Another VERY close call.

Erin: Shirley, do you want fish sticks for dinner?
Shirley [looks at Fishmael]: What?! Mama, Fishmael is not a stick! You silly goofy.
Erin [sweating bullets]: Chicken, then! Let's have chicken.

Call me Fishmael.

Meet the newest member of our family, Fishmael.
We adopted him almost two weeks ago, and he has been a joy and delight ever since! He is a Siamese Fighting Fish or Betta Splendens, and must be in his tank alone, because he won't back down from a fight! He follows my finger all along his tank and puffs himself up as if he's really going to get me.
I really felt inclined to get a Betta because they are so abused in pet stores. There are many misconceptions about Betta fish, because they are a very hardy fish and thereby hard to kill. They essentially have a lung that they use in addition to their gills and take a lot of oxygen from the surface of the water. Because of this, they are able to live in putrified, polluted, ammonia-water long after any other fish would have died. Because of this, many people think they can thrive in small bowls of water with little or no oxygen, when what really happens is that they burn to death in their own ammonia waste products.
Another common false belief is that Bettas can live in a bowl underneath a water plant and will eat off its roots. This also is not true. Bettas need protein to survive, and a plant offers no protein, so they slowly starve to death in planted bowls, in slightly less disgusting water. A starved Betta will nibble at the roots of any plant, looking for food, but don't be deceived! A Betta needs clean, oxygenated water and a high-protein diet in teeny, tiny portions. I am so happy to offer a better home to this beautiful creature of God.
Anyway, meet Fishmael. :)

And then I broke out in cold sweat.

Shirley: Daddy, I can have more chicken?
Richard: Sure, but this isn't chicken. This is...
Erin: Don't do it.
Rich: ...PIG!
SJ: What?
Erin: Nooooo...not tonight.
SJ: Daddy! This is meat.
Rich: No, it's pig.
Erin: Richard! Stop it! NOT. TONIGHT.
SJ: Daddy, stop. You silly.
Rich: Ok, Shirley, you're right. It's chicken.
SJ: No, Daddy. There's no animals. This is meat!
Erin: Yes! It's meat.
Rich: It's meat.
SJ: Yummmmmy. I can have dip?

Stupid is...

Kujo Cat

Yesterday as Jodi came in the house, she said, "Erin? Do you want me to let this cat in?"

Since my cat was on the couch with me, I said, "Um...no...?"

Apparently, this mystery cat wanted a new home. Brian and Jodi described it to me as a brown cat with a half-tail.

I said, "I think that's the cat Kitty fights with from down the street--is he really fat?"

"No, he's REALLY skinny."

"Hmmm..."

A few minutes later, Brian said, "There he is! Look out the window!"

I leaned over the hamper to look out Shirley's window and at that exact moment, a brown cat with blue eyes came FLYING at me. First his paws, then his face hit the (thankfully) closed window in one crazed fluid motion, and then he disappeared completely.

I screamed bloody murder, but to no avail. No one saw Kujo Cat try to attack me. They were all very polite, but I'm not sure they believe me, even know.

I almost died, people.

Kujo Cat spent the rest of the day trying to get in the house, but this morning he was gone.

Do you think I should contact Stephen King? Maybe let him know that Kujo is actually a cat, not a dog?

Wicked Pedro of the West

Thanks, Swampy.

This made me cry and cry. Sweetest thing ever.

The Animals

Dear Pedro,
Please stop pooping under the clothesline. I mean, I don't want to punch a gift horse in the mouth, but...please.
Love,
Mommy

Dear Kitty,
No more midnight romps for you.
The driveway is a long way away from the house when Mommy is in her nightgown.
If you can't be quiet when you are outside, you won't get to go outside anymore.
Love,
Mommy

Parade

Tonight, Rich and I decided to walk the baby and dog to Dairy Queen for a little outing and a treat. We live about one tenth of a mile from Lexington Avenue, which as you probably know, is a very busy street.

The four of us set out toward Lexington (on which lies DQ), and realized that we were not alone. Trotting about ten paces behind us, came Kitty with his collar bell jingling and talking to himself...or us, I'm not sure.

Jingle, mrow, jingle, mrow, jingle, mrow.

We thought for sure that when we reached Lexington, Kitty would turn around and go home. We even crossed the street.

Instead, he sat on the corner, waiting for a pause in traffic.

Richard said, "Let's go home. If he gets hit by a car, you're going to freak out."

"That's true," I said.

So, we paraded back home.

It was a nice walk anyway.

Potty Time

Kitty gets to go outside now that it's nice out. I have no idea what he does during his hours upon hours in the back yard. I know that once he spent some time in the neighbor's back yard because she called me thinking that he was a runaway.
He thinks he's STEALTH Kitty, but in actuality, he's bright white and glows in the moonlight.
I'm over my paralyzing fear that he would be hit by a car (I never recovered after our family cat died when I was 8-ish), mostly because if we don't let him outside he makes us C.R.A.Z.Y. by getting our attention and then trotting toward the door repeatedly until we let him out.
I digress.
When the cat is ready to come in, Kitty scratches at the screen door until someone hears him over Guitar Hero and lets him in. He immediately runs to the basement to use his litter box.
I ask you, gentle readers--why can't he potty outside?

Ouch

My feelings are hurt.
The animals won't come near me. Remember how protective they were?
Now they aren't ineterested at all.
Sad.

Merry Christmas

Eeee-ee-heeee-hee-eeeewwww!

And you wonder why I won't get in the river.
You can't see your feet? This guy's gonna take advantage of the murky water and EAT. YOU. Not just your cute little poodle. YOU.

In this photo released by World Wildlife Fund-National Geographic, two Thai fishermen show a 293-kilogram (646-pound) giant catfish they caught from the Mekong River in Chiang Khong district of Chiang Rai province, northern Thailand in mid-May, 2005. Six proposed dams on the Mekong River could displace up to 75, 000 villagers and harm hundreds of species like the endangered giant catfish, conservationists warned Tuesday, Nov. 13, 2007. (AP Photo/World Wildlife Fund-National Geographic, Suthep Kritsanavarin, File)

Bah! I keep looking at it and gagging. I'm fighting the urge to hold my feet off the ground.
Boogity. Ew! I don't want anybody (including God's creatures) to lose their homes, but. Oh, man. I'm seriously rattled by this photo.

What they didn't publish in the press release is that they opened this guy up to find none other than Amelia Earhart. Whole.

Exploding Kernels of Fun

Pedro knows two words:

1. Sit.

2. Popcorn.

We often refer to popcorn as "exploding kernels of fun" if we don't want our 14-lb maniac to go berserk.

Berserk.

Popcorn is really the only human treat Pedro gets to share with the family, so you can understand his excitement.

The scene:

Richard is sitting on the living room floor watching the Colts lose to the Chargers with a gargantuan bowl of popcorn.

He sets one piece of popcorn in front of the cat and tells the dog to stay away; that it belongs to the cat.

Pedro oh-so-sneakily sneaks AROUND the entertainment center in order to steal the popcorn from the cat, as if Richard might not notice him if he comes at it from a different direction.

As soon as the dog disappears around the other side of the TV, Richard grabs the original piece of popcorn leaving Pedro confused.

Could the kitty have eaten the popcorn? Did he imagine the piece of popcorn? Did he already eat it?

The cat knows exactly what is going on and flaps his tail sassily as if he really did want the popcorn in the first place.

Hours of fun.

Rich says he can't wait to have kids. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing...

I'm glad to be home.

BFF

Today while Richard was napping, Pedro and I went to the end of the driveway to get the mail (a task that took too much energy until today--I've neglected it for oh...3 days now). Just as we reached the mailbox, the mailman pulled up.

Pedro, friendly little rascal that he is, jumped RIGHT into the mail truck and made friends.

"You've got a friendly little dog there!" said Mailman.

"Yeah, I know--he'd drive away with anybody!"

At that moment the cat came out from under a bush.

"Oh, do the cat and dog get along?" asked Mailman.

"Oh yes, they are best friends. They do everything together," I replied.

And at that exact moment, Pedro did a divebomb on the cat rolling him onto his back and biting his neck. The cat hissed and growled with all four feet in the air.

The mailman laughed and drove away.

They really are best friends. I swear.

The Urinator

I think I will change my husband's nickname from ScarHead to The Urinator. (Obviously, ScarHead is his villain comic book name, and I think The Urinator sounds more like a superhero. Thoughts?)
My husband is obsessed with urine. I often find him nose-down in the carpet investigating what he calls "a pile of piss."
Try as I might, I cannot reason with him that things in liquid form do not usually "pile," alas, he will not be won.
He has the nose of a bloodhound and is convinced that the dog leaves a trail everywhere he goes. This may very well be true, but I, friends and brethren, cannot smell anything. This has led to several disagreements over the two years we've had Pedro, and I've finally given up. Rich is convinced that the house smells like dog pee. (If it does, please don't tell me. I don't think I could take it.)
I just try to keep the cupboard stocked with carpet cleaner, and everyone seems pretty happy. I also bought an air purifier for the living room, which The Urinator thinks is the stinkiest room of them all. What can I say, I try to keep my man happy.
Well.
Richard took me to see Harry Potter last night (finally!) and as we walked in to the theater, I picked a row, and Rich said, "I want to sit on the end."
No problemo.
I moved in one seat and plopped down, as did The Urinator.
Ten seconds later* (in the middle of a preview), he jumped up, "This seat is soaked!"
Sure enough, his bottom was covered in what he declared was urine. I insisted that it was Sprite but he would not agree.
I offered to take him home to change (we could have easily made it back for the 8:00 show), but he was a trooper and sat through the movie with a wet bottom.
After we got home and he showered, he came into the bedroom and said, "This is totally blogworthy. Your husband, The Urinator, plops down in a pile of piss at Harry Potter. Ha. Ha."

It's been a while since I wrote haiku--this series is called "The Urinator."
The Urinator

Richard hates urine,
I think it might be just a
little in his head.

We try to keep a
clean house where everyone goes
potty in "their" place.

Thank you, Lord, for my
hubby who cares so much for
the state of our home.

*What makes me especially sad is that it took 10 full seconds for him to realize it, which means, he was really soaked. Poor Urinator. : (

Next stop, Crankytown!

My cat is sick.
It's gross--ask Naomi. She was on the receiving end of a particularly nasty cat sneeze yesterday.
He was sneezing so much and so profusely yesterday and last night that I looked up his symptoms (sneezing, watery eyes, lethargy, moaning and growling when touched) online. The WWW suggested either an upper respitory infection or feline leukemia.
Reading the words "feline leukemia" reminded me *DING* that Kitty is about 6 months overdue for his shots.
So, today I called the vet and set up an appointment. I told her, "I'm pretty sure he's got an URI (veterinary lingo for Upper Respitory Infection), and he needs his shots so I'd like to bring him in. My husband can bring him this afternoon if you have room."
I got the appointment scheduled and moved heaven and earth so that Rich could get there by 2pm today. (The clinic we use is about an hour away from our house.)
Yessiree, Kitty has an URI.
Nosiree they won't give him his shots while he has an infection.
$70 later, I still have to take the damn cat back to the vet in two weeks for shots.
What do you think the odds are that I'm going to be able to get my husband to take a terrified, yowling cat to the vet an hour away again in two weeks?
I'd say pretty slim.
It's not that I wanted to run the cat to the vet for any old thing--I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to kill two birds (ha, ha) in one stone, so to speak.
Alas, I was thwarted in my efforts to be efficient and thrifty.
Mayhaps it's time to find a vet a bit closer to home?
This whole stupid thing is making me veeeerrrrrrry cranky. Stay away.

*If I hear one effing thing about drop-kicking, drowning, or sending the cat to the woods with Pa, we will officially be in a fight.

Cats

I found these on my friend's facebook page.

Lies

I know I've been lying a lot lately, but you have to believe me when I say it's. snowing. outside.

This goose can hardly believe it.

A Mouse in the House

Have you ever seen a cat try to eat a mouse alive?
I have.
Last night, I heard a rustling in the kitchen and then a deep, menacing growl from the cat. By the time I got up to see what was going on, I saw his tail disappearing into the basement.
I found Kitty circling the basement, still growling with a mouse sticking out of his mouth. The especially horrifying part was that he had the mouse's entire body in his mouth with just a little gray head sticking out, looking at me as if to say, "I'm not having a good time."
Turns out, the cat didn't really want to eat the mouse, just keep it as a play thing, and maybe carry it around for a little while.
The mouse eventually got away and the rat poison is out (safely hidden from the pets, of course, though not the vermin). So, the cat spent the rest of the night looking for the lost mouse, and for all I know, he found it and it'll be waiting for me when I get home tonight in a pool of bile--hopefully on the kitchen or bathroom floor (if I'm lucky).


Today is my 150th post.