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Volume 3 #7 December 9, 2001
AL COVE: There is quite a tale (or tail) behind this seemingly common name. You won't find him in the telephone book 'cause he's on our welcome mat. Now, I'll lay the back story on you. I awoke one day and quite routinely moved the drapes to one side and then lifted a single louvre of our shutters just to know what type of weather I was being thrilled or threatened with. And there he was. Lounging in our alcove (hence the name). "Honey!", I cried out in a fit of amazement. "There is a cat in our alcove." I know that word/name is becoming quite redundant but I don't know any other way to drive this odyssey into your homes. My guy looked out and profoundly commented, "Yes indeed that is a cat." I shot him a look that said: You really earned the crown of "King of Dumbnesty". He did not take to that with much appreciation. But when it comes to animals, I can be extremely vehement. "It has to be at least 178 degrees. It's July, that really, really hot summer month, even in the shade." Well, maybe a bit less. Just a very slight exaggeration. So, I said: "Find a container, fill it with water and quietly plunk it down out there so he won't dehydrate." He did and Al lapped it up as though it were mead from the gods. 'Course he became a repeater. We even purchased a Rubbermaid dish with his name taped on it. We all know that animals can read. Al confidently drank his liquid sustenance and then sacked out for his hours long cat nap. Last night was the ultimate plea! He meowed and meowed. Then, out of shear feline frustration, he threw himself against our front door. Unfortunately, my dude is allergic to cats. I'm in tears. My guy, in a slightly shaken voice is saying: "No! don't open that door!" I grudgingly defer. Now, we are owned. Even though Al is not climbing our curtains or clawing our carpets, we are owned by AL COVE!

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©2000 Carol Ann Carson
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