SPAY & NEUTER THE PETS. STERILIZE THE NEIGHBORS

Aaahhhh!

Yesterday, in a fit of cleanliness, I evacuated, showered, shaved, AND shampooed.   I went to get cat food and smokes.  Came back.  How long could that take?  Not long, trust me.

The "neighbors" next door have their house for sale AND were giving away free kittens as evidenced by the 40 signs with which they had plastered their house, AND because of the recent rain had bleeding red ink so it looked more like Kiiiiiiiiitttttttttteeeeeeeennnnnnnssssss.  

I resolved that I would have NOTHING to do with the kittens.  I already share my abode with five cats, 2 dogs, 4 birds, and a plethora of fish.  Do I REALLY NEEEEEEEEEEED more?  Nay.

When I returned I met up with one of those neighbors and I had a wild, intelligent thought but my mouth beat my brain to the punch before I had a chance to clearly think through that wild, intelligent thought....

Mouth:  Hey!  I have a lot of empty moving boxes and wrapping paper, would you like to have them?

Le Box

Neighbor (short, unshaven, unkempt male, constantly revealing fish-white pot belly by pulling up shirt; I wondered...was he making a wish by rubbing it?  Could I make a wish that he would disappear???): Yes,  I wondered where I was going to get boxes.

Neighbor is shorter

Mouth:  I'll get them for you.

Neighbor (attempting to SCALE that hump which divides our front yards; it's all of 18 inches high and I half-expected him to go back to his house and get a climbing rope and pitons):  I can do it.

Mouth: No, it's easier for me. (they were outside on top of the Chevy, three feet away).

Neighbor: I have kittens... would you like one?

Mouth:  Oh!  Kittens!  Uh, gee, no thanks, I really have enough pets, but thanks, anyway.

Neighbor (struggling with two EMPTY boxes) takes boxes into his house.

I wait.  And wait.  AND WAIT.  Finally, I bring remaining boxes to a picnic table in their front yard.  While doing so, he returns and takes a whopping two more empty boxes. 

Neighbor: I don't think I need any more wrapping paper.  Come and see the kittens.

Mouth:  No, really, that's okay, I'm good.

Neighbor: Well, look and tell your friends and maybe they will take one.

Braindead

Mouth (brain STILL NOT EFFING ENGAGING!!!!! (the 60's will do that to you)):  Oh, okay.

I pick  up remaining  full boxes (3) and bring to his front door.  Front door COVERED in filth, fingerprints, dog fur, wet leaves, and spider webs. Unidentifiable SMELL emanating from inside which ASSAULTS every one of my senses once the door is opened.  It's like a blast furnace of p-u!

Self-explanatory

Brain starts firing, but only on one cell.

Mouth:  Really, I'm sure you're not prepared for company as you are probably packing to move; I don't need to come in.  (I'm going to be killed, I just KNOW it; they'll never find me here.  They'll certainly never detect the smell of a DEAD body).

Neighbor (shuffling forward): That's okay.

Former Tank Occupant

I step in.  Dark, malodorous, covered with F I L T H.  It's everywhere. A half-full fish tank with no fish (I THINK) sits in what I suppose is a den which has a peeling linoleum floor.  The tank is moss green...inside.  Odd things floating in it. Nothing moving; no bubbling filter.  It's almost SPOOKY in there...  I can ALMOST see outside through the sliding glass door; it's murky though.  If I wasn't sure the windows were GRIMY, I'd swear I have cataracts.  Or glaucoma.

View from the window

This house is for SALE??????  It will need to be razed and sold for land value only.  There is not one inch of space that isn't covered in grime, grease, dust, and various kinds of spooge.  The STINK is triggering my gag reflex.

There are cats and kittens covering the house.  I'm certain my eyes are wide and watering; I'm also speechless.  A first, for me.

Help us!

Neighbor:  Some of these are part Himalayan.  My wife and I used to raise Himalayans for 15 years but the female got too old.  There are 4 here that are about 11 weeks old and 8 that are about 5 weeks old. 

I see darting shapes everywhere.  Some large, some medium, some small.  The tiniest mewing. I did catch sight of a raggedy, mat-ridden Himalayan whose eyes were so dull and murky and devoid of true Animal Spirit and Adventure, that I thought she might be blind.

Ralph on the Horizon

He corrals two kittens and thrusts them into my arms.  CLEARLY, they are malnourished; the bodies are tiny and their heads huge.  They are SO not used to being held. Phfft! Phfft! Phfft!  Orange ones, grey ones, black ones.....everywhere!

At this point, I feel a puke coming on.  I quickly give the pathetic little babies the requisite attention and excuse myself with a promise of more boxes and telling Neighbor that I would tell my friends about the kittens.  NOT.

I saunter out casually because I think RUNNING might tip the guy off that I'm about to blow chunks. Once the front door opens I inhale the sweet, succulent fresh air Mother Nature hastily ushers my way.

Hazmat

I hit my front door with a velocity unparalled; strip and HIT THE SHOWER, SOAPING WILDLY, RE-SHAMPOOING VIGOROUSLY, conVINCED I have contracted every disease known to man and animal.  I wished for a decontaminator machine.

As a P.S.  these were the same people who hollered over the fence at me one night, Hey! Is that your black cat? 

I'm thinking, gee, in this neighborhood there are about 27 BLACK cats, but I say, I do have a black cat. Why?  (thinking, oh shit, something happened to YOW (his name).

This "woman" yells, Well, some black cat got our cat pregnant! 

Yow the Spermless

Not thinking (again, brain freeze) to say:  HELLO, RETARD, GET YOUR CAT SPAYED.  KEEP IT IN THE HOUSE!, I say, Well, all my pets are spayed and neutered. And I go into the house....WITH my BLACK, NEUTERED cat.

Sheesh.

POOP SOUP, GREEN LAWNS, AND FISH STICKS

When I was younger, The Taskmaster (The Mom) would creep up on us silently and stand with legs apart,  knees locked, and hands on her hips while her elbows stuck out like bent bobby pins.  We recognized this stance as Something Is Up.  Then came the Glare, followed by a voice using the highest octave known to man, including a note frequently known to make dogs shudder:  “GET UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!”   How a two-letter word, made up of a single vowel and one consonant could be made to sound like an entire Pavarotti aria, I'll never know.

 

We weren’t asleep; we were lounging around.  My mother thought that if SHE was mobile YOU should be mobile. 

“There’s nothing to do!” we’d complain.

Biiiiiiiiiiig mistake.  We were immediately handed scouring powder, rags and each loaded with a vinyl kitchen chair being sent to the back yard all the while given instructions to scrub the chair thoroughly.

If the chairs were somehow already clean, Taskmaster decided all the screens on the house needed to be taken out of the windows and abraded of every clinging morsel on the screen itself and the aluminum frame.  The backyard lawn looked like a checkerboard.  You were mindful to NEVER leave them lying on the grass all day in case Dad came home to find brown outlines of where the screens once lay.

If for some astonishing reason TM was feeling benevolent, our instructions were to:  “GO FIND SOMETHING TO DO!”; OR: “GO PLAY IN THE SPRINKLERS!”  That one was the best.  Which was how we came to have the most beautiful lawns in our neighborhood.  Between the sprinklers, the chairs, the screens, and What Comes Next, our precisely cut (thanks to Mr. Yamamoto, our then gardener), emerald green, lush yards were the subject of much envy in the 'hood.

I bestow upon you one of my secrets unbeknownst to my mother:


How to Have THE Green Lawn, Adoring Fans, Solve the World’s Problems, Achieve Peace of Mind and a Restful Soul, and, as a bonus, Eliminate Flies without Pesticides (all simultaneously).

 Step 1.  Have lawn (or a reasonable facsimile thereof).  

Before

After

Step 2.  Get (buy/adopt) The Factory (dog).

FRANK (a factory)

BEANS (the other factory)

Fuel

Step 3.  Buy Fuel for The Factory; hi-po or diesel, is fine.

Step 4:  Take Factory to Fuel Pump

Step 5.  Buy The Destructor (pressure nozzle) no more than 1 ¾” in height, preferably brass. 

Smokes added for scale

Made in the U.S.A. !

Nozzle has shut off (gooooood idea)

Step 6.  Attach Destructor securely to end of water hose.

Step 7.  Don appropriate attire.  You shall call yourself Dr. Disintegrator.

Appropriate attire

Step 8.  Identify Source (optional)

Step 9.  Locate Target

Intentionally altered for the queasy of stomach.

Power source

Step 10.  Turn on power source - employ Destructor at full force aiming it at Target.  Commence decimation.

Step 10a.  Let your mind wander.  Ignore the phone.

Step 11.  Continue to locate other Targets and disintegrate, Et Voila!  Poop Soup!

Interloper

NOTE:  Welcome interlopers to supply Targets, if you are running low and/or notice lawn is browning.

SIT DOWN and enjoy the bounty of Mother Nature (best eaten when warmed by the sun)

This technique to heaven verdant is wonderful as a punishment for the errant child.  I know from experience.

I am 9 years old when my mother, who was part Pit Bull, part Rott, part Shepherd all packed into a 5’4” frame and cleverly disguised as a sweet little Poodle but otherwise known as The Taskmaster, decides  to get not one but TWO dogs.  They are HER dogs, but my siblings and I are the designated Poop-Picker-Uppers.  Decidedly an odious task, I invent Dr. Destructo (or Dr. Disintegrator).  Pick up dog poop?  INDEED!  I devise a clever way to dispatch the offensive waste in the most expeditious way possible.

I set about decimating the steaming piles with the hose cranked to full blast.  The spray, made harsher by my ever-numbing thumb, tears into the steaming (or sun-baked) piles, turning them to slush before my very eyes.  Excitedly attacking each mound with fervor, I manage to also wash the windows (inadvertently), the neighbors’ windows (intentional), water the flowers, and make glorious mud puddles wherever grass did not grow, just waiting to be fashioned into a future home for pollywogs or tadpoles.  I love mud.  I am a bona fide Mud Lover.

When The Taskmaster calls us in for dinner, I enter with ice-white, wrinkly hands, my cheeks, forehead, and shirt spattered with mud.  With tennis shoes sloshing and squeaking as I take each step, I knowingly send my mother into a paroxysm of screams and yelps.  My pants, now blackened up to my knees are soggy, squishy, and wet; my beloved mud helping mold them to me and impossible to strip off without help from my sister; especially when I insist upon not removing my shoes.  Feeling my nose and cheeks burnt from the sun beating down upon me, I still Revel In My Cleverness, and am reminded that soon my face will result in a rash of freckles.  I sigh, feeling glorious for a job well done.

The only thing ruining my euphoria is the sudden realization that it is Friday.  In my Catholic household, that means Tuna Fish Casserole-- my bane.  I say Grace, which prayer includes a plea for grilled cheese sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, or pancakes for dinner.  Oh, it's Fishsticks!  I can choke down fishsticks (pass the catsup)!  My mother is PERSONALLY responsible for the wealth and girth of the Armenians.  Yes, never a meal passed without my mother saying, "Think of all the poor, starving Armenians."  Which is probably another reason why I'm fat today.

While under the watchful eye of our mother, my Adoring Fans (aka The Factories), sit at my feet, waiting patiently under the table for the fishsticks (those would be the fishsticks I can’t hide in my napkin. The Factories know it is Friday, too, their favorite day of the week.

I've just been thinking........

SIGNS YOU MAY BE RECOVERING FROM MAFIA WARS FEVER

Check for these Symptoms:

Whaddya mean, I'm RIPE?!

You walk by a mirror and see this

You shower and brush your teeth.

You change your underwear even if you don’t shower.

You don’t run out of cigarettes because you are no longer chain smoking.

You stop scanning your email for Zynga gifts before you read everything else.

I'm ROLLING in it!

You are no longer afraid to log out for fear of being snuffed ...on top of that, you have so much money in all your accounts you could be offline for days and never go bankrupt. 

Zzzzzzzzz

You go to bed at 11:00 p.m., not 4:00 a.m. and stop setting the clock to collect on your properties for fear of being robbed.

There’s nothing left to slam Zynga about and even if there is, frankly, they don’t give a rat’s ass about it and ultimately, neither do you.

Take your best shot!

You stop sending gifts posting tiny urls instead.

You’ve found so many shortcuts you could gift away half your inventory and STILL kick ass.

The bot attackers make you yawn and you don’t even bother asking your mafia to attack them anymore.

Your missions expire and you don’t give a crap.

You hit people’s slot machines even though you ran out of free spins and start dipping into your own account to play them… then you start sending your family energy packs one after another after another after another ad nauseum.

Awwwww, miss me?

You rediscover your pets, plants, children, friends, and spouses -- going to great lengths to resurrect them and the relationships you once shared.

You remember somebody's birthday (unfortunately, you recall it was right when they introduced Bangkok).

You post things on FB that have NOTHING to do with MW and you answer the comments!

FRINGE! HAVEN! SYFY!

You discover the season premieres on TV; you stop setting the recorder for shows because you actually watch them before the recorder is full and stops recording them anyway.

Whooooops!

You realize you’ve been playing in your sweats, underwear, or jammies for so long that when you get dressed to finally leave the house, you find that your jeans don’t fit anymore because your ass got so fat sitting in front of the monitor.

Goodbye, Old Paint

You start caring that your house is in foreclosure.  You finally open all your mail and find out your car was repossessed (you never bothered to look out the window).

When you DO go outside, (to also buy hair dye) you have to wear sunglasses and sun block with SPF 5000 for a MONTH.

You start a blog and look for a JOB.

DISCLAIMER:  Contents such as text, graphics, images, information regarding your condition are for informational purposes only.  The content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. 

• Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding your symptoms including, but not limited to,  withdrawals, weight gain, weight loss, loss of consortium, loss of affection, headaches, nausea, constipation, failure to pay child or spousal support, diarrhea, liver failure, kidney failure, detached retina, macular degeneration, divorce, palsy, punitive damages and/or alienation of affection, stubbed toes, festered fingers, feminine odor, incontinence, erectile dysfunction, OCD, ADD, or M-O-U-S-E.

• By no means, disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read regarding the above-listed symptoms.  If you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor or 911 immediately. 

• Continue playing MW solely at your own risk.

PET ETIQUETTE

PET ETIQUETTE

I’ve been thinking…

Do not believe there is such a thing as Pet Etiquette.  My animals are SO disrespectful of me it is a disgrace.

I'm coming back as one of my cats!

They live in the lap of luxury, homemade cozies in which to snuggle, real feather beds, fresh wet and dry food daily, together with spanking new water.  The dogs get a chewy treat whenever I leave the house (it’s a guilt-thing).  The birds receive scrambled eggs twice weekly with a touch of newly grated TILLA-FREAKING-MOOK cheddar cheese and top of the line birdseed (not pellets, mind you), PLUS millet sticks!  The fish get not only vitamin-enriched flakes but also an algae tablet once a day.  The whole menagerie wants for naught.  Attention is freely given; the dogs the demanding ones; the cats of the “When I want you to pet me, I’ll let you know” persuasion.  

Frolic Area

They are all (excepting fish, of course) allowed to go outside and frolic after the sun has risen and are collected before sunset so they don’t become fodder for the wildlife.

Cats consider this provocative

The birds and fish never sashay by offering me a peek at their rosebuds, THANK GOD!

So, I ask you, WHY would these spoiled rotten MISCREANTS treat me with such disdain?

I have NEVER puked on any cat’s bed.  It would NEVER occur to me to vomit where someone might put his or her head or any other body part, for that matter.  ESPECIALLY leaving it cleverly concealed so it would be discovered JUST before bedtime.

Puke Perp

I have the Puke Perp, the Poop Perp, the Pee Perp and, on occasion, the Chew-It-Up Perp.  In the words of Nancy Kerrigan: “Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhy!”

I HAD nice linens, nice shoes, nice Bluetooths (would that make them BlueTEETH?), nice underwear, nice curtains.  I had to give up wall-to-wall carpeting; that was just a lovely dream of yesteryear.  I cannot leave a box open anywhere for fear it will somehow flash a great neon sign that just SCREAMS:  PEE IN HERE!  POOP IN HERE! 

Goodbye couch

What was a couch with cushions now resembles a giant shredded wheat biscuit.  If I go to bed with my hair loose, I wake up with it matted to the scalp because some cat decides to make bread dough out of my hair, purring and drooling all the while.  Oftimes, I look like a Medusa in the morning.

Phew!

I have to slather myself with perfume BEFORE BED because it has become the ONLY EFFECTIVE treatment against fleas.  Yep: truly.  My pets snuggle up against me and are flea-free!

There is no one to call, “Hello, Owner Abuse Hotline?  My cat just ralphed all over my bed…it’s on my pillow, overrunning the side of the bed, on the quilt, on the floor, it’s everywhere!  I need an intervention!”  To the cats, I say, "Look, if you don’t LIKE it don’t EAT it!  Don’t scarf it down and then chuck it back up to the delight of the drooling dogs, damn it!”

Pee Perp

I believe DROP KICK may have once been a sports term.  I think it mainstreamed because husbands adopted it to fit what should be done to misbehaving cats.  There is also the “throw it against the wall and it won’t do THAT anymore”.  GROAN.  I heard it growing up, I heard it from ex-husbands, I hear it everywhere but never more than when the topic turns to pets in mixed company.

My next dog

Poop Perps

What would possess a dog (or dogs) to defecate and urinate on the floor when the door to the outside is OPEN?  It’s like having a colostomy bag right there!  Where is the common sense?  It’s Owner Disrespect, I tell you.

Cat box:  Pooping on the FLOOR right NEXT to the cat box is PURE SPITE.  I really need to stop doing that, but I’m trying to make a point.

The Fraidy Cat in younger days

I live with fraidy cats and pussy dogs:  in the middle of the night, when all is quiet, dark, and spooky I’m jolted awake by 7 tense, trembling bodies whose heads are all turned in the same direction looking wide-eyed at the door.  Not one stirs but I notice their fur is stuck out in all directions.  Gee, I feel comforted, especially when two of these seven are DOGS. 

I wait.  They wait.  I wait.  They win.  “What, I’M supposed to be the one to go see what’s out in the other room IN THE DARK waiting to peel the skin off my bones?”  Sigh.  I get my pliers from the drawer next to the bed.  I keep them there just in case an intruder will stand still long enough for me to pinch off his nose.  I creep out slowly, each step as silent as the next, carefully avoiding the pee puddles, poop piles and vomitous masses.  Stealthily, I approach the living room, my heart pounding out more loudly than Big Ben. 

Buddy

One of the birds had a nightmare and fell off his perch plummeting to the bottom of the cage.  So much for the intruder who luckily avoided the Dreaded Nose Pinching by Pliers. 

By the way, since that episode and moving to a new neighborhood, I have given up my weapon of choice, The Lethal Pliers, in favor of a Craftsman 3/4 inch Drive Quick Release Ratchet.  I think it might do more damage.

Finally, while I’m on the subject of interlopers, who told ants they could come into my house and steal my food?  I don’t go traipsing around in their anthills or ant farms gobbling up their grub!  My cat dish and kitchen counters look like Doodle Bugs!  Ants are nothing more than unscrupulous thieves.  If I get another pet, it will be an aardvark.  

With my luck, he won't like ants!

Hello! ANThony's Pizza?  Yes, I'd like a large veggie, please!

Tune in next week if you want to know what

I've been thinking...

If you think of it next time you're out, pick up a copy of James Herriot's,  All Creatures Great and Small.