Monty was a jerk. A turkey. An overstuffed, giblet-jammed tom gobbler. That’s what people called him, especially his in-laws.

There wasn’t any real reason to object to his marrying into the family. He wasn’t violent, or a drug addict, or a criminal.

He was just . . . obnoxious.

Monty was large and loud. He laughed gratingly at his own un-funny jokes. He was ignorant, but proclaimed his expertise. About everything. He was greedy and self-centered and repellent in so many ways.

In general, he was just a pain to be around.

But he was devoted to his wife, dragged her along with him to everything he was interested in. You couldn’t say that he left her home alone, sobbing. The young couple was the despair of his parents, with whom they lived, but that was their look-out. Every attempt to get a job and move out failed for some reason.

The family sighed in despair, and said, “Oh, that’s Monty. What are you gonna do?” and tried to get used to him.

Then, one day, something changed. It was hard to notice at first. Perhaps that first sign was when he was in a grocery store with his wife, who was doing her mother’s shopping, when Monty decided to buy Mom a coffee cake. With his own money. “She’ll like that,” he said. And she did.

The next sign was when he started bring Christmas presents to family holiday gatherings. He even brought one for a guest who always spent the holidays with the family. They weren’t great presents – inexpensive folding knives and cheap wine, which, given his work situation, were nevertheless impressive. It was clear he was trying.

He started giving and accepting hugs, asking first and thanking the person afterward. He went to Christmas church services so that his mother-in-law could point to the row of people and introduce them proudly as “my whole family.”

It was like watching a turkey drop its feathers and morph into a human. It was a stunning alteration to the family that had merely put up with him for all those years.

To what could they attribute this change? Age bringing maturity, perhaps? His wife’s devotion to her family? A Grinch-like conversion?

The answer may never be known. Some people think it was due to the job he finally landed. It didn’t pay enough to get Monty and his wife out of his parents’ basement. But it was a job delivering meals to shut-ins and seniors.

Maybe that job inspired him to think about the wants and needs of others. He might have learned, after taking care of other people day after day, that other people needed and deserved attention. Perhaps he saw that he could make a difference.

Whatever the reason, Monty changed. He still laughed at his own jokes, but not as loudly. He still bought himself hobby gear and collectibles and toys. He still expounded endlessly about them. But now it was bearable to be in a room with him for more than half an hour. Now the hugs could be comfortably returned. Now Christmas with the family wasn’t an ordeal for everyone.

Monty had grown into the family. And grown out of being a turkey.

Cats are supposed to be furry, adorable purring machines that sit on your lap and provide you companionship, right?

Here’s the truth: Cats are all that, but they can also be naughty, pesty, and downright embarrassing. Having a cat around the house is often entertaining, not always in a good way. But we love them anyway.

Speaking of entertaining, you can expect cats will yak on the carpet when you have important visitors. That’s a given. But we’ve seen worse behavior.

Little Maggie, a half-grown stray, once interrupted a lively game of Trivial Pursuit by dragging a hiking boot (of the smelly variety) into the living room, by one shoelace. It made loud clumping sounds as she strove mightily to bring us her kill.

And on the subject of gifting humans with dead things, Django used to save his kills “for later” by putting them in his pantry. It wasn’t our pantry – it was the innards of our sofa. He also left half-mice lying around, usually in the bathtub, where they were at least easy to clean up, but not so great for visitors.

Toby and Garcia both had a craving for pizza – so much that they liked to walk or even jump on them. I tell you, there’s nothing like a paw print in the cheese to spoil your appetite.

Unless it’s tongue prints in the butter. If you leave butter out on the table or the counter, a cat will assume it’s an invitation to snack. Their rough little tongues leave striped impressions that instantly betray their endeavors, even if you don’t catch them at it. It’s disgusting. Take my word on this.

Other food violations abound. Once my husband and I were eating in front of the television, our plates on the coffee table, when our foster cat Joliet took a notion that she wanted to dine too. She swooped in, seemingly from nowhere, and without hesitation snatched a steak from right off the plate and skedaddled, steak flapping in her wake. We could barely afford steak for ourselves, much less Joliet, so we rescued the rib eye and washed it off. I’m just glad that wasn’t one of “in front of guests” incidents.

Then there’s what cats do to their companion humans. Kittens are probably the worst. Our cat Louise grew into a polite, sweet-tempered cat. But when she was a baby, she was a vampire kitten with a fetish for toes. Kittens have tiny, pointy teeth as sharp as little needles. And they are relentless. A moving toe is a prime target, but even the stationary toe of a sleeping person is considered fair game. (Until she grew out of the habit, which kittens do (thank God), her nickname was Naughty Baby Fek’lhr, (a joke only geeks get).)

Toes aren’t the only body parts at risk, and biting is not the only thing you have to worry about. Dushenka licks. Last night she licked my nose and forehead. More often she licks my husband, anywhere he’s got hair, which is pretty much everywhere. She licks his eyebrows, his beard, his chest hair, his arms, and whatever else she can reach. And she doesn’t just give him a single lick and then stop. She keeps on licking with her rough little tongue (see butter anecdote, above) until he can’t stand it anymore. (I ‘ve never seen her lick his armpits, though I once knew someone whose cat liked to do that.)

But of all the naughty behavior I’ve seen from an otherwise adorable cat, none has rivaled the time Bijou crashed my party. I had about six or eight friends over and we were in the living room and kitchen, chatting merrily and listening to music, when suddenly the cat appeared from the direction of the bathroom. All conversation stopped when we saw that she was carrying a pink tampon applicator, sticking out of her mouth like a little bubble gum cigar.

But I loved her anyway.