Do Tampons Take Your Virginity?: A Catholic Girl's Memoir Read Online Free PDF

abandoned in the parking lot. His owners had tied him to a fencepost. The poor dog would wait there all night until morning when Animal Control would likely take him inside and euthanize him.
    I walked up to the surrender cages and saw a little kitten with giant green eyes and a tiny mouth. His head was a perfect upside-down triangle. I poked my finger into the cage, which was bent at the top, allowing light to enter so I could see him. I spoke to him.
    “Little kitty, hold on... because I am coming to get you tomorrow.”
    The next day, I was at the shelter when it opened. I lied about the apartment complex’s rules and Kitty came home with me that day.
    Kitty was my only companion for many years. I cried into his fur when I was sad. He slept with me at the foot of my bed so I wouldn’t have to sleep by myself. He sat on my lap when I was lonely. He always seemed to know when to come to me. Kitty’s still alive, older, but as devoted as ever. I hope he lives forever, breaking the Guinness World Record for cat survival.
    My mental health would have been worse without my beloved pet. He helped me through a lot of dark moments.
    I always wondered if my father would have been a better person if he’d allowed animals to live in our home. Father never had a real friend and I suspect that’s part of why he was so cruel. The only time I felt sympathy for him was when I watched him bury that poor parakeet. I saw a glimpse of gentleness and sadness... he became human, even if it was just for a moment.
    Everyone should have a pet to love.

CHAPTER 2

Our Trips back to the Old Country

Lobster and Lapas
    1985, AGE 12
    In the Azores, the local magistrate always tried to impose fishing regulations on how many lobsters you could take from the sea. Now, imposing these types of limits on Portuguese fishermen is the same as not imposing them at all. The Portuguese generally believe that the sea belongs to everyone and they have an overall “finders keepers” mentality for everything that comes out of the ocean.
    Hey, the fish are out there, right? Well, that just means the Virgin Mary put them there for us to eat. No other explanation is necessary.
    I have to admit that I kind of feel this way, too. But then again, I’m not a biologist.
    Anyway, the best illegal catch of all is the Portuguese lobster. Everyone is always trying to snag Portuguese lobsters, which look similar to regular lobsters, except that they have a larger, rounder tail with extremely sweet meat.
    If a fisherman finds one, he’ll stuff that delicious bad boy in his pants, in his jacket, or any other hiding place he can find in order to get that sucker to a place where he can eat it. A lot of these clandestine lobster parties took place in the adegas [ah-DAY-gah], which were Portuguese wine cellars.
    I remember one instance in particular. A group of men, which included my father, had been out spear fishing all day. My brother and I went along for the ride. We stayed inside the little boat while they fished in the open water about ten miles away from shore. They found two great little spots that were full of Portuguese limpets (lapas) and lobsters. Lapas are similar to scallops, except with a chewier texture. They also have tiny little heads with fleshy horns (not kidding). Lapas and lobsters were both restricted items, but the fishermen had found their spectacular catch and they weren’t about to let it get away.
    They used their diving knives to pull the lapas from the rocks, and they collected them in mesh bags, which were tied to their waists. The lobsters, which were snapping furiously, also went into the bags.
    The men all got back into the boat. The deal was made.
    “Okay, I’ll go around to the back of the dock and put our bags in the rocks. At night, we’ll come back and collect them,” said my father. He was obviously the ringleader.
    All of the men nodded in agreement. My father then looked at my brother and me. “When we go back up to shore, don’t