person to move them for the true effect to go into play. Lightening had not toys, but would meow for you to pet her whenever you entered her room. She reminded me of our barn cats that we loved dearly. Who wouldn't? They ate all the mice. Well, all the ones they could get to.

The mice in the corn/chicken feed were inaccessible to them. Those mice would just run around in the feed bins when we reached in to feed the chickens. That's why we didn't like going into the barn at night- nobody wants their hand bitten off by mice. Blurgh. Shivers.

They were affectionate and delightful cats. However, after four days of scooping poop, I can safely say I will never own an indoor cat. How could I possibly with such a smell wafting past my nose every time I fished their poop out of a bunch of rocks and deposited the clumps into plastic bags. So gross. The only way it could happen, would be if I could potty train my cat to poop into the toilet. Then I might, but that is a strong if. Actually, there is a way to do it- check out Pinterest to see how.

Anyway, besides having to take out the litter, I'm just too lazy to pet a cat and play with it all the time. Plus, half my friends and family are allergic, so they would never come over to visit me. Then, if Charles and I ever wanted to take a trip, we'd have to find someone to care for our cat. It's not so easy as it sounds.

Cats might also eat our baby. Oops, too late. See- no baby. And that's why Charles and I will probably never have animals.

On the other hand, I would like to say Facebook has deviously planted many films of adopted animals that needed good homes and so when Charles gets an outdoor dog, we will probably get one from a shelter. I know, I said we wouldn't, but there are two people here and one of them would rather have a dog than a goat. You don't have to milk dogs.

I feel like there has to be a happy go between- like if I had to milk the goat more than once a month for a year, I would have full reign to sell it like Anne or just to make it unexpectedly into goat burgers. Charles: "Where's Franny?" Me: "Look at the chart. It's filled with tallies. You know what that means. I made her into goat stroganoff. You can enjoy her all week, no hassle." Then we'd be done with it because he would know the triumph of owning a goat, and he would finally get to say he ate goat. Goat for you Charles!

When I was younger, I wanted a dog. Actually, I wanted a puppy. Big difference. Puppies are so cute. Dogs are crazy. Anyway, for Christmas my brother Neal wrapped a round mermaid sled in butcher paper and drew a dog on the outside. He also glued together popsicle sticks and pasted one of his school pictures onto the front, cut in the shape of a dog head. So that Christmas I got two fake dogs. Thanks Neal.

We ended up getting a big dog sometime that year. He was a dog named Major and he was not a nice doggy. He would bark and didn't like to be petted. Then one day he was gone. He ran away from us into the Missouri abyss and we never saw him henceforth. My mom said he ran back home probably, but his family had moved. See Homeward Bound.

If we had a dog, Charles would love it and pet it and rock it to sleep. Too bad we have no room, but sorry dogs of the world, his love is all mine.