Let’s Have Coffee! You Won’t Believe What Just Happened!

Come in, come in! I know I said that I would let you talk this time but I just can’t!  Here’s some Chicken Broth and a crunchy treat instead of coffee because I’m still not allowed to have sugar.

Sit, sit, sit…I know you love my blanket in the sun.

Okay.  You won’t believe what happened! I can’t quite believe it myself! I heard, through the underground, about such a thing, but never once thought it could be real.

It is real though! And I know it’s real because I saw it: Pharaoh the Sparrow!

Don’t scoff, it’s so unattractive. Have I ever lied to you before?

That wasn’t a lie……it was an exaggeration. There is a difference, you know. Just listen.

I did what I do every morning – annoy The Missus and The Viking until they get up and feed me. The Viking came out first and I sat on his shoulder and watched while he made coffee then stuck my amazing whiskers (they look like Sam Elliott’s droopiest mustache!) into his ear. That’s how I remind him my food dish is still empty. And while he was eating his breakfast, I sat in the front room window, checking out my domains.

AND THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED!! A bird flew right to the window and sat on the ledge. It stared at me, right in the face! We were only separated by 2 panes of glass! It was a Sparrow and it hunched and fluffed itself up and dared me. I started slapping the window and that damned bird just stared at me without the smallest shred of fear.

I stood up on my back legs and whipped my tail at it and still it just sat there blinking at me. It was obnoxious! What the hell kind of bird can stand against all the aggressive majesty that is a cat? Oh, Magpies and Ravens do it all the time – they have size! – but this was a SPARROW! A dull, boring, brown Sparrow! I could swallow it whole!

I was like “What. The. Fuck?” So I started whispering all the horrible and painful things I will do to it when I finally catch it and that fucker only blinked. It was then that I recalled the legend of Pharaoh the Sparrow. He has dared some of the most dangerous cats in history! There’s talk that he stood up to Angry Cat. ANGRY CAT!! Can you believe that?

There’s a bounty on his head: 4 tins of Beluga Caviar to the cat that finally takes him down. If he’s smart he will leave here. I do not take taunts lightly.

What do you mean you don’t believe me? It’s the absolute truth! I believe everything you say! When you were bragging about your epic battle with that mouse did I call you a liar? No, I did not. Because I’m supportive.

Well, here’s the proof, smart guy!

And don’t even think about hanging around here, hoping to get The Pharaoh from right under my nose.  Now, leave me. Come back when you’re ready to be a good friend.

Toilet Paper, a Swiss Army Knife and a Massacre

Saturday was Viking Days at the Danish Canadian Museum. The Viking and I were…..well, not giddy exactly….but pretty excited. We’ve never attended a Viking Massacre before.  Now that I think about it though, perhaps The Viking didn’t think this whole plan through because maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with knowledge involving massacre-ing Vikings. I’m only human, after all, and not always in a good mood. But…..too late now! It’s not like I can un-learn it.

We stuffed the Goldwing with a blanket, Swiss Army Knife, food, water, sandals, a sweater each, next of kin notification in a fire-proof box, driver’s licenses, bear spray, antacids, matches in a water proof/fire proof container, Tylenol, first aid kit, night vision goggles, extra earphones, a jerry can full of gas, a machete, compass, toilet paper, bug spray and The Viking’s contribution – an extra set of helmets (Don’t even ask because I can’t explain it).

I was in charge of what to pack while The Viking was in charge of complaining about what I wanted to pack.

I shouldn’t have to explain this every single time we want to go somewhere but apparently I do. Things happen when you leave home:

  • We could be hit by a car because the driver was texting 911 as he was having a heart attack.
  • An abnormally large insect could smash through the windshield of the bike, through the mask on his helmet and lodge itself in his left eye causing us to careen out of control, over an embankment and blow up in a fiery explosion. Admittedly, Polysporin probably wouldn’t be much help in this instance but maybe we would survive and then it would come in handy.
  • One of the Vikings could go rogue and we’d be forced to fight for our lives with our bare hands until we could steal a battle axe and then we would have to flee into the woods and maybe get lost and have to spend the night huddled together for warmth under a tree.
  • One of us could get heartburn from our picnic lunch.
  • There could be an earthquake and we might be cut off from civilization for whole minutes where my cell phone won’t work and we’ll have to make a fire to send smoke signals to the kids that we’re okay and that we will find them one day soon.
  • My earphones may stop working which would be a disaster because all I will be able to listen to is muffled wind or worse…..The Viking’s choice of music.  Shudder.
  • We could run out of gas on one of those range roads and suddenly the movie ‘Deliverance’ could happen and we’d have to slog our way through steamy swamps to escape.
  • One of us may need to pee/poo while we’re on one of those range roads and squatting in the ditch behind a shrub might become necessary and we’ll hope this doesn’t coincide with the scenario above because that would be really embarrassing.
  • We could be attacked by a bear while we are stopped for a drink so we have to stand and fight it to the death.   Or hit it with bear spray.
  • What if we’re motorcycle-jacked and have to track the culprits down and take our revenge?
  • What if your tipping maneuver going around corners does what physics says it should do and we slide and I’m spit out by centrifugal force to land in a stranger’s car? I should probably pack a box of chocolates or something to say thanks for the great catch.
  • What if we break down and have to catch a ride in the back of a truck hauling 3 pigs and a goat? I should pack a big jug of Febreez.

The possibilities for catastrophe are infinite! The Viking might swear and grouch but if something ever did happen he’d be like “You are the best woman ever! So smart! Thank Gawd I have you or I’d be fucked!  I’m so sorry for yelling at you.  Can you ever forgive me?” Or something like that.

So, loaded up and dressed in my best facsimile of Biker Gear, we headed out. We met Mim and Darb part way, who then proceeded to make The Viking and I feel stupid by pointing out that Mim has a GPS on her phone and doesn’t need the 18 pages of directions we printed at home. Fuck.

We had to take one gravel road which is never fun on a motorcycle and it’s even less fun when you are following a vehicle. By the time we hit pavement again we looked like those sand creatures from Star Wars. Why didn’t I think to bring our Shark Vacuum?! I should have known we might need to vacuum ourselves off!  Instead, we had to spend 5 minutes smacking the shit out of each other to get most of the dust out of our clothes.

The weather was beautiful at the Museum and crowds were already gathering for the big Massacre. We found a great vantage point on a grassy knoll and sat down to wait for blood and gore.

Soon, a big guy decked out in chainmail, helmet, shield and sword strode into the impromptu arena and started declaring himself the best warrior ever. And then another guy came out and declared the first guy was ‘Full of Shit’ and a fight ensued where the second guy died and the ‘full of shit’ guy proved he actually wasn’t ‘full of shit’. A woman came out and declared that she was a Shield Maiden and would kick his warrior ass but instead, promptly died. Booooooo! Boooooo!!

Another 4 guys came out trying to prove the first guy was ‘full of shit’ but they all died too which left no one for him to kill.  The crowd shouted ‘MEAD’! and all the dead people came back to life so the first guy could kill them all over again. By then he was just being a bully.

The violence ended when an army of children arrived, armed with short pool noodles and massacred every Viking on the field. The crowd shouted ‘MEADE’! again and all the dead people came back to life so they could be massacred all over again. The death and violence was awesome and it was great to see all the kids dressed up for massacre-ing with their little helmets and shields. Good wholesome fun! I wish my parents had taken me massacre-ing when I was young. I would probably be a much better Viking now.

There were some very good artisans set up and we enjoyed browsing. The Viking bought me a beautiful set of amber ear rings (I hope we don’t get robbed on our way back to the bike because I left the machete in the side bag) and we found out where we can buy free-range pigs. That in itself was worth the admission fee.

The trip home was uneventful except for the Iced Maple Cappuccino we stopped for in Olds, which turned out not to be an event but delicious anyway. So we didn’t need the machete for sure. Or the night vision goggles and the water proof matches.

I’m sure that the next time we want to go somewhere The Viking will cite this one trip as evidence that we don’t need such things as Machetes or Night Vision Goggles. But he’s not in charge of what we pack. I am. He’s only in charge of The Complaints Department and the Putting It All In The Vehicle Department.

Because that’s what he’s good at.


Izzie – Let’s have Coffee….er….Salmon Juice


First things first: I don’t drink coffee…..anymore. Because apparently I can’t be trusted with Sugar after my counter-sized Sugar Art Project got poor reviews. And let’s face it, coffee without sugar…and cream…..is terrible. Whatever. I like Salmon juice better anyway.

Now that we have that out of the way, go ahead and spread out on my favorite blanket. Soft, isn’t it? And this is the perfect time of day because we have warm sunshine right here.

So, it’s been a week of ups and downs for me. On the plus side I discovered water. I’ve been dabbling in the shower with The Viking for a long time and it was okay but the bathroom sink is where it’s at.  I can hear the tap turn on from every corner in the house. Someone’s brushing their teeth? I’m there! The Viking was rude enough to spit his toothpaste on my head but The Missus cleaned it up. She just pushes me out of the way when she has to spit. I also like the toilet. The Viking accidentally peed on my head though, when I jumped up between his legs for a little lookee-loo. The Missus cleaned me up from that too.

Unfortunately, there was an incident when I was playing in the bathroom sink. The Missus let the water drip and she put in the plug so I could get all my feet wet. I was really enjoying myself! But then I needed to pee. Do you know how hard it is to hold in pee when you’re playing with water? It’s impossible. Trust me. Anyway, I jumped down and ran for the litter box and came right back to play some more. When the Missus saw that I was heading for a nap after all that playing, she went to turn the water off……….and screamed.

I ran back….of course I did! Who wouldn’t? She was just standing there looking at the sink and the floor and the walls with her mouth hanging open.

Pop Quiz: How much litter will stick to your very wet feet?

Answer: Enough to get you banned from ever playing in the sink again.

On the plus side, I wasn’t banned from the whole bathroom like when I shredded 2 and a half rolls of bathroom tissue. She did spend a long time spraying the whole room down with disinfectant and wiping it all up again though.

Another good thing was that I found my Green Crocodile. It’s been missing for a couple months already. It must have visited an alternate universe because it just showed up behind the sofa beside 3 fake but intriguing mice. The Missus was quite surprised when I showed it to her.

Three bad things happened when I bit The Missus twice and The Viking once. I don’t know what comes over me! They are just giving me a love and then WAM!! They’re bit! I may have Split Personality Syndrome. They play with me several times every day, so it’s not like they neglect me. I think the urge to play happens and then Satan takes over my body. I’m horrified when I come back to myself. There is simply no other explanation. It’s a good thing they don’t hold grudges for more than a few hours. And, I always go and apologize even though it’s not something I particularly like to do.

I saw 3 rabbits, two squirrels and 8 Magpies this week. One day I will be allowed outside and they will fear me.  Especially that one Magpie that sits on the window ledge mocking me.  That one will die.  Slowly.  Painfully.

I accidentally shredded two rolls of Bathroom Tissue again this morning. You would think that I had broken a Ming Dynasty Vase or something the way The Missus goes on and on and on about what a horrible cat I am and wasting money and how I will never be allowed in the bathroom again and blah, blah, blah. I proved her wrong as soon as The Viking needed to pee. He didn’t even see me.

So, you haven’t said much, have you? Maybe next week I’ll let you talk for a while. You just have to butt-in if you have something to say. Also, you should probably run if you see my eyes go all black and Satan-y. I won’t realize that I’m biting you until I’m done biting you. I will apologize afterwards though.

Until next week, my friend. May the mice be slow and the treats be crunchy.

PS: Just before posting, I accidentally bit the Missus 3 times.  In my defence, they left me alone for 14 hours yesterday!!  I needed to play and I really didn’t care if the Missus was too exhausted.  You can’t leave me alone and then not play when you get home!

If You Suddenly Smell Flowers……

I never thought I would need to write about this but it’s become a very big issue lately. It’s so big, in fact, that I’ve resorted to carrying a can of Air Freshener and a large fan.

When our bathroom was renovated The Viking wisely found the largest, fastest, smell-suckingest fan on the market. It’s like a jet engine; it spools up with a whine as it reaches its full rpms and our hair gets pulled toward the ceiling. This is a small house with only one bathroom and the fan plays an important role in our marital happiness.

Ordinarily, it’s The Viking who needs the fan most. We eat the same things but his body does something with food that my body doesn’t. He’s very good about closing the door and turning on the fan but every once in a while I’m concerned Cadaver Dogs will come calling.

Full Disclosure: I will admit to one evening 3 months ago when something happened in my digestive tract. I sat in the livingroom, watching a movie, silently leaking noxious odors and covertly looking at The Viking to see if he could smell what I could smell. And every time, he just continued to watch TV like everything was fine. I was having difficulty keeping a straight face because I couldn’t remember a time when I leaked anything that smelly and because smelly farts are just funny.  Particularly to the Farter.  And the fact that my eyes were watering made it even funnier!

The weird thing is that I was farting in an almost constant stream but 3 out of 4 of those farts were completely innocent, non-smelly, quiet gusts of wind.  However, at one point Izzie woke from her nap in my lap, gave me a nasty look and stomped over to the trunk in front of the window to continue her nap.   And still The Viking said nothing.  The fucking cat, that plays in her own litter box, couldn’t stand the smell but The Viking could?!

Finally, after at least an hour of toxic emissions:

Me:Oh come on! Can you not smell this!?”

The Viking: Yes.

Me: So why haven’t you left the room?!  Or told me to leave the room?

The Viking: It’s a good movie.

Me: You are willing…..sucking breath in…..to inhale…..Bahahaha!…….noxious fumes so……I can’t breath!……you don’t have to……..wipes tears from eyes……pause the movie?  Didn’t you see…….wiping more tears from eyes……the Cat?!

The Viking: It’s just farts!  It’s not like you shit on the sofa!  And yes, I did see the cat and I almost laughed out loud.  I wanted to know how long you would keep this up without saying anything.

I was laughing so hard I peed my pants a little bit.  Not once in the past hour did he wave a hand in front of his face or try to blow the stink away.  He did attend a boarding school though so I can only assume his odor detectors are fried.

Aside from that one and only time, I emit flowery fragrances. If you’re in our house and you suddenly smell flowers – it’s me. I did that. It’s a gift.

The Viking usually gives a loud courtesy horn that an odor may be seeping into the room and I really appreciate it. If it’s a bad one, he says, “Phew! Sorry, Babe!” and I run. I once walked into the garage to give him a message and it was like walking into a very large and very stinky wall.  I shouted the message from 6 feet away.

Izzie isn’t quite as polite. Day before yesterday, she was in her Cat Castle, ostensibly sleeping, but about every 15 minutes or so a horrible smell floated past my desk while I was trying to work. I waved my hand under my nose and gave her a filthy look but she was smiling.  Payback I assume.

Izzie has also discovered that she loves water, so anytime anyone – especially The Viking – goes into the bathroom she streaks in behind them before they get the door closed. She’s hoping the water in the sink will accidentally be left on so she can do the Hokey Pokey and shake water all around. The real trouble is when The Viking is done with his deposit because it takes him extra time to get Izzie out of the room. That extra time means extra smell seepage and greater spreadage and there is a limit to what the Jet Fan can do.

And then Junior showed up last night. We chatted for a little while then he needed to pee. But he didn’t pee! He pooed! And he didn’t turn the fan on either! After he left I needed to pee. I opened the door to the bathroom and immediately fainted. Holy Shit!! What in the hell is that guy eating?! Due to his fried odor detectors, The Viking braved his way to the fan switch and grabbed the air freshener. It took the combined efforts of both of us to tame that Stink.

We’ve considered putting in a second bathroom – a Poop Room – but we’d have to give up a closet and we don’t have enough of them in the first place. Maybe I should just get one of those nose thingys that Synchronized Swimmers have. They look like they could keep out smells but that would make me a ‘mouth-breather’ and I couldn’t handle the stigma involved.

But look what I did find! I could stuff the beak full of flowers and other nice smelling things. FYI, these are not my pictures. I found them by Googling “beaked masks”.

For everyday wear.
For everyday wear.
For Formal Wear
For Formal Wear
For Family Functions
For Family Functions

And also, Fart Patches for underwear. I wouldn’t have to wear a Beaked Mask at all if people – and certain cats – were responsible Farters!  It might be uncomfortable to remove the patch from Izzie’s rear end though – for both of us.

Not my picture
Not my picture, Googled it.

And on this note I’ll bid you ‘farewell, see you again’ because I’ve had 3 cups of coffee and I need to pee. The Viking made his deposit an hour ago so I think the stink should be gone!

Telepathy, Shit and Leonardo Da Vinci

When I first met The Viking just over 9 years ago I didn’t have high hopes that we’d end up in a long-term relationship. At first blush we didn’t have much in common. He’s a guy’s guy while I am a girly girl who has man hands and, among other things, big feet. However, according to him he started falling in love with me when he saw my car had a manual transmission. That’s as good a foundation for a long-lasting relationship as any other. Right?

When I moved in with him I brought all my shit from my condo. And my shit wasn’t shit because I had collected it over the 4 years since I had left my husband. It was shit that made me happy, shit that made me smile every time I saw it.  It was shit that reminded me to take care of my soul and to find joy every where I happen to be. The Viking’s household shit though was mostly shit. Wal-Mart shit. Shit that a guy’s guy would buy to serve a function regardless of sex appeal. But his shit was his shit and my shit was my shit and we squared off in front of our respective piles of shit to decide what shit to keep and what shit to trash.

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Under the Surface of Better

I had an epiphany a few weeks ago.  It was a bit unpleasant so I filed it away under “Self-Improvements I am Avoiding”.  And then I read a blog post where a young lady is trying to be a better person which reminded me of my epiphany and now I’ve decided to explore it a bit more. On the surface ‘Being a better person’ may sound like a wonderful idea but it’s not necessarily all it’s cracked up to be.

Let’s see if I can explain it.

I believe that when someone loves you…you have the means to destroy them. They have handed you their heart and soul. How you care for that heart and soul is how every human being should be judged. Sometimes you have their heart and soul by default, like your children. But it’s still the same thing; you have the power to destroy them, too.

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The Faint of Heart and Beserkerville

We survived. Barely.

Curses were shouted, tears were spilled, hair was pulled, fingers were pointed and doors were slammed. And slammed again just for effect.

I knew going in that the big office move was not for the faint of heart. If you are at all sensitive, if your skin is not 12 layers thick, if words ending in ‘it’ or ‘uck’ or ‘ucker’ or ‘ard’ offend you….our house was definitely not the place to be last weekend. On the plus side, there haven’t been any flaming bags of dog shit on our front step so I’m going to assume that the neighbors didn’t hear the worst of the gong show. OR…maybe we’ve managed to immunize them over the past few years. Either way I should probably take gift baskets to the closest ones.

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Bruised Boobs, Neon Socks and Herman Munster Shoes

I stuck earphones in my ears and then encased my head in foam, rubber and hard plastic yesterday. It was so tight that every little bit of fat, muscle and skin on my head was pushed up toward my eyes and nose and made me look like a Shar Pei.  Yup, we went for a ride on the old motorcycle.  I pushed as much of my face as possible back into the helmet so I could at least see, but cheeks being cheeks, they weren’t overly cooperative.

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