Thursday, January 27, 2005
Now Take My Pets, Please Somebody, Take My Pets...
My last post was December 11, 2004. That's a very long time ago.
I've made the big move back into the subterranean world, and so far so good. The boy helped out in a saint-like fashion. We painted vertical stripes on an oatmeal coloured background. The stripes are a shade of blue as close as possible to a Classic Pooh blue. Matthew says it looks like an ice cream parlour so I bit him.
This is the first place I've lived in that I've bothered decorating. I feel that this relates to the lack of permanence I expect from these places. It worries me that I don't have this same feeling for my brother's basement. This isn't where I want to be comfy enough to stay for a prolonged period of time. All I have going for me, really, is that I don't smoke pot.
Now that we're sleeping downstairs the boy and I have run into a problem. The cats. Always, always, the fucking cats. When he isn't there they're well behaved. To the best of my knowledge they go to sleep when I do, or else perform their antics elsewhere. When the boy is over they attack each other hissing, they lick plastic bags, they claw the furniture, knock over water glasses, and, last night, claw innocent sleepers. The boy isn't a fan of cats. He hates them. My cats have earned this hatred; he was the one who was clawed in the toe at four in the morning.
As such, a solution needs to be found. We either have to find a way to keep them from the basement during sleeping hours, take care of their claws, or else get rid of them. I consulted my mother. She's in favour of getting rid of them because she's not a huge cat fan, and because she thinks mine are weird and unaffectionate. What's the point of having a pet if they're not going to love you 24-7? She's exploring some channels for finding a new home for them. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I haven't been home a lot for awhile now, and when I am I'm not paying attention to them, which is likely why they're acting so nuts. I want everyone to be happy. Everyone but me, that is, because I do like them and the thought of giving away my family makes me teary. Sure they're irritating, but they're mine!
So that's one issue. The other is our border, Sheilagh. This is B's dog, who now lives with her mother. Sheilagh is part Rottweiler, part Doberman. She is also the clutziest dog on the face of the earth. If there is something to knock over, step on, or trip over she will find it. The room could be totally empty, but for one skinny book in a back corner, and she would trample it beyond recognition within moments.
One of her more charming habits is biting her nails. Ever hear an adult dog chomping on toe nails? It's horrifying, and guaranteed to bring the gorge up of even the strongest stomach. She has somehow managed to wear a spot in her tail raw. Being an enthusiastic girl, Sheilagh likes to wag her tail often. I came home tonight to a front hall streaked with blood. It's a good bloody (ha!) thing that the police don't just wander through the neighbourhoods doing door to doors. Man. I spent half an hour washing blood off of the walls while B tried to tie a gym sock around the offending tail. Sheils keeps chewing it off, though. Let me just say, that as far as evening activities go, this one blows goats.
Where did my lust for this life go?
I'll try to write soon, petals.
My last post was December 11, 2004. That's a very long time ago.
I've made the big move back into the subterranean world, and so far so good. The boy helped out in a saint-like fashion. We painted vertical stripes on an oatmeal coloured background. The stripes are a shade of blue as close as possible to a Classic Pooh blue. Matthew says it looks like an ice cream parlour so I bit him.
This is the first place I've lived in that I've bothered decorating. I feel that this relates to the lack of permanence I expect from these places. It worries me that I don't have this same feeling for my brother's basement. This isn't where I want to be comfy enough to stay for a prolonged period of time. All I have going for me, really, is that I don't smoke pot.
Now that we're sleeping downstairs the boy and I have run into a problem. The cats. Always, always, the fucking cats. When he isn't there they're well behaved. To the best of my knowledge they go to sleep when I do, or else perform their antics elsewhere. When the boy is over they attack each other hissing, they lick plastic bags, they claw the furniture, knock over water glasses, and, last night, claw innocent sleepers. The boy isn't a fan of cats. He hates them. My cats have earned this hatred; he was the one who was clawed in the toe at four in the morning.
As such, a solution needs to be found. We either have to find a way to keep them from the basement during sleeping hours, take care of their claws, or else get rid of them. I consulted my mother. She's in favour of getting rid of them because she's not a huge cat fan, and because she thinks mine are weird and unaffectionate. What's the point of having a pet if they're not going to love you 24-7? She's exploring some channels for finding a new home for them. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I haven't been home a lot for awhile now, and when I am I'm not paying attention to them, which is likely why they're acting so nuts. I want everyone to be happy. Everyone but me, that is, because I do like them and the thought of giving away my family makes me teary. Sure they're irritating, but they're mine!
So that's one issue. The other is our border, Sheilagh. This is B's dog, who now lives with her mother. Sheilagh is part Rottweiler, part Doberman. She is also the clutziest dog on the face of the earth. If there is something to knock over, step on, or trip over she will find it. The room could be totally empty, but for one skinny book in a back corner, and she would trample it beyond recognition within moments.
One of her more charming habits is biting her nails. Ever hear an adult dog chomping on toe nails? It's horrifying, and guaranteed to bring the gorge up of even the strongest stomach. She has somehow managed to wear a spot in her tail raw. Being an enthusiastic girl, Sheilagh likes to wag her tail often. I came home tonight to a front hall streaked with blood. It's a good bloody (ha!) thing that the police don't just wander through the neighbourhoods doing door to doors. Man. I spent half an hour washing blood off of the walls while B tried to tie a gym sock around the offending tail. Sheils keeps chewing it off, though. Let me just say, that as far as evening activities go, this one blows goats.
Where did my lust for this life go?
I'll try to write soon, petals.
