I now know two people from Cleve-land. (I know weird, right? Or, does everyone know two Cleves, and I'm only just catching up?). Both of them have a story that starts:
"I had a pet crayfish..."
And there are so many things wrong right there. Or is it normal to have pet crawfish outside of Louisiana? Because in Louisiana, even we "moral" vegetarians manage to muster up the mechanisms* that allow us to tear into little crawfishies on occasion.
*mine is that most of them have lived a life of freedom, and that's more important than their gruesome, unthinkable ending.
I wish I could somehow express the hilarity of Ladybird on the catnip I just brought home from the garden center, but I cannot. Just trust that it is adorably funny.