Thursday, June 24, 2004
Domestic Disturbance
Yes, it’s sad but true, something is definitely amiss in Shangri-me. Someone is not happy with the status quo and has decided that instead of an open forum of communication, it is much more effective to defecate on the carpet. I really wish my brother would just grow up.
No, no, no. I’m talking, of course, about the cats. I have two cats, their names are stupid, and so since I can give them new names here I will: Boris and Natasha (also stupid, but at least catchy). I wasn’t sure which one of them had decided to turn the whole basement into its personal commode, and I also wasn’t sure if someone was sick and that was why this was happening. After some consultation with an expert (my mother) it was determined that this was behavioural. She offered a number of suggestions, which are supposed to keep me out of the vet’s office, so I’m in the process of implementing them.
I was sure that it was Boris, he’s a real mamma’s boy, and what with work, friends, and the new boy I’m seeing, I haven’t been back at the ranch much. It would have made sense if he were lashing out at me in his abandonment. So, Sunday evening I put together a second litter box, and second food and water dish, and moved the rig up into my room. My bedroom. That’s right, I’m now sleeping three feet away from an open sewer. You had better believe that that puppy is getting cleaned often. There’s nothing quite so funky as a litter box that’s been sitting under a sunny window all day in a room where the door has to be closed.
I want to kill myself, but I probably won’t have to; God only knows what sorts of diseases are floating through my system because of this scenario.
My surprise was absolute when I went into the basement yesterday afternoon to see a fresh pile. I had convicted and imprisoned the wrong suspect. The verdict had to be overturned and the new suspect imprisoned. Natasha, as is her way, remained cool throughout the proceedings and didn’t reveal any sort of emotion. She is now enjoying all of the amenities involved with spending two weeks in my room: she gets to knock over the many glasses of water I have lying around, she can exact new revenge on me by pooing in my shoes, and she can relax secure in the knowledge that Boris can’t try to have sex with her.
It’s the strangest thing, both of them have had their naughty bits removed, but Boris still does his level best to get it on with her a few times a day. I find it quite disturbing, because he usually puts his chips down (hello!) right in front of me. I’ll be typing or reading and he’ll leap on top of her with all of the passion and vigour his little body possesses. Then I have to throw water on him, because I don’t want to watch that. If I don’t do that I wonder if I should be playing soft music, or leaving the room or something… I also wonder if my throwing water on him and making him ashamed of his natural urges will turn him into a deviant serial killer or something? I’m so grateful that people don’t handle sex the same way cats do. If someone ran up to me while I was having a nap, jumped on my back, and then bit me as hard as possible on the head the last thing on my mind would be getting off. Well, it would be about someone getting off, but getting off me.
We’ll have to see how it goes, if she doesn’t stop going wherever I’ll have to get rid of her, and I really don’t want to do that. These two have been really good friends to me, especially when I was pretty lonely out West, and they provide me with a great deal of amusement. Natasha likes cold running water, and the toilet is a very good provider of same, so she would regularly fall in the toilet of my old apartment. There are few things funnier than hearing/seeing a cat fall into a toilet. They’re also really funny when they accidentally have their tongues sticking out. Just thinking about it makes me chuckle. You’ll look up from whatever book you’re reading and your elegant cat will look back at you with this silly little protruding tongue. Oh man, you can’t write comedy like that.
There are lots of people out there who don’t like cats at all; I’m dating one of them, actually. Men, except for my brothers, don’t like cats. I don’t understand what causes it. I consider myself a dog person, because I’d rather have hundreds of puppies than anything else, but in truth I suppose I’m an animal person, ‘cause I’m willing to love them all. Cats aren’t considered as “manly” as dogs are, but small dogs don’t really look very manly either. If your pet can be carried around in a handbag (and there are some dogs that get this treatment) then chances are it’s not the “scourge of the upper east side.”
I’m generalizing again. There was a program on the CBC (shut up) wherein they were reading letters out. One letter was from a man who was hiking in Jasper, Alberta. When you’re hiking in the Rockies they recommend that you take a bell with you, or else that you sing to yourself if you’re alone in order to warn any bears that you’re in the neighbourhood. This man was not following the advice of seasoned professionals and he ran into some trouble. A bear came out of the bushes on the path and began advancing on him, when – no word of a lie – his trusty wiener dog burst out of the shrubbery “like a rat on crack” and began savaging the bear’s genitals. The bear backed off. I know for a fact that none of our dogs, who were medium-large in size, would have been able to manage a feat like that. They would have had to lie down with a cool cloth and a glass of water with lemon until danger passed.
Yes, it’s sad but true, something is definitely amiss in Shangri-me. Someone is not happy with the status quo and has decided that instead of an open forum of communication, it is much more effective to defecate on the carpet. I really wish my brother would just grow up.
No, no, no. I’m talking, of course, about the cats. I have two cats, their names are stupid, and so since I can give them new names here I will: Boris and Natasha (also stupid, but at least catchy). I wasn’t sure which one of them had decided to turn the whole basement into its personal commode, and I also wasn’t sure if someone was sick and that was why this was happening. After some consultation with an expert (my mother) it was determined that this was behavioural. She offered a number of suggestions, which are supposed to keep me out of the vet’s office, so I’m in the process of implementing them.
I was sure that it was Boris, he’s a real mamma’s boy, and what with work, friends, and the new boy I’m seeing, I haven’t been back at the ranch much. It would have made sense if he were lashing out at me in his abandonment. So, Sunday evening I put together a second litter box, and second food and water dish, and moved the rig up into my room. My bedroom. That’s right, I’m now sleeping three feet away from an open sewer. You had better believe that that puppy is getting cleaned often. There’s nothing quite so funky as a litter box that’s been sitting under a sunny window all day in a room where the door has to be closed.
I want to kill myself, but I probably won’t have to; God only knows what sorts of diseases are floating through my system because of this scenario.
My surprise was absolute when I went into the basement yesterday afternoon to see a fresh pile. I had convicted and imprisoned the wrong suspect. The verdict had to be overturned and the new suspect imprisoned. Natasha, as is her way, remained cool throughout the proceedings and didn’t reveal any sort of emotion. She is now enjoying all of the amenities involved with spending two weeks in my room: she gets to knock over the many glasses of water I have lying around, she can exact new revenge on me by pooing in my shoes, and she can relax secure in the knowledge that Boris can’t try to have sex with her.
It’s the strangest thing, both of them have had their naughty bits removed, but Boris still does his level best to get it on with her a few times a day. I find it quite disturbing, because he usually puts his chips down (hello!) right in front of me. I’ll be typing or reading and he’ll leap on top of her with all of the passion and vigour his little body possesses. Then I have to throw water on him, because I don’t want to watch that. If I don’t do that I wonder if I should be playing soft music, or leaving the room or something… I also wonder if my throwing water on him and making him ashamed of his natural urges will turn him into a deviant serial killer or something? I’m so grateful that people don’t handle sex the same way cats do. If someone ran up to me while I was having a nap, jumped on my back, and then bit me as hard as possible on the head the last thing on my mind would be getting off. Well, it would be about someone getting off, but getting off me.
We’ll have to see how it goes, if she doesn’t stop going wherever I’ll have to get rid of her, and I really don’t want to do that. These two have been really good friends to me, especially when I was pretty lonely out West, and they provide me with a great deal of amusement. Natasha likes cold running water, and the toilet is a very good provider of same, so she would regularly fall in the toilet of my old apartment. There are few things funnier than hearing/seeing a cat fall into a toilet. They’re also really funny when they accidentally have their tongues sticking out. Just thinking about it makes me chuckle. You’ll look up from whatever book you’re reading and your elegant cat will look back at you with this silly little protruding tongue. Oh man, you can’t write comedy like that.
There are lots of people out there who don’t like cats at all; I’m dating one of them, actually. Men, except for my brothers, don’t like cats. I don’t understand what causes it. I consider myself a dog person, because I’d rather have hundreds of puppies than anything else, but in truth I suppose I’m an animal person, ‘cause I’m willing to love them all. Cats aren’t considered as “manly” as dogs are, but small dogs don’t really look very manly either. If your pet can be carried around in a handbag (and there are some dogs that get this treatment) then chances are it’s not the “scourge of the upper east side.”
I’m generalizing again. There was a program on the CBC (shut up) wherein they were reading letters out. One letter was from a man who was hiking in Jasper, Alberta. When you’re hiking in the Rockies they recommend that you take a bell with you, or else that you sing to yourself if you’re alone in order to warn any bears that you’re in the neighbourhood. This man was not following the advice of seasoned professionals and he ran into some trouble. A bear came out of the bushes on the path and began advancing on him, when – no word of a lie – his trusty wiener dog burst out of the shrubbery “like a rat on crack” and began savaging the bear’s genitals. The bear backed off. I know for a fact that none of our dogs, who were medium-large in size, would have been able to manage a feat like that. They would have had to lie down with a cool cloth and a glass of water with lemon until danger passed.
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