Hello SK fans,
This morning, My Pub and I were shamelessly hooked to an endless stream of Catfish episodes on MTV.
It was an accident, really, and blame Morgan Freeman, because the Teen Mom 2 marathon we had hoped for was not on. Instead we woke to a Catfish marathon. That would have been fine with us as both My Pub and I are fond of catfish. I like mine raw, and she prefers it grilled Cajun style.
(Very Important Note: It is not a form of cannibalism for me to eat catfish. They are not cats, but fish who sort of look like cats.)
But that wasn’t how the bottom-feeder was served up today. Catfish is a term used to define someone who uses social media to pretend they are a person or cat that they are not. Essentially, they are scam artists, and My Pub and I were saddened to see how many catfish the MTV crew caught in lies. Actually, that part wasn’t as sad as seeing the innocent people who had swallowed the bait.
Yes, we could have done something productive or changed the channel, but we had not been this addicted to bad television since we stumbled upon the Long Island Medium marathon last year (yes, yes, we know.)
Clinging to any dignity we have left at this point in the post, we thought it would be a good idea to make sure we were not “catfishing” any of you. We don’t want you thinking that I’m really a drooling Rottweiler and she some brilliant journalist, or anything crazy like that.
We do not want to misrepresent ourselves.
It’s been awhile since we did introductions, so we thought we’d do them again and clarify any misunderstandings in our wake. Plus, we don’t want any MTV film crews banging on our doors, (the apartment’s never camera ready) so here goes:
My name is Louisa May Alcatt and I’m a tortie (and a damn good-looking one) born in New York City. I bounced between shelters and homes for my first two years before being adopted. MAD lives in the Greater Boston area, but is originally from Chicagoland. He likes the Chicago Cubs for reasons unknown. He works outside the home, probably so he can pay for things like kibble and have health insurance. I am not exactly sure.
I work full-time, too. Sleeping and eating are the lion’s share of my responsibilities, so there is hardly time for anything else. On occasion, I do double duty and stare out the window and watch for intruders. I also throw myself on comforters and any pile of clothes or linens – folded or not – to make sure no one runs off with them. This is all so very exhausting, but I am happy to report that on my watch, no one has broken into the place and all cloth items are accounted for. MAD should be giving me a raise.
On the rarer occasion I can scratch out a minute or two, I revert to one of my past lives as writer Louisa May Alcott (and you were curious about the Long Island Medium reference?) and blog about issues close to her heart: women’s rights, strong women and Henry David Thoreau. We love HDT.
That pretty much sums me up, so now we’ll talk about My Pub.
My Pub is a little taller than me and is friends with MAD, so I see her a lot. In a past life, she worked as a journalist covering everything from government, crime, – no, those are not the same thing – to how to choose the perfect paint brush. This was a fascinating career and perfect for the adrenaline junkie she once was.
Times change and so did she. Now, she’s happy working in a quieter environment. She also works for me typing posts, as I can’t maneuver a keyboard.
She has gobs of fears, all of them irrational. She prefers not to drive as she hates parking (yeah, that kind of parking, too), backing up and taking left-hand turns. She will drive miles out of her way to a traffic light so she can avoid navigating a complicated left-hand turn. MAD cannot wrap his head around this.
My Pub will also pull through a parking space so she does not have to back out of it later. Sometimes this necessitates driving to the far corners of a lot. The walk is good for her, even on stormy days. One time, backing out of her own garage, she killed Stanley.
Stanley was an arborvitae (may he rest in peace) who had the misfortune of being planted in My Pub’s blind side. The landscaper selected that spot for Stanley, who was planted the day after the Bruins’ Stanley Cup victory in 2011, because he balanced out the garden. It never occurred to him that Stanley would meet a sudden death.
The landscaper tried to be kind to My Pub when she ‘fessed up. He told her that some cars have backup cameras in them so the driver can see what’s behind them. My Pub admitted her car had that feature. He suggested Stanley would be best remembered as a pot of pansies on the front steps.
You know when you’re a regular at a bar or coffee shop and the staff starts making your drink to order as you walk in? Well, the guy at the service desk where My Pub bought her car always has a vile of her touch-up paint on the counter as she walks through the door. They high-five until next time.
Oh, and parallel parking: ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Stop. You’re killing me.
Well, I think I’ve pretty much given you a descent and accurate description of us. We plan to be blogging for a bit longer, so we can always add anything relevant that we did not think of today. So, please don’t submit us to Catfish. We really are who we say we are,
Find me on Facebook, search Louisa May Alcatt.