Alot is not mine.
Alot wandered into my back yard the other day *heh* while my husband and I were gardening. Until this point, he wasn’t known as Alot. *guffaw* He was known as the-cat-that-wasn’t-the-ginger-cat-or-the-little-black-and-white-one. After a five minute description of the cat THAT WE WERE BOTH LOOKING AT just to say, “and he’s very friendly, this cat,” that I suggested we give him a name.
I mean, we simply could not go on this way and the cat was certainly settling into our garden with intent. Intent to loiter. Intent on being cute. Intent on entertaining the Archaeogoddess with his little fuzzy butt antics.
“Why not ‘Alot’,” said my husband, who is still reeling from the humor of Hyperbole-and-a-Half’s brilliant Alot post, even though I read it to him over a month ago. Mind you, it *is* genius. I laugh every time I read it. My husband, who thinks puns are possibly the highest form of humor, secretly harbors a desperate love for Allie. At least I think he does. It's okay, I harbor a not-so-secret desperate love for David Tennant. We all have our little quirks. Anyway, I suggest you read it, not only because it's ridiculously funny, but also so that you’ll get the ongoing joke in this post and realize that I’m not stupid, I know an a lot from an Alot.
But dude, I’m telling you, we named the damn cat Alot.
This let to all kinds of hilarity in the yard.
“Honey, look, there’s Alot in the car!”
“Is that Alot in your jacket, or is it just happy to see me?”
“Oh my god, Alot just fell into the pond!”
Alas, I didn’t get a picture of Alot falling into the pond. Even if I’d had the camera and been pointing it his way, I would have collapsed in hysterical giggles without ever firing a shot.
I knew it would happen. I was pretty sure it was going to happen a few days earlier when Alot and the black and white cat, who has of yet no name but I’m leaning towards “Heck” so I can yell “It’s a Heck and Alot!,” were bounding around the garden chasing each other, their own tails, and the various flying bugs that frequent my yard.
But nope. Alot’s downfall came when trying to stalk my husband’s hoe-thing. Hoes will lead you astray, man, every time. So while Alot was trying to sneak around behind the Danish Boy, he headed towards that nice flat green patch, beyond which the bushes offered a safe location from whence to pounce.
Imagine if you will, dainty cat feet. Dink-dink-dinking across the ground.
Up to his armpits in algae.
He withdrew to a safe distance to try to salvage his dignity.
And we laughed a lot at Alot.
Yesterday Alot wandered into the house, causing my dear Dane to exclaim, “Alot scared the crap out of me earlier today.” Today we almost took Alot with us to Århus. One of the great things about Alot is his ability to do things that let us maximize the punning potential of his name.
He’s obviously not our cat. He does go home, wherever that is, in the evening. We don’t usually see Alot out at night. He’s well fed, well groomed, and very friendly. He’s not neutered, which I think adds to his roaming nature, but so far he’s not treated our yard like a giant litter box. As far as my husband is concerned, he’s the best pet ever - the kind that costs nothing and gives you hours of entertainment and joy.
We like him, Alot.