When Matt and I were first married we lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. Our landlord made an exception for us and let us get a turtle. I think we named him something dignified and regal, but then Ryan came over and said that the name was no good and the turtle must henceforth (yeah I'm sure he used that word) be known as Turtle (the turtle).
So began our first venture as parents. Turtle the turtle lived a very fulfilling life. We signed him up for a tumbling class, piano lessons and he even joined the track team. He was very busy, except, of course, for when he wasn't. Which was always.
He didn't seem to enjoy physical activity. He sat perfectly still in his tank ALL THE TIME. So no one can fault us when he died and we didn't notice. I have no idea how long he was dead before we realized. How long does it take a dead turtle to become covered in a nasty film from the water? It took us that long.
His funeral was nothing short of poetry. Matt walked out into the woods where I couldn't see and gently set him into a grave that we had marked with a granite stone that said, "Here lies Turtle the turtle. He lived a short yet porpoiseful life." Or Matt just chucked the poor thing as far as he could once he far enough into the woods that I couldn't see. Either way it was beautiful.
I shared this story with you for a few reasons. The first is to anger all the animal lovers that read my blog (We didn't actually kill the poor thing. It died of natural causes. I think. Probably. We might have killed it, but totally by accident.)
The last reason is so that when you watch the video of Ryan, Mallory and Matt playing Rock Band you don't think that someone is torturing my cat off camera (that's just Matt singing) and call the ASPCA on us. My cat is fine as evidenced in this photo that I took while typing this post.
No, he's not dead. He's just old and likes to nap all day.
On second thought maybe I should double-check.
Yep. Still breathing.
