Many years ago we had a Maine Coon cat. He was as friendly as can be unless you were a squirrel. His favorite thing to do was to decapitate a squirrel and then hide in the bushes next to the front door. As soon as the door would open, he would run inside with the poor thing and drop it on the carpet. I know he was trying to show us how to hunt, but this was a bit much to put up with.

Throwing them out didn’t get the point across, so one day I tried a different tactic. This time, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a can of tuna, and started eating it right in front of him. He picked up the dead squirrel and took it outside, and I didn’t see him for three days. I never knew it was possible to insult a cat.

He did forgive me. And in the next 17 years, he never once brought another prize in the house.

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(My father and cat both like to sit in the same spot on our couch. One day, I come downstairs to get a glass of water and see my father moving the cat.)

Dad: “Come on, [Cat].”

(He nudges the cat who stands up but doesn’t move. It takes another solid minute to get the cat all the way out of the spot so my dad can sit. Thirty minutes later, I’ve come downstairs again to put my glass away and see the cat in the spot and my father on the loveseat.)

Me: “Hey, Dad…”

Dad: “I got up to get a new book, he jumped back into the spot, and it didn’t seem worth it to move him.”

Me: “So, not only did you and the cat get into a fight over the spot, but the cat won?”

(My aunt and I are living together. It’s my house and I am giving her a place to stay while her own home is essentially being rebuilt after a fire. I don’t like my aunt much because she is rude and entitled, and I only agreed to let her stay because my mother — who couldn’t let her stay at her own house because she was already taking care of my ailing great grandparents –guilt-tripped me. She has three small dogs and I have just recently gotten a puppy which I named Garrus, after my favorite video game character. One morning I hear a cell phone ringing. My aunt and I have similar phones, so I answer it without thinking to check if it’s really mine or not.)

Caller: “Hello, I’m calling to inquire about the dog for sale?”

Me: “Dog? There’s no dog for sale.”

(I look at the phone closer and realize I just answered my aunt’s. Thinking that she might be selling one of her three dogs, I ask:)

Me: “Can you tell me more about this dog?”

Caller: “He’s black and tan, the ad said he was still a puppy, and his name was Garrus. You’re selling him because you can’t take care of him anymore.”

(I’m completely stunned.)

Me: “Where did you see that this dog was for sale?”

Caller: “There was an ad on [Site].”

Me: “Hold on, please.”

(I check this site on my laptop and, sure enough, there is an advertisement with my aunt’s cell number attached offering my puppy up for sale for a measly $10. I paid way more than that for the adoption fee alone.)

Me: “I’m really sorry, sir. Garrus is not and never will be the property of the person trying to sell him, and she never even consulted me about selling my dog, so I’m afraid that he isn’t actually for sale.”

(Thankfully, he is very understanding about this and hangs up, but I later have to confront my aunt about why she is selling my puppy.)

Aunt: “There are too many dogs living in this house. There isn’t enough room for four of them, and your dog’s the biggest, so I thought he should be the one to go.”

Me: “This is his house! He will always be here and he was here first! You and your dogs are guests and will eventually leave!”

Aunt: “You know, if you weren’t so selfish, you’d agree with me that it’s too cramped and just get rid of the dog!”

(I had a better plan. I got rid of her. I gave her a week to find somewhere else to stay. She had the audacity to complain to my mom that I was throwing her out of the house, but then my mom called to get my side of the story and found out my aunt had tried to sell Garrus, among some other things she had done. She’d smashed my TV because “I was playing video games too loud” while she was trying to sleep; I had the volume turned as low as it could go and still make sound, so how she supposedly could hear it from all the way downstairs in the basement when I could barely hear it from across the room is beyond me. Mom took my side and told my aunt she would have thrown her out, too.)

(I’m an educator at my aquarium, and I work the touch pools very frequently.)

Me: “Welcome to our tide pools! You’re welcome to reach in and touch any of the animals in these two—“

Customer: “Is this the sushi exhibit?”

Me: *clearly not amused* “No.”

Customer: *points at a skunk shrimp* “Is that a crawdad?”

Me: “He’s a skunk shrimp; he helps other animals by cleaning any—“

Customer: “Does he taste good?”

(I just glared at him until he got uncomfortable and walked away.)

(My niece — almost eight — and nephew — almost four — have come to visit for their birthdays. While my niece and I are baking her cake, my mom is talking to my nephew. He has a scratch on his face.)

Mom: “How’d you get that scratch?”

Nephew: “My boyfriend bit me.”

Mom: “He bit you?”

Nephew: “Yeah.”

Mom: “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

Nephew: “Bailey.”

Mom: “Where’d you meet him?”

Nephew: *gives my mom a look* “Bailey is my dog!”