A tiny little seedling of an idea was planted in my brain after reading this post by Heather, Queen of Shake-Shake. Within days, these two posts appeared in my Google Reader, watering my little sprout of an idea and feeding it further: Candace of Not That I Don’t Love My Kids and Miss Burrows (whose name I actually spelled correctly, go me).

Now first, let me just say, I am not a Mommy Blogger or even a mommy. Personally, I consider this blog to be the unofficial memoirs of a twenty-something expat woman. It’s kind of a strange category, but that’s where I am in my life. Most of the blogs I read are parent blogs is because I worked in daycare for three years so I can relate to raising young children a bit. Once I moved to Belgium I took more of an interest in Expatriate blogs and was finally comfortable assigning myself a category. However, this is not about dividing bloggers and audiences into categories; this is about uniting all of us under one big, warm blanket…the cuddly quilt of FEMINISM!

Yes, I said it and I’ll proudly say it again. My idea is all about feminism: embracing the word, living the dream, clearing the way for a new generation, proclaiming loudly and proudly to the world “I am a feminist!” without shame or jokes or derision. I am a feminist and I don’t want to duck and cover every time I make this claim.

So this is what I am asking of you, dear following, in hopes that you will help me to make this proclamation of pride in being women more successful than I could ever do by my lonesome: on April 3rd let’s take back the word feminism and all that it entails. I’m asking you to use that day to embrace your womanhood in whatever bloggable form you desire. Post a memory, a story, a list of things you can do to empower yourself, a poem, photos, art; anything that you feel represents what feminism means to you.

We have a month to spread the word around the blogosphere ladies (and men…you can be feminists too, you know) and if anyone can do this, I know my readers can. You all have your own bloggarific networks and channels and I have faith in this idea of mine. I was going to let it simmer for a while longer, but I’m just too anxious to get the ball rolling.

So stay tuned for any new developments in my “Proudly Proclaiming Feminism” project. Grab yourself a button, link it back to this post on your blog, keep me in mind on April 3rd and stop by that day to get your blog on the Mister Linky. Linky love to anyone who advertises for the cause (plus you’ll get to be on my list of fellow Proclaimers…and you don’t even have to be Scottish).

Thanks go out to CB and Fizz, who both made buttons for me today. They are the antidote for my photoshopping stupidity.

My routine was destroyed without Scylla and Brutus. It used to work something like this: wake up, check on the ferrets, refill the water bottles, get showered and dressed, go to work, come home, let the ferrets out to play, clean the litter box, refill the food crocks, eat my dinner, play with the ferrets while watching tv, put the ferrets in the cage for the evening, check the corners for stray poop (ferrets poop in corners…it is a weird and annoying habit if they can’t be bothered to make it back to the litter box), play on the computer a while, go to bed. Well, not only was I waking up several times a night to the ghost noises of ferrets where there were none, I was also forgetting simple parts of a routine such as eating dinner. With no ferrets to feed or check it often slipped my mind to have something to eat in the evening. Instead I sat on the computer from the time I got home until the wee morning hours (stress can cause insomnia for me as well) chain smoking and hating my landlords.

Obviously this was not healthy, so a couple weeks after Scylla and Brutus returned home* I decided that I was going to adopt a kitten. Granted my dad had always been allergic to cats and hated coming anywhere near them, but he rarely came to my apartment anyway and I’d always preferred cats to dogs. My life style and personality require a self sufficient pet (which was originally what I thought ferrets were…WRONG, but they’re still worth it) so I’ve never been to crazy about the neediness of dogs, plus my lease said I could own one cat. I called my mom one evening and asked if she’d come with me to the pet store to look for kittens. We went to the local Petsmart because they’re a satellite for the Humane Society and only sell kittens that are homeless (as opposed to overpriced or infullbred kittens/cats). I found a cute little kitten that loved to play and chase things, so I filled out the paperwork and planned on picking him up once my application was approved. Excited, I bought a collar, litter box, food and water dish and a ton of toys. The next day, upon returning home from work there was a message on my machine; the whole litter had contracted eye infections and were no longer available for adoption. The next weekend, hopeful once again, I returned to Petsmart and found another kitten, this one a bit older with a super long tail and beautiful green eyes. I asked to adopt him and, since my paperwork was approved, the salesperson went to find the papers for the cat…but apparently he had already been adopted and someone had forgotten to mark it on his cage. Pissed now, I followed the saleslady into a little back room and said,

“Look, I’m trying to do something good here, ok? I’m trying to be a responsible pet owner and to take care of a little animal that can’t take care of itself, and you people are making it very difficult for me to do so. Tell me where to go to adopt a cat. Today. I’m doing it today and that’s it.”

The lady was very sympathetic.

“I know you’ve been trying hard to adopt a cat Miss Klein and I can tell you’d be a good pet owner, look, I can call down to Animal Protectors and see if they’ll let you come today. We get a lot of kittens from them and I think they’ll be willing to let you adopt today.”

Animal Protectors was closed that day but after they heard the situation they said I could come down and pick a kitten. So I made the half hour drive from Monroeville to New Kensington and walked up to a squat, brown building with chipping paint and an outdoor generator surrounded by a tall chainlink fence. Tentatively I tapped on the dented door and a heavyset older woman squinted out into the bright sunshine.

“We’re closed.”

“Erm, yeah I know…I’m Korie, I was just over at the Monroeville Petsmart…”

“Oh, yeah, okay well come on in then, the adoptable kittens are in the office. You know we’re no-kill correct? And also we ask that you spay or neuter your pet and sign a contract agreeing not to declaw your pet…” and she continued to ramble off the list of does and don’t’s associated with adopting a new pet from an animal shelter while I glanced around the office, trying not to be distracted by the whining, barking dogs or the mewling cats. I have a huge soft spot for animals and it makes me sick to see how many of them are mistreated and abandoned. I think if I had the option to go back 8 years or so I’d choose veterinary school over psychology.

Anyway, there was a large cage at the very end of the row, towards the back of the office and in it were two kittens. Both of them were tiny, a little grey tabby girl and a tuxedo colored boy. A friend of mine had advised me to get a male cat because they “talk” more so I scooped up the little tuxedo kitten and he shakily wriggled out of my arms and sat on my shoulder, just like Scylla used to do.

I was in love.

“This one,” I said without hesitation.

“Oh him, yes, you can have him…are you sure you don’t want his sister too? They’re both available.”

“If I could, I totally would, but my apartment only allows one cat and they already taught me the hard way once…I can’t deal with it again,” and I told her my story. She pretty much reacted the everyone else did, which was extreme sympathy and disdain towards my landlords as she finished filling out all the papers and giving me a little starter kit of litter and kitten food.

I hadn’t really thought of a name at that point, although I thought I might name him after one of my favorite poets, or maybe something mysterious. But for some reason, when I saw him the name Rex came to mind. Granted he did have a little black stripe under his nose, but I’d have to be pretty fucked in the head to name my kitten Adolf or Fuhrer, so I went with the name that kept circling in my head the whole ride home: Rex, my little kitten king.

Since that time my little king has grown into a beautiful, sleek, nine pound cat who plays fetch like a dog and loves snacking on chipped ham with my dad at lunch time. He can entertain himself for hours and once mauled a certain Cabana Boy who insisted on trying to walk him outside on a visit to Pittsburgh. He knows when he’s being a bad boy and runs to the “time out” (bath) room accordingly. He has charmed everyone, especially my father, the notorious cat hater. Not only does my dad seem to have a much less sever allergy than he used to, he is also the one who gets on the floor to play with Rex first and spoils him rotten with toys and bits of ham. After I left for Belgium it was my dad who Rex started sleeping with and playing with and seeking out.

I can’t wait to see him at the end of this month and bring him here to his new home. I know it’ll be a big change for him. It was for me too, but it’s always a little easier when you’re near the one you love the most.

*I included the website of the breeder I got Scylla and Brutus from, in case anyone who reads here is interested. Wolf is a wonderful human being with a kind heart. He cares for his ferrets as though they were children and spares no expense for their care and well being. If anyone reading here lives in driving distance and has an interest in purchasing a healthy, happy, housebroken ferret, I highly recommend going to Wolf.