Mary Lou Kitten

Today as I introduced myself to one of my Veterans, the face of his Wife broke into a huge grin. I assumed she was about to inform me her name, or her BFF, or someone else importatnt to her was also named Mary Lou.

At that point I usually ask, "Is it 'Mary Lou' or 'Mary Louise?' " If they say, 'Mary Louise' I usually say, "I'm  just plain ol' 'Mary Lou'." But if they say, " 'Mary Lou'." I smile brightly and say, "It's a good ol' country name!"

Today I didn't share my name with the Wife. Or her BFF. Or anyone else important to her. I shared my name with a cat.

"When my boys were younger," she said, "We watched the olympics.  The year the gymnast, Mary Lou Retton, was so popular, the boys fell in love with her.  In fact,  they were so smitten, when they found  and rescued a tiny kitten, they named her Mary Lou Kitten!"

We laughed for several minutes and I told her that story made my day, and it was by far the best Mary Lou name story yet.

And that's true.

I always get sung to since so many great singers have had hits with Hello Mary Lou over the years.

My Sunday School Teacher used to sing it to me, and during a class function at his house he brought out his vinyl--a vintage 78 with all the pops, cracks, and skips--just so I could hear Ricky Nelson crooning my name.

Growing up in the south, I also heard the Oak Ridge Boys version--which is probably my all-time favorite.  I've even downloaded it as my ring tone on my cell phone.

CCR wasn't quite as popular among the older folks who controlled the radio dial in my house, but then, they weren't too fond of anything that wasn't uber twangy.

When I was introduced to the schmaltzy music of arranger David Wright as an adult,  I loved hearing good BarberShop Quartets and Choruses sing my name in his lush four-part harmonies. Ringing chords and overtones will put goosepimples on a girls arms lickety-split, and when the BarberShop is exceptional, it's downright  swoon-worthy.

But I am blessed with the double-name-song whammy.

Not to be outdone, by a bunch of nice guys, every once in a while I get a dirty old man leering as he's singing Mrs. Robinson from The Graduate--and not nearly as well as Simon & Garfunkle sang it.

It's happened frequently enough I usually only introduce myself to men as Mary Lou.

I smiled about Mary Lou Kitten for the rest of the day. I've never shared my name with a cat before. Being a PetParent I kind of like it.

Leaving the ward after work I saw the Wife and a few family members coming back for an evening visit. Even as I smiled at him, I wondered if the gentleman in the group might be one of her Sons. Sure enough he was.

Thinking about Mary Lou Kitten, she and I were both beaming from ear to ear as she introduced me to her Son.

"This," she paused dramatically,  "is Mary Lou!"  

Our Cheshire-cat grins must have scared the bejebees out of him, because he had a stricken look on his face that clearly indicated he thought his Mother had latent  shadchan tendencies. [Shadchan is the true Yiddish term for matchmaker--not Yenta (which actually means noblewoman or gentlewoman). And you thought this was going to be just another  non-educational fluff piece! LOL. I occassionally throw in a little education--even in the midst of the fluff.]

I, clever-witted person that I am, wanting to lighten the introduction and assure the Son I had ansolutely no ulterior motives or designs on him proudly announced, "And I am not a cat!"

His stunned silence was broken by raucous laughter as his Mother and I rolled on the floor. Luckily, her Son is a bright boy and he quickly recovered from  his shock at my unusual pronouncement.   He laughingly said, "We had a cat named Mary Lou Kitten once."

"I know!" I chorted through my tears. "Your Mom and I talked about her earlier!" We laughed harder as passersby skirted farther and farther around the outside of our little huddle.

Through my tears I noticed the color was returning to his face as the realization his Mom was not trying to set him up with a Crazy Cat Lady dawned on him.

Wicked girl that I am, I couldn't let him off that easy, so I asked about his children, knowing he would politely ask me about mine. When he did, I flashed him a few cell phone photos of the FurBoys. Bandit in his tux. Moggy and Bandit going for a ride in their purple double pet stroller. Bandit and me in matching costumes and stage make-up. You know.  Your normal family photos.

I have a feeling had the Mary Lous  been hanging around they would have approved:  Retton always sported an impish grin and mischeviously twinkling eyes, and I'm pretty sure, as a rescue herself, Kitty would have loved my humor--or at least she would have been enamored with my handsome rescue, Moggy. 

And everyone who meets my NekedBoy has their hearts stolen by Bandit.

Even star-struck Boys with gymnasticly named kittens.