Tag: animals

Where’s A Coyote When You Really Need One?

I like birds – they’re pretty and sing-song-y and generally don’t get in my way – meaning, I haven’t tripped over one.  Yet.  There’s still plenty of life in me so there’s a reasonable probability that at some point in the future I will trip over one or two and I can only hope the birds in question don’t hold grudges and/or can’t run very fast.

Anyway, I like birds, but to be honest, I’ve never spent a good deal of time minutely examining my thoughts and feelings about them.  Until this morning, that is.  At 6:30am I was given the perfect opportunity to delve deeply into my opinions and emotions about birds and come up with a definite conclusion:  I like birds – except Magpies.  I fucking hate Magpies!

The specific Magpie who became the object of my early-morning cursing was the one sitting under our bedroom window squawking and chatting with one of the cats.  It was, most likely, Teddy because he seems to have some kind of dysfunctional relationship with it that may or may not include racial slurs, name-calling and cursing.  It follows Teddy around, shrieking at him, then Teddy answers it in Cat and it shrieks again and Teddy answers again.  We’re quite surprised because Teddy….

isn’t the cat around here that’s famous for shouting and swearing – that honour goes to Izzie, The Queen of Mean herself.

Teddy is a sweet, chill guy who channels Joey Tribiani.

via GIPHY

I suppose I could be wrong about the content of their conversations.  Maybe it’s a weird friendship between a Low Talker and a Shouter.  Maybe they are conversing over the state of the local economy and how the influence of weather patterns could disrupt the flow of goods and services to the most vulnerable in society.  Maybe they are plotting and planning a coup in the Squirrel Community.  Maybe that bloody bird has a miserable sibling, too.  Maybe they are comparing notes and strategies for coping.  Who the fuck knows and, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter.

These two-way conversations go on several times a day for such a ridiculously long time that even the neighbours are starting to notice.  I’ve tried on several occasions to capture this phenomenon but that damned Magpie is as shifty as it is loud, and Teddy has the innocent act down pat.

At 6:30 this morning, I was having visions of pulling every single feather out of that gawd-damned bird until it was naked as the day it was hatched.  I had a lengthy intervention with Teddy, explaining that he needs to find a friend that doesn’t drive me to the serious contemplation of murder.  He listened very carefully, then went outside and found that bird again!  Probably to tattle on me for racism or something.  Will my car be covered in Magpie Poop now?

Under normal circumstances, I would never try to dictate who a person has as a friend because friendship comes in many different forms.  Cat and bird friendships should be encouraged in the hope of interspecies peace.  But a Magpie?  Really?  Teddy couldn’t find any other bird in the neighbourhood to befriend?  One that was less offensive and less loud?  A Finch?  A Sparrow?  How about a Hummingbird?  Hummingbirds are nothing short of awesome!  Nope!  It had to be a damned Magpie!  I would suspect passive/aggressive behavior if it were Izzie because she would totally do that, but Teddy has neither the smarts nor the personality to pull it off.

Since I apparently have little influence on Teddy’s choice of companions, I’ll just have to come up with a name for my nemesis.  A little help would be greatly appreciated, people.

In the meantime, it’s my kind of luck that someone will write a children’s book about this, ending it with the sweet cat and the pretty bird living happily ever after and I’ll look like the asshole.

Where is a coyote when you desperately need one?

Cadavers, Lots and Lots of Cadavers

 

Before we get into the number of Cadavers afflicting me, I must confess, that after only 2 words in this blog, I had to use Spell Check.  That’s how smart my brain is today but, let’s be honest, ‘Cadaver’ is a tricky word – is it ‘ver’ or ‘vre’?   In American English it’s ‘ver’ in British and Canadian English it’s ‘vre’, so it’s no surprise that I find it difficult, along with ‘theatre’, ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘centre’.  And Spell Check is losing its damn mind right now, underlining most of the words in this paragraph in blood red.

But that’s not important right now.  Cadavers are important.  Namely, the cadaver/s that are in my car.  And I’m absolutely certain it’s cadavers because I was blessed with a cadaver in my bedroom a few years ago because a cat brought a mouse in the house, chased it around and then lost it behind a mirror in my bedroom.  It didn’t take long for maggots and then massive flies to create a fucking nightmare in my bedroom 6 weeks later.  I get faint just thinking about it, too.

Junior’s first car had a mouse die behind the fan and the smell was disgusting.  I was still married to Stanley and he had to take the fan out of the car to retrieve the holy stinker.  I’m sure he feels faint just thinking about it.

And then we had a mouse in our Fifth Wheel trailer.  We dragged the damn mouse all the way from Calgary to Arizona where it died.  What little sympathy I might have had for the little thing to die so far from home was quickly lost.  I thought it was smelly garbage.  We cleaned the entire trailer from top to bottom but still the smell smelled.  Then we found it under the sink and behind the water filter.  The Viking used a flipper to poke more smell out of it before he managed scoop it up and discard it…..and the flipper, too, because there is no way that flipper can be used for anything other than removing cadavers now.

So, knowing what I know about the smell of cadavers, my car has become a torture chamber.  We can’t find the cadaver to exhume it from the car and thus make my car safe for human habitation again.  We’ve look everywhere, sniffing like bloodhounds, under seats and behind door panels.  It’s not in the heating/cooling system either.  We put two cats in the car hoping they would point where the cadaver is but, being cats, they were more interested in being anywhere else than there.  So.  What. The. Fuck?!!

And then yesterday……..

……

……

……the smell was gone.  What does that mean?!!  Does it mean that maggots are preparing themselves to become an infestation of bloated black flies that will likely drive me completely and permanently insane?  Will they wait until I go for food and then hatch all at the same time while I’m driving which will make me exit the car immediately and without stopping, probably vomiting as I hit the pavement?  Would insurance even cover that? Or maybe it fell out when I was whistling along Stoney Trail?  I did hit a couple of good bumps that might dislodge a cadaver from the engine compartment.  Ideally, that would be the best outcome – leaving the cadaver to ferment in the middle lane of the freeway.

Unfortunately, I can’t be 100% certain that the cadaver is no longer my problem.  How long does it take for a mouse to turn into the minions of hell?  I’m sure Google can come up with something:

Eggs hatch within 24 hours, and house fly larvae emerge. House fly larvae, or maggots, appear similar to pale worms. Their sole purpose is to eat and store energy for their upcoming pupation. Larvae feed for approximately five days, after which they find dry, dark locations for pupal development.

Gawd!  I have to wait 3 more days for Hell?  Today is Friday, then Saturday and Sunday……..so sometime late Monday or Tuesday.  I won’t take any chances and will refuse to drive the car between now and then.  Sure, The Viking will snort at my sissy-ness but he’s not the one that will be engulfed in huge, disgusting, bloated flies in a confined space.  Just the thought makes me nauseous.

I’ll just have to steal The Viking’s truck – a one-ton dually.  He’s pretty good at protecting himself and his things because he was quite the wrestler back in the day, but I have been practicing Tai Chi.  It will be a face-off in the driveway, an aging wrestler and a sloppy Tai Chi-er.  And it would be prudent to stand about 10 paces apart, so no one gets hurt.  I’m not expecting this to be a lengthy undertaking.  Three moves each, with rests in between, so about a half hour.  There will be energy drinks on hand, so we stay hydrated and Cliff Bars to keep up our carbs.  Maybe an ambulance on standby or is that just a little over the top?

As for my car, if there is an infestation in the car, I’ll just have to burn it down to the axles.  Because if I’m honest, I’ll never feel the same about my car ever again.

Friday Fictioneers – A Banana Fell Out Of The Cage

I finally found some time for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  The picture for this week’s challenge has been provided by J Hardy Carroll.

 When I was a kid I went to a Circus Carnival with my parents. I saw a pair of Siamese Howler Monkeys in a cage behind the Big Top.  Each head controlled one arm.  The left side was Frank and the right side was Sinatra.  

Frank stole Sinatra’s banana so Sinatra howled in Frank’s ear.  Frank gave the banana back to Sinatra but as soon as Sinatra had the banana, Frank howled in his ear.  Then Sinatra slapped Frank and Frank slapped Sinatra and the banana fell out of the cage. 

The inspiration for my post is from Genius Funny Man Tim Conway and his Siamese Elephant skit on the Carol Burnett Show.  If you haven’t seen it, I’ve put the link below.  It’s not great quality which is a shame – the better links were blocked in my country which is another shame.  For the Siamese Elephant go to 2:00 in the video.

Want to read more 100 word stories?  Push the button.

A Cow Pissed On Us!

We’re home.  We’re also still in shock that we didn’t suffer any catastrophic event while we were in Arizona.  Usually there is some sort of shittery that sends us both into a tornado of spiraling stress, curses and name-calling.  But this time The Viking wasn’t almost arrested and I didn’t get into any fist-fights (the chances of this happening are slim, admittedly, but still….).

Of course, there was the pre-departure clusterfuckage, as usual.  It wouldn’t be a vacation if we didn’t hate each other for the first six hours on the road.  We’ve become infamous in the neighbourhood for our attempts to go on holiday.  We quit telling them the exact day we were leaving because they were bringing out the lawn chairs and popcorn.  There was plenty of this though…..

and a little of this….

…..behind each other’s back and continual profanity as we packed the truck but we did managed to keep the volume down.  There wasn’t a single lawn chair in sight by the time we started the truck and idled out of the alley.

Once we were speaking again, the trip became enjoyable – we both love road trips – and everything was fine until we hit Idaho.  Sigh.  Idaho.  Never go to Idaho without a super-sized jug of Wind Shield Washer Fluid because the entire state is infested with bugs whose guts are so sticky it takes a sandblaster to get them off the front of the truck.  Also, cows piss on you there.

We were following a cattle liner who wasn’t going nearly fast enough for our happiness (we are driving 2400km/1500miles and want to get the fuck going already) and while The Viking was making little darts into the other lane looking for a likely time to pass, a cow pressed its ass against the side of the trailer and let loose a frightening large amount of piss.  It seemed to never end!  It was like driving into a waterfall!  The truck driver was going fast enough to turn the piss stream into a nauseatingly thick mist which required liberal and fast windshield wiper action and desperate stabs at the fresh air intake button.

After we stopped screaming and could use our words again we were more than just a little indignant.  What kind of world do we live in when cows can just piss on you any time they want?  We’re at the top of the food chain, are we not?  That sort of thing should be illegal!  What if our windows had been down?!  Or if we were on a motorcycle?!  Or in a convertible?!!

And then I started wondering why I’ve never been cow pissed on before?  I live in cow country for Pete’s sake.  Given the number of cows/pigs/sheep that are trucked all over the continent you’d think that Cow/Pig/Sheep Pissings would be common and therefore cause enough indignation in the general population to have laws against it.

So I Googled it (Are there laws against cows pissing on vehicles?) and there isn’t.  It’s illegal to be drunk while caring for a cow in Scotland and in Australia it’s illegal to milk another guy’s cow and you can’t drive your cows through St. John’s after 8:00 (I’m assuming in the morning because driving your cows through St. John’s at night would cause fewer traffic problems, but what do I know?  I’ve been pissed on!) but no law about cows pissing on people in vehicles.

So, are Canadian cows just more polite than Idahoan cows?  Is that why I’ve never been Cow Pissed on before?  Are Idahoan cows just plain assholes?  I wouldn’t put it past them judging by Idahoan bugs!  On the other hand, maybe this particular cow was just really bitter but not indicative of all Idahoan cows as a collective group.  Or maybe the Vacation Gawd didn’t have time to prepare something truly epic, as in past years, and this was the best he could do under the circumstances.  If that’s the case ….. then touché Vacation Gawd, well played.

Having now experienced being pissed on by a cow, I can say that it’s not something I will soon forget.  I think I might even have a touch of PTSD.  And, it will change the way we rate our future vacations as well as anyone else’s future vacations.

“Geez, that was one of our worst vacations, but at least we didn’t get pissed on by a cow, right?” 

“Too bad you had such a lousy time on your holiday, but at least you weren’t pissed on by a cow, right?”

Just a quick note about the actual chemical composition of the cow piss itself:  It does take off Idahoan bug guts, so there is that.

PS:  Yes.  Being pissed on is infinitely better than being poo-ed on.

PPS:  Yes.  Cows have every right to be bitter but pissing on us doesn’t change their fate.  It just makes me want a bigger steak.  Or maybe to tip them over, if I knew how to go about it because, presumably, the cow would see me coming and would brace itself.  Unless I dressed up like a cow but then I would need someone in the back of the costume and The Viking probably wouldn’t think it was a worthwhile endeavor.

 

Dare to Share

This Food Smells Like Shit!

Welcome to Coffee. Leave your shoes on – there’s litter everywhere. I swear to Gawd the little beasts have a fertilizer spreader loaded with litter and they spend the whole night distributing it. Here, let me move a cat so you can sit down.

THE CATS

Sigh. Having a Clowder of Cats is not as fun as you might think. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. I know Mim is excited that between us we have a good sized Clowder, but living with four cats has its challenges.

For instance, food……

Dexter: Eww! This food smells like shit!

Teddy: What? I LOVE this food! It’s better than anything I found on the streets.

Dexter: It’s shit. I can’t eat that.

Teddy: But this is organic with no chemicals and fillers.

Dexter: So it’s organic shit with no chemicals and fillers.

Lucy: If Dexter doesn’t eat it, then I won’t eat it.

Teddy: Fine by me! I’ll eat it.

Lucy: Okay. I’ll eat it. It’s not that bad, Dex. And I am hungry.

Dexter: Not one piece of that will pass my lips.

And then there’s the challenge of Poopers……

Dexter: Hi. I need to poo

Izzie: Hi. That’s irrelevant to me.

Dexter: There’s a pooper behind you that, I believe, I’m supposed to use when I visit.

Izzie: That pooper? That’s my pooper.

Dexter: May I use your pooper?

Izzie: No.

Dexter: So where am I supposed to poo?

Izzie: That, too, is irrelevant to me.

Dexter: I’ll just wait until you leave and then I’ll poo in your pooper.

Izzie: I have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.

Later…….

Dexter: Thank Gawd! Another pooper!

Izzie: That’s my pooper.

Dexter: No. That other pooper is your pooper. This pooper is for Lucy and me because you won’t let us poo in your pooper.

Izzie: Nope. It’s mine too.

Dexter: You can’t have both poopers!

Izzie: Why not? There’s no rule saying that I can only have one pooper.

Teddy: Is anyone going to eat this last bit of food?

Lucy: I really, really need to poo. Please, can I use this pooper?

Izzie: No.

Lucy: But I really have to poo!

Izzie: Irrelevant to me.

10 minutes later…….

Izzie: Oh, you are in trouble now! A poo on the carpet! You’re a dead cat walking. Haha!

Then it was the Cat Castle……

Lucy: Wow! That’s a fancy-shmancy palace.

Izzie: It’s mine.

Lucy: Lucky you! I think the very top platform is perfect for me.

Izzie: No it isn’t.

Lucy: Sure it is. I’ll just try it out.

Izzie: Didn’t you hear me? I said…..slap…..it’s….slap…..mine…..slap.

Lucy: You’re not very nice.

Izzie: That’s irrelevant to me.

Lucy: Oh, come on! It’s more than big enough for all of us.

Izzie: Yes, it is.

Lucy: So? Can I have a nap on it?

Izzie: No.

Teddy: Yeah. She won’t let me on it either. I feel your pain. It’s so close, yet so far away. I left a little food if that helps.

The worst challenge by far……

Izzie: Did you just let my Mom pet you?

Dexter: Yes. And it was lovely. She’s a great petter.

Izzie: She’s mine.

Dexter: That’s irrelevant to me.

Izzie: Really? Is….slap….this….slap….irrelevant….slap….to….slap….you?

Dexter: Hey!

Izzie: Never let my Mom pet you! Ever! Slap, slap, kick!

Teddy: Mom gave me a brush last night and it was amazing.

Izzie: WHAT?! She brushed you?

Teddy: Yup! By the way…are you going to eat those leftovers?

Izzie: Don’t ever let me catch you getting a brush again!

Teddy: She’s my Mom too.

Izzie: No she isn’t. You’re just something she dragged home.

Lucy: She scratched my chin last night.

Izzie: WHAT THE HELL?! You too?! Gawd!!

The challenges are not confined to the cats. We suddenly have hairy dust bunnies the size of Grizzly Bears. There’s hair everywhere! I went to buy groceries the other day…..

Nice Lady: I love your coat! Is it cashmere?

Me: No. It’s cat hair.

Nice Lady: Oh! Ew!

But, the thing is, it all turned out fantastic-ally. After the blizzards of slapping tapered off, and the chases morphed from terrifying to fun, and they worked out the poopers, they ended up liking each other.

Even better? Teddy and Izzie have become friends. Mim and I were totally excited when Teddy started licking Izzie’s face. Of course she was repulsed at first but then she must have decided it was not un-pleasant. She even gave him an experimental lick while Mim & I did a quiet happy dance.

Thanks for coming for coffee. I needed some human contact. Here’s a lint roller. No, take it with you – cat hair will turn up for days and you’ll probably need it.

 

Thanks, as always, to Part-Time Monster.

Doughnuts and Death Stares

Coffee is on! Come and get it! We all have to share one Doughnut because I ate the others. I didn’t intend to eat all the others, it just happened. You can’t leave fresh doughnuts lying around and not expect me to eat them. The odds are only slightly better than leaving Toffifee unattended around here.

And I have an excuse for eating all the doughnuts – it’s because I’m an idiot.

You know when you think you are fixing one problem but it turns out you’ve only made another problem and the other problem turns out to be a monumentally stupid fuck-up? Yeah? Well, I did that.

The Viking probably wasn’t listening to me when I convinced him to go along with the scheme. He does that quite often – not listening to me – and it’s something he should work on immediately because shit happens when he isn’t paying attention. He stares at his computer screen while I discuss the current problem and he nods and says “uh huh” and then I wrap up my case and he says “uh huh” so I carry out the plan.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t got a bloody clue what ride he’s just agree to and by the time he actually realizes what the ride is he’s halfway across the Grand Canyon on a zip line yelling “WTF?!!”

On this particular occasion, it’s the cats. I see you aren’t shocked that I am having cat problems. You must know me better than I know me and if you had been paying attention you might have saved me from myself. That’s why you only get 1/16th of a doughnut with your coffee – you’ve let me down.

 So, here’s what happened. Izzie hasn’t been the most welcoming of cats to her new playmate. For the most part she has adopted an “I hate you but I’m fascinated” stance and slapping happens frequently. We were coming to the realization that she may never be a socialized, normal cat.

But then she deeked us out last night. Teddy was sleeping on one side of my leg as we watched a movie and she came over, lie down on the other side of my leg and put a paw on Teddy’s leg. They slept like that for over an hour! I was over-the-moon happy! Until he woke up and she beat the crap out of him, again. The aggression was particularly bad after that, almost like “I may have slept on you but I still hate you.” Sigh.

I was worried leaving him on his own overnight. You see, we close our bedroom door at night so they have a chance to interact without us being the cause of jealousy. So, we decided to put Teddy in a room where he was safe for the night. But that didn’t seem fair. Why should he be locked up when it’s Izzie being the beast? And here’s where I went wrong.

You already know what I suggested, don’t you? I can hear the collective moans of disgust.

The Viking “uh huh-ed” his way into this arrangement and we moved Teddy’s litter box into our room, brought a water bowl and a food bowl in and supplied him with a couple of toys.

This morning, all hell broke loose. For two hours. By the time I got out of bed, The Viking was wide-eyed and slightly twitchy. “We never should have kept him in the room with us! Izzie is going nuts!”

Well, hell! Realization dawned quite quickly. Crap! I was so busy trying to save Teddy’s bacon that I didn’t think about how Izzie would feel about this betrayal. But, here’s the weird thing. Teddy somehow found a backbone no one was using during the night. And after the first couple of slapping blizzards, Izzie settled down and they are actually playing. Playing!

Have I managed to stumble us all to the base of some turning point? As far as I can tell, I haven’t managed to do a single thing right but Izzie just greeted Teddy with a nose touch and not a single slap. It was so casual, like they were old friends meeting at a pub. I’m not accustomed to such clear successes. My finished products are usual in the line of “We Can Live With It Even Though It Isn’t Perfect” or “Better Luck Next Time”.

Yet, I think I see a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. Or….it could be Izzie’s Death Stare reflecting in the dark. Who knows?

Thanks to Part-Time Monster…..

Wild Sabretooth Burros and Burritos

The first time The Viking brought me to Lake Havasu there was a big, greyish plywood sign immediately after we left I-40 onto Highway 95 south.  The sign said CAUTION in big, hand-painted letters in yellow and below that WILD BURROS in red and below that DRIVE WITH CAUTION in red as well.

I peered through the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of these exotic Wild Burros.  I didn’t even know there was such a thing as Wild Burros.  What would they look like? Would they be bigger than normal burros or smaller?  If someone put a Wild Burro beside a Tame Burro would we be able to tell them apart?  I wanted answers.

Sadly, I didn’t see one.  Not on that trip and not on the trips of the next two years.  And then the Government of Arizona must have decided they should make a small effort to protect these wild beasts because they put up an actual, real sign.

img_0850

Holy Mother of Gawd!!  These Wild Burros are nothing short of Sabretooth Burros!!  Look at that open mouth!

“The doors on the truck are locked, right?”  I asked The Viking as we drove past the sign.  I was suddenly glad I hadn’t seen one yet!  I think a person needs to prepare themselves for an event like actually witnessing Sabretooth Burros in the wild.  Would we be safe inside the truck or would a person need a Brinks Truck?  Or an Army issue Humvee thing with little openings to stick gun barrels through?  Would regular guns be enough?  Maybe we would need a Rocket Launcher or a Bazooka?

Me:  Why are you driving so slow?!
The Viking:  The speed limit is 65 mph.
Me:  What?!  That’s waaaay too slow!  One of those things could catch us!
The Viking:  I don’t think Wild Burros can run 65 mph.
Me:  Maybe not Wild Burros, but we’re not talking about regular Wild Burros, are we?  We’re talking about Sabretooth Burros!  Maybe those bastards can run 80 mph!
The Viking (sighing):  That’s impossible.
Me:  No wonder this area has such a small population.
The Viking:  ….
Me:  What if the speed limit is set so slow so the Sabretooth Burros can catch us?  Maybe we are a feeding program sanctioned by the government?!
The Viking:  For fuck’s sake.
Me:  Think about it!  They put up a dam to make a beautiful lake which lures boating enthusiasts but then they force them to drive so slow that Sabretooths can hunt them down and catch them!
The Viking:  That would never happen.  How do you even think these things up?
Me:  I’m just surprised they warned us about it with the sign!

It would be another year before we screwed up our courage to actually go looking for them.  Okay, it was only me that had to screw up my courage.  For some reason The Viking didn’t seem concerned at all!  But on October 16th, 2010 I posted this on Facebook:

Disregarding our own safety, we embarked on a determined search to locate the shy, elusive Wild (Sabretooth) Burro. Yesterday, we finally found a small herd of the beasts in the middle of the desert. Contrary to the image captured on the official, government sign, these beasts appeared to be herbivores and NOT carnivores. In fact, they looked identical to TAME burros, except their mane and hair was not nearly as tidy as Tame (non-Sabretooth) Burros.

wild-burro-2

pregnant-burro

wild-burro3

So it was a bit of a disappointment.  I had talked myself into being excited about carnivorous burros that may or may not be able to run faster than 65 mph.  I was sure that Tina the Truck could easily keep us from being Burritos (see what I did there?) for Wild Sabretooth Burros unless they can run faster than 100 mph which is where the damned governor kicks in.  At that point we would probably be swarmed and killed and turned into Burritos.

I bring this all up because yesterday we went for a drive to see the new bridge over the Hoover Dam – amazing! – and then toodled through Historical Oatman on the way home.  We love the drive through the rocky hills but wouldn’t want to do it without air conditioning – it’s smoking hot!  If you haven’t read The Grapes of Wrath you should, it’s a kick in the gut and you won’t soon forget it.  It also gives you a new perspective of Route 66.

As for Oatman, it’s an old mining town turned tourist stop and it’s over-run with Wild Burros.  Contrary to my first thought, no one was eaten by the Wild Sabretooth Burros here.  I asked.  The gold ran out, that’s why it’s turned Tourist, so if you visit this wonderful place you don’t need to worry about becoming a Burrito.  Buy carrots though.

Anyway, Oatman has a lot of Wild Burros…..and there are babies!  Several babies!  And Wild Burro Babies are about the cutest things ever.

baby-wild-burrosAnd the best way to end a lovely drive.

Coffee With Izzie – Disney, Destiny & My Inner Assassin

Good Morning! Come on in! The Coffee is almost ready and I’m in a terrific mood!

So, yesterday started like every other day. The Viking is supposed to get up at dawn but he rarely ever does. It’s almost like he doesn’t know he’s supposed to get up with the sun. It’s left to me to get him out of bed; it’s a chore but I try to have fun with it.

Once he’s vertical, we can talk……

Me: Play time! WooHoo! Come on! The plastic straps, the plastic straps, the plastic straps! Fuck! Okay. The fishing rod, the fishing rod, the fishing rod!  Really?  The crinkle toy, the crinkle toy, the crinkle toy!

The Viking: Coffee first.

Me: Dammit! Fine! Hurry up. Faster! Is that the absolute limit of your speed?

The Viking: Give me a minute! Stop sticking your feet under the faucet! I’m not drinking coffee that tastes like your fucking litter box!

Me: My feet are clean! I cleaned them myself!

The Viking: Are you ready for your breakfast?

Me: Now that you mention it, I’m starving!! Oh, wow! I am seriously starving! Hurry up with that food! Gawd! Are you ever slow! You’re useless! I bet you come from a long line of useless people. It’s a wonder you can dress yourself in the mornings. Come on Asshole! Get a move on! I am seriously going to shit on your pillow if you don’t get that food in the bowl…….

The Viking: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m coming.

Me: It’s about fucking time! Leave. So I can eat. Now.

I know, right? The shit I have to put up with. Of course I actually say that to him.  I’ve never claimed to be a nice cat.  Really?  Why not? Then you are human whipped.  I say whatever the hell is in on my mind.

The Missus played with me for a little while – not nearly long enough in my opinion. I told her exactly how useless she is as well. So I had a short nap until The Viking came in for his morning constitutional. But he casually went to the bedroom like he might be thinking of playing with me, so I followed him and then he made a mad dash down the hallway with his tablet in hand and closed the bathroom door against me! I said:

“HEY!! HEY!! WHAT THE FUCK! THE DOOR IS CLOSED! LET ME IN RIGHT NOW! THIS IS THE KIND OF THING THAT MAKES ME LIKE YOU LESS! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LOCKED ME OUT! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I ENJOY LYING IN THE SINK, WATCHING YOU. I DON’T CARE IF IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT! I USE A LITTER BOX! TRY GOING THROUGH THAT FLAP DOOR AND THEN WE’LL TALK ABOUT SMELLING LIKE SHIT! OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW OR IT’S SHIT ON YOUR PILLOW. I SWEAR I AM GOING TO SAVE AN ESPECIALLY SMELLY, LARGE ONE JUST FOR YOU! OKAY…..YOU ASKED FOR IT BIG GUY! I WILL NEVER LAY ON YOU EVER AGAIN!”

And then he finally opened the door – that threat almost always works. No, I didn’t say ‘thank you’ because I shouldn’t have had to make those threats in the first place.

The remainder of the day went by slowly because The Missus only played with me once. There was one guy, though, who came through the door. He stuck his hand toward me and I thought I was going to get a bite in but then The Missus was all “Careful! She bites!” and he jerked his hand away. I did slap him a good one on the back of his hat when he walked past me to leave though. It’s something, I guess.

It was after supper that things got interesting. The Viking and The Missus were watching TV and I was laying on my castle perch. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was moving slowly in jerky movements so I got down to get a closer look.

IT WAS A THING!! A LIVE THING!

I tried to high-five it but it took off running. I bounced after it and stepped on its tail. It smelled interesting. Why has The Viking and The Missus never brought me a toy like this before? It made little noises when it ran and I batted it around and tossed it into the air. I think the THING really liked it! We had a great time. The Viking wanted to know what I was doing but The Missus said:

“Shht! Leave her alone! She’s not bugging us!”

Eventually, the THING quit moving. I thought it might be sleeping so I lay down beside it and waited for it to wake up.

What did it look like?

dead-mouse

Oh! Haha! You mean before I killed it?

live-mouse

What? Well I didn’t know I killed it until The Missus said I killed it. I didn’t know it was called a mouse until The Missus said it, either! Don’t look at me like that! It’s instinct! I couldn’t have stopped myself from killing it any more than a bird could stop flying…..unless it’s an emu or an ostrich…..well, that’s just muddying the waters now.  The important point is that it’s our purpose in life! Embrace your inner assassin.

After a while The Missus went past for more water. On her trip back into the living room she stopped and really looked at the toy.

She said: “Holy Shit! That’s a real mouse!!” The Viking didn’t believe her at first but he got up and took a look for himself.

He said: “Yup. That’s a fucking mouse. How in the hell did it get in here?”

Her: It’s a pity mice don’t actually make and mend clothes like Disney would have us all believe.

Him: What?

Her: You know! Cinderella? The mice that made her dress? And birds don’t actually help the mice make the dress in real life, either.

disney-mice

Him: ….

Her: I’m not picking it up.

Him: I’m not either until I find something to grab it with.

Then The Missus turned her attention to me and she was all “Good girl, Izzie!! You killed a mouse! Yah!!!!” What followed was an orgy of treat giving and petting and praise and exclamations of “She’s only six and a half months old!” I basked. I think I like basking. Especially in praise.

And that’s why I’m in such a great mood today. I found my life purpose. And I’m still young! I can channel all my energy in one direction. I’m focused, like a lazer! I’m creating a patrol pattern throughout the house so I can be certain the perimeter won’t be breached without detection. I need a chase strategy – I can’t allow the intruders to find ‘bolt holes’ where I can’t reach them.  Soooo much to do!

Well, I suppose it would have been better to have found my purpose helping cats in need or in cat search and rescue, but that’s not up to me. I just answered the call of destiny, my friend.

Teeth, Eye Rolls and a Giant Tiger

When it comes to kittens it’s amazing how quickly they grow and learn.  Izzie has gone through a multitude of stages in her short life. Some are just adorable while others are enough to make The Viking and I take refuge in the Bathroom and call 911.

The Tiny Baby Stage: I kind of liked this stage but I really should have just duct taped her to my neck. Or bought a larger bra and tucked her in because then it would be like the good old days when I could accomplish two-handed tasks.

Continue reading “Teeth, Eye Rolls and a Giant Tiger”

Izzie – Snot & Tears…..or…..Survival

My survival is in question. Honestly. And I have engineered my own demise which makes it all the more tragic.  I knew it would be difficult, knew that there would be issues but Geez!  I had truly forgotten what a pain in the ass a fucking kitten could be!  She’s a nightmare! And I freely and willingly went along with the acquisition of the feline in question.  Wouldn’t Freud have something to say about this?  Isn’t this sort of like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition?

She’s a good girl really, but she’s so busy! I just get her out of trouble in one spot as she’s galloping to the next spot.  Pet Smart and Petland have both vomited all over the house; there are so many damned toys it’s like a mine field.  Bells, rattles, catnip, fishing poles, treat puzzle, ball puzzle and a Kitty Whack-A-Mole…..how many toys does it take to entertain one kitten?  In desperation I am throwing anything and everything on the floor (toothpaste box, pen, an extra-large paperclip, shopping bag, toilet paper roll, an empty medication bottle, shoe laces, etc.) hoping that something will hold her attention for more than 16 fucking seconds.

Continue reading “Izzie – Snot & Tears…..or…..Survival”