Cat Not Included

Spring has sprung in the great state of Florida, with lung-constricting pollen levels so high you'd swear you were in the Michael Crichton novel, "Prey."  It is also the time of year when my Mom and I get an itch to "simplify" our lives and downsize the volume of useless material things that we've accumulated over the years.  What does that mean?  A garage sale.  We have a rule:  If I haven't touched it or missed it in 2 years, it's gone.  My old pink SCUBA diving fins, the reptile habitat I once put a Cuban tree frog (Louie) in for 3 days (to save him, of course), and even my $85 Steve Maddens--all sold for an embarrasingly low price.  The sale was a smash-hit, and before the day was over, we had collectively sold over $500 worth of "merchandise."  However, there was one showcased item that was most certainly not for sale, although we had several offers...

Yes, Fidget joined us in the garage sale fun, by either sitting/napping in the stroller, or walking amongst the patrons on his leash.  Henry joined us for a brief moment, but he's by no means a "morning cat."  We began at 730am, and Henry had his fill by 800am and was dumped back in the house.  Fidget helped to sell his old scratching post, which he couldn't have cared less about since I brought it home, as well as his toy tunnel, which he only used as a small kitten to hide in before ambushing Henry.  He greeted small children, and made many new friends.  He ate a bug, and sat directly on an ant pile (which I removed his fat ass from immediately).  He rolled on the driveway, sticking as many leaves and sticks to himself as possible and chattered at the birds.  I think it's safe to say that Fidget enjoys garage sales.

One customer came to take a peek at the bounty we had to offer, and instead found great enjoyment with my cat.
     "What's his name?"
     "His name is Fidget," I replied.
     "Oh, hello Midget!"  She continued to pet the cat as if that was a perfectly lovely name for a cat to have, and we giggled at her honest mistake.
     "No, actually it's Fidget," said my Mom.
     "Oh, well Gidget, I'm sorry!"  The water I was drinking almost came out my nose, and she continued to pet the cat.  And then tell us about how her son owned a comedy club in town, and that we should go there, and they have specials on Tuesdays.  Mom and I gave up in correcting her, and resolved that his name would temporarily be "Gidget" until she left.

The rest of the day went smoothly, and Midg...er...Gidg...er...Fidget eventually got tired and crabby, ready for a nap.  That, or he was offended by the man who offered to give me 50 cents for him.  I took him inside and he curled up on the top level of the cat tree.  He was almost instantly asleep after some revving of his purring mechanism and I'm sure he went to sleep dreaming of price points and bargain signs...