Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Just Another Fiasco

Life with Rocky is fine, for the most part. He's settling in nicely and he is turning into a rather sweet buddy that I absolutely adore. He does have some quirks, though. Serious quirks, the biggest of which is coming when called.

He doesn't. I was warned by his last owners that this was a problem, so there is no surprise.

This isn't really a problem in the house, because all I have to do is make food sounds to get his attention. But we recently installed a fence for the yard and now he's all about going outside. All the time. Outside. If you stand up to do ANYTHING, he's up and under foot, in case you're going to head outside. Getting him to come back inside is when shit gets real. You can call him until you're blue in the face and he'll just ignore the hell out of you.

Unfortunately there was a place under the deck where the dogs could go to escape the yard. We knew this and had planned on getting lattice installed as soon as possible, but until then, we had to do double duty when the hounds were out and about. One of us would stand inside the yard keeping them away from the deck, while the other would stand outside the yard to stop them if they decided to try it anyway. Technically, one person could do it, but getting them into the house was where it got tricky.

One morning, Tammie let me sleep in and she took the dogs out by herself. They took full advantage of the lack of coverage, sending her on a wild goof chase (no, that's not a typo). She suddenly found herself on an early morning romp in muck boots and bathrobe, calling for a dog that simply acted like "nope, that's not my name right now" and just kept on running. She caught up to him at the corner and carried him back home. It was a long walk and she was not thrilled. Fortunately, Douglas was a good dog and kept close to home, returning when she did.

Later that day, we installed the lattice under the deck and the escape route was cut off. The yard was secure and the dogs were delighted with their new running area. We are thrilled we don't have to stand guard in inclement weather until they are ready to come back into the house. Rocky loves being outside and icky weather doesn't bother him one bit. Little turd.

So, with the yard secure, I decided I needed to do some work in it while Tammie was running the shop. It was time to start pulling up the goat head stickers so we don't have to pull them out of the dogs' feet. The tools I needed were in the shed, which is located in the back yard. To get there I used the gate. I thought it would be ok. I was wrong.

He shoved past me and bolted.

I've never seen a dog move so fast. He knew exactly what he was doing and that he was in trouble for doing it. He was around the house and headed toward the road with me huffing and chuffing after him. I'm not good with running, especially in my muck boots. Or in any footwear, for that matter. I just don't run. It's been like that all my life. But there's a fairly busy road not too far from us, and I feared he would head right for it, so off I went. Around the house, down the driveway, down the road, chugging along, calling his name. I know he heard me. He turned around and looked at me as he kept trotting along, the breeze ruffling the fur around his ears.

Rocky got to the corner and ducked around the neighbor's hedge where I finally caught up to him. I can't say I surprised him, he MUST have heard my labored breathing. Hell, the deaf guy across the street could hear my asthmatic lungs screaming for air. But he was just standing there, waiting. I called his name, gently, softly, with love.

He looked up at me, and I swear, I SWEAR he smirked then WALKED ACROSS THE STREET. He stood and sniffed a spot long enough for me to get to him, scoop him up, and begin our long painful trek back home. Unfortunately, I'd neglected to close the gate, so I had to lug him up to the porch. The whole way, he was grunting as if HE was doing all the hard work. Oh, poor baby.

Unfortunately, the exertion was more than my creaky old body could handle in one day and I was down for the count. Both shoulders, my hips, my pubic bone (seriously, this body should NEVER run! shit falls apart when I try it) and a possible cracked bone in my left foot were the result. Everything hurt. It was worse the next day. My pedometer (on my phone, which was in my shirt pocket) said I'd run almost half a mile. That's a lie. I'm very jiggly and every step had things bouncing quite a bit. My phone was proud of how far I'd gone and I really didn't want to disappoint it, so I just let it be. Anyway, it felt more like five miles than a half, and I was lugging a dog for half the distance, so I'm good with calling it a half mile.

As for the goat head stickers, we're going a different route. A combination of landscaping cloth, cardboard, and some mulch should do the trick. And the dogs will love it.

Monday, January 21, 2019

Dinner Time for Doggos


We recently acquired a new member of the household, a darling terrier mix named Rocky. He’s a funny little dude, and for the most part, I adore him. There are moments, however, when the adoration is a bit on the thin side. For instance, when we’ve been out on a potty run at night, in the rain and wind, and it takes him forever to find the perfect place to poop. Or we’ve taken a nice long walk and sniffed everything and peed on everything else, and we go home and poop on the carpet.

I’m really not ok with that, but he’s still new to us (he’s three years old) so I’m hoping things will sort themselves out soon.

But one thing is for sure, and that is how picky he is about food. According to his second owner (we're his third family), his first owners fed him people food, table scraps. Not ok. His second family did their best to get him interested in dog food, but he would hold out for steak. They did not give him steak.

Finally, he arrived at our house, which came complete with a dog sibling. Immediately food became something of an even bigger issue.

Doug, our darling Chihuahua, LOVES food and will eat it all day long given the chance. We don’t give him that chance, as he has a weight problem (he takes after me). So, with picky Rocky not finishing his food (or even starting it at times) Doug likes to saunter over and polish off his second meal. This led to us keeping a watch over meal time and putting Rocky’s dish of unfinished food out of Doug’s reach.

But something had to be done to get Rocky to eat and finish his food in a timely manner. I tried scattering his kibble, which sort of worked, but Doug thought it was manna from heaven and joined in the fray. I tried pretending to mix people food in it, but he was not that easily fooled.

I finally found something that will get Rocky to eat, and that is mixing a little soft dog food in with the kibble. He thinks he’s getting people food and he’ll scarf it right down. We had taken Doug off that particular mix due to his weight, but we can’t give it to one without the other knowing, so I just give him less of both and it’s all good. Except he thinks it isn’t enough.

One evening I was watching the kitchen drama. I had to wait to finish preparing the people dinner because I needed to use a noisy appliance and that throws everyone off their feed, which is just not what I wanted to deal with that evening. As I watched, Doug finished his food quickly and stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at Rocky as he daintily picked at his meal.

Every so often, Doug would take a step forward and I would say, “Doug, no. You leave him alone.” Doug would stop and stare for a few minutes, before taking another step forward. “Doug! I said no!” But I said it while giggling.

He turned around and looked at me, then back at Rocky (who was still eating) and he stood for a brief moment before he BARKED! as though someone or some THING was at the back door. Rocky started to go check it out and Doug darted toward the now abandoned dish.

“DOUG! Don’t you dare!”

Rocky went back to his dish with a look that burned off most of Doug’s fur before resuming his dinner. Doug, knowing he was beaten, moved away and sat at the edge of the kitchen, still staring at Rocky.

Finally, the slowest eater in the world finished his food and left the kitchen. Doug, sensing all was well with the universe, headed for the dish.

“Doug, leave it alone. I don’t spit in your dish after you’ve eaten, so you don’t need to lick his.” He stopped, looked at me then turned away. “Doug…” I waited to see what he was going to do. He went for the water dish, then veered off and headed right for Rocky’s bowl. Every step, his ears got lower, then his head, as if he was hiding from me. I couldn’t even yell at him because I was laughing too hard.

So, Rocky finished his dinner, and Doug did the dishes.

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Miss Bit’s Quest


Miss Bit is our house panther. She is the eldest of our three kitties. She does not suffer fools lightly. Same with dogs. And pretty much any other living being within her domain. Her days are easy and her worries few.

Until that one time…

Miss Bit: Huh! I sense a problem. The magic square has failed to produce heat. I must notify the staff.
Tammie: Oh, jeeze Bit! Ow! You have pointy feet. Where are you going?
Miss Bit: Your words mean nothing. I must speak with my staff. This table is extra tippy and now I have hot stinky bean juice on my feet. Fortunately, staff is right here. I shall inform them.
Me: Hey! Your feet are pointy and wet. You spilled my coffee, you brat. Oof, get off of me.
M.B.: Staff! Fix the problem! I shall return to the magic square and await your arrival. Oh no! Floor is lava, I must retrace my steps.
Me: Again? What are you doing?
M.B.: Once more I have the bean juice on my feet? Staff should fix this table.
Tammie: Did you just wipe your pointy feet on my shirt?
M.B.: I hear nothing. Now, I shall await staff.
Me (continuing to watch the television) …
M.B.: …    … Oh, for Bast’s sake. Staff! STAFF! Dammit.
Tammie: What now?
M.B.: Lalalalala… It’s the tippy table and bean juice. This must be repaired immediately. I shall inform staff again.
Me: Aaah! Get off me, you pointy-toed monster.
M.B.: Staff. The magic square is dead. You must come NOW. Also, fix that table. And the floor is still lava. Now, I will return to the square and await you again. Oh, bean juice!
Tammie: Stop spilling my coffee, cat. Oof!
M.B.: I weep for my magic blue square. Your words do not comfort me.
Me (still watching the tube): …
M.B.: What did I ever do to deserve the likes of you, hmmm? Did I accidently murder the mother of moths? Fine. I shall once again attempt to roust staff.
Tammie: No! Stop it! You’re spilling the coffee again!
M.B.: If I leave some of my fur in your hot bean juice, will that silence you? Here!
Tammie: Noo!!
Me: CAT! Go pester elsewhere.
M.B.: My feet are dry once again, staff, thank you. However, the magic blue thing is still cold. I will meet you at the square. Make haste! You’d better follow me, the floor is still lava. Watch this table. It will splash bean juice on your feet. Also, put some fur in the hot bean juice in the cup it holds. I think it believes it deserves an offering.
Tammie: I JUST got that last cat hair out of my coffee, and here you go again. What is your… oh, wait…I washed the cover for the heating pad. I’ll be right back.
M.B.: The floor is… never mind.

Moments later, Tammie returned with the clean blue cover and the heating pad was once again ready for use.
Tammie: There. Are you happy now?
M.B.: What is this? You also have THE SKILL? You may be staff.
Me: See? She likes you.

A few months later…

Miss Bit: It is time for a nap. The magic blue square must be activated! Staff. Staff! STAFF! Oh, fine. But don’t think that because you have changed where you recline that I cannot reach you, despite the floor continuing to be lava. I shall take the long trail, across the wide seat, this small, but well-placed bird-watching table, then past the strange window you stare at…ooh, is that warm? Hmmm, I shall stand here a moment and ponder.
Me: Bit! Get down! You’re blocking the TV.
M.B.: This is nice, but it is not the magic blue square. I shall continue my quest for staff. This wide window sill is fine for some cats to sit on, but for now, I shall only traverse its length in order to reach the new place where staff hides. Now, we’ve reached the tricky part.
Me: Oh, look out! You’re gonna dump that box right off that chair. Get off of it, it wasn’t meant for climbing, you nitwit.
M.B. Staff calls encouragement to me. That is a good sign. Perhaps this time staff will hasten to do my bidding, unlike last time. The plateau of mess must be crossed with caution or falling debris can cause me to touch the lava floor.
Me: Kitty! Nooo! You’re knocking the mail off my table! Don’t step there, watch out for the remote! Not my coffee! Do NOT step in my coffee!
M.B.: Staff. The magic blue square gives off no heat… Follow me! Careful, the plateau of mess is tricky. From here, you must climb the chair that moved from the dining room and then walk across the sill.
Me: Dammit, kitty!
M.B.: Don’t let the giant warm window distract you, you still have a ways to go. Ah, here we are…Where are you? Why are you still way over there? Do you not understand the urgency? I am middle aged, but I can still make the long journey. I don’t know what your problem is. I will show you.
Me: Oh, not this again. What do you want? Here, have a butt scritch.
M.B.: Staff! Well, all right, this is not bad, and I suppose I can return the favor.
Me: Ow! Ow! Ow! Do NOT dig your claws into me.
M.B.: It is time to go. You must journey to the magic blue square!
Me: Stop walking across the mail! Get away from my coffee!
M.B.: Bean juice! Staff still does not follow. The magic blue square is dead to me.

It only took three trips across the wilds for me to remember to turn on the heating pad. I’m gonna need new slippers, though. That floor was hot.

Friday, June 1, 2018

Lighten Up!

I'm kind of hard on keyboards.

I mean, I don't use them to beat up intruders, zombies, or politicians, nor do I pound senselessly on them in anger. I just use them. A lot. And sometimes I get up before everybody in order to write in peace. Which brings me to the problem of sitting down in the semi-dark of early morning, looking at the computer screen while attempting to write.

Despite years of keyboarding, my hands cannot find the damn home keys without me peering myopically at the damn keyboard. Actually, it's easy when there's light, but in the dark? Nope. Interesting things appear on the screen when I can't see the 'board. Then there's a lot of fumbling and farting around until I finally get settled. Then, of course, I suddenly feel the need for a sip of coffee and there goes the neighborhood again.

I was using a small laptop USB light with some success. Unfortunately it's on a gooseneck which isn't quite strong enough to hold it in position, so it begins to droop and I get to adjust it frequently. Not impossible, just annoying.

Then the keyboard that came with  my computer finally gave up. After years of writing stories, a couple of the keys, important keys, began to fail. It was annoying to not be able to type using the shift key, the space bar, and the letter H.

Enter the ergonomic keyboard that was given to us. You know the kind: it curves and has a bump at the space bar.

Yeah, that was fun.

I tried it, I really did, but it didn't help. It took so much effort to press the keys, that my hands ached more after using the keyboard that was supposed to alleviate such discomfort. Plus, I had to relearn the keyboard. It was still the standard QWERTY style, but the shape was just different enough that I couldn't just watch the words appear on the screen, because those weren't words. I'd have to watch my hands and hope things were going the way I wanted.

Nope.

Then I started reading reviews of mechanical keyboards. 80 million keystroke lifetime (damn, that's a lot, even for me) and they are easier to press. And then there's the amazing clicking sound... I just had to find one to try it.

But they aren't all the same. Some have Cherry switches, others have green ones, and they are different. Of course they are. Why make it simple, when complicating things with options that make people like me whimper is way more fun. Ordering an expensive keyboard and discovering it wasn't for me, isn't high on my list of fun things to do, so I just waited until I could try one out myself.

Luckily, my "local" office supply store had some. I fell in love. The ease of keyboarding, coupled with the delicious click of the keys created a wholly satisfying typing experience that I've not had since my old IBM keyboard back before computer mice were a thing. I loathed the tiny "enter" and backspace keys on it, but the sound and feel were delicious. I missed that.

So, there I was, shopping for keyboards. The guy helping me said his store does price-matching, so I got the same deal I would have if I'd made the purchase online, plus I didn't have to pay tax on it. I figure I saved somewhere in the neighborhood of $50, and I'm ok with that. Ok, I was kind of not stoked about the cost in general, but I had to try. If I was going to keep writing, I was going to have to do something. The less my hands ache from typing, the more I can do and since writing is one thing that makes me truly happy, it's worth it.

Plus, this beast feels super sturdy. Nice and heavy, so it's not going to go skittering all over the keyboard drawer, or creeping away from me until I find myself hunched over like Quasimodo for hours on end.

I was worried that my old computer wouldn't understand what this fancy-schmancy keyboard was trying to say, but after a few restarts and words of fury, I was able to get everything hooked up and working.

At the beginning of this post, I was whinging about the difficulty of typing in the dark. My new keyboard lights up. It LIGHTS UP! In RAINBOW colors.

Actually, I can make it do all kinds of things, like ripple (oh, that was cool until I realized it was making me dizzy), activate (which kept the keyboard dark until I was pressing a key, not exactly helpful for writing in the dark) and about five other lovely tricks that threatened to give me seizures. I've settled on the one that just changes the color, slipping gracefully through the 16 million colors of the rainbow in a gentle flow of joy.

I can find the home keys. Even in the dark!

No more droopy light, no more desk lamp that wakes the dog, who then insists I stop everything and do his bidding, despite being an hour earlier than he ever gets up, and no more groping for the right keys, hitting keystroke combinations that erase vast quantities of work.

And the sound... Not too loud, just nice clicking. FYI, my keyboard has green switches. I'm still not sure what that means, but I like it.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Walking the Dog

My quest to combat diabetes has resulted in several big changes in my life, most of which surround the areas of diet and exercise. The food part has been pretty easy, but exercise isn’t my favorite thing to do.

At all.

Which is why diabetes took it upon itself to make my life miserable. It’s in my genes, therefore I made it easy to settle in and change everything.

So we got a dog.

Ok, we didn’t get the dog because of my diabetes, we actually got the dog because my dad loves dogs and I thought it would be a good idea to have a critter that would keep him company those few hours he had to hang out by himself on weekends, and to sleep with him at night.

That didn’t last long.

“He snores,” Ye Olde Fartte said the morning after he spent his first night with the dog. “He doesn’t just snore, but he also grunts, twitches, and hogs the bed.”
“Hmm, sounds like someone else I know,” I said, risking a glance at Tammie.
“Yeah, well I don’t want him sleeping with me any more.”

I worried that the dog would get into the cat food, or worse, the cat boxes if he was left to himself at night. But I needn’t have worried. He’s actually quite the little gentleman.

Except when he’s on a leash. The minute a lead is clipped to his halter, he turns into the Tasmanian devil from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. He chases things and feels compelled to RUN from one P-mail spot to the next. This crazy dog even wanders while he’s leaving emojies. That’s fun to pick up. I feel like a demented reenactment of Hansel and Gretel, only instead of stones or breadcrumbs, I’m following dog turds.

It took a couple weeks, and a new halter, but now he’s doing a bit better, not pulling quite so hard on the lead, unless all this exercise has just made me faster and better able to keep up with him. This is all fine and good until he sees another dog, then my little sweet doggie goes from ridiculous Tasmanian Devil, to a hell hound, all bark, snark, and teeth.
“I’mma gonna kill ‘im. I’mma gonna kill ‘im and eat ‘im! I’mma gonna do it NOW! NOW! NOW!”
“You may NOT eat that dog.” I find myself repeating that several times on our walks. The owners of the other dogs think I’m being funny, but I’m totally serious. He WILL eat their dog!

And then there’s “THE Dog!”

It goes around town, pulling a wagon filled with tourists. It clip-clops down the street several times a day, and sometimes when we’re out on our walk, we see it. We see it and we want it. We want it because we want to EAT IT!!!  Because we haven’t figured out it ISN’T a dog. A funny smelling, giant-assed monster of a dog. But we don’t care, WE WILL EAT IT!!

And another wrassling match ensues, with me insisting he cannot eat the horse, and people think I’m being funny. They laugh as I hoist the little beast into my arms, doing my best to keep my face away from all those damn teeth and flailing paws bedecked with sharp claws.
“DOG! MUST EAT GIANT DOG! IT IS MY PURPOSE IN LIFE! PUT ME DOWN SO I MAY DINE ON HIS FLESH!”
“No. You have to check your P-mail and I’m pretty sure I smell an emoji or two lurking about in your gut.”
“DIE! DIE! DIE! HATEFUL BEAST! I SHALL DESTROY—” I turned away so he couldn’t see the horse any more and the threats ceased.
“You were saying?” I asked.
“Do you smell that?”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I think Angel from the book store left me a message over by the hotel parking lot. Let’s go!!!” And off we go, the horse completely forgotten as we resume our trek to find the holy grail of pee spots and offload a few emojies. Thankfully, I am equipped with emoji traps, which I employ, then hang on the handy-dandy clip attached to the dispenser. We finish our trek with me sporting a bracelet of dangling poop sacks.


I’m not sure how this is going to help me combat diabetes, but it certainly is keeping my ego in check.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

MONSTERS!!!

The cats are cowards.

I mean, they're brave enough when string is involved, or those damn toy mousies. In fact, with the exception of Thud, they're fine with the red dot of death.

Even when new people come in, they're curious enough to stare from their favorite vantage points. But... we have visitors. Noisy visitors.

See, my dad has to use a commode in the bathroom because he tends to fall. But when he sits down, he "flops" into whatever seat awaits him. He has broken more chairs than the whole WWF combined. Recliners, dining chairs, he's even done damage to car seats! Unfortunately, his flopping caused the commode over the toilet to push against the tank. This broke the seal and we had water. Lots of water. We got it cleaned up, and I fixed the problem, then told him to keep watch.

I try to give him privacy and only go into his room when he says he needs something. Apparently, mushrooms growing in his bathroom don't bother him, so he didn't say anything. Then the other day he fell against the toilet harder than usual and it started to leak. But he either didn't notice or thought it would stop before it got bad. It didn't and water began leaking rapidly from the toilet and no one was the wiser.

So away it leaked. A lot, like two streams from the tank, all the way across the bathroom to the bedroom door, a good eight feet distance. Knowing what I know about modular homes, I didn't want the problem to get any bigger, or the floor to get soft and rot away. Mold had already become a problem, so this just solidified our resolve to get it fixed before it became a much bigger, more expensive, problem requiring us to fish the toilet out from under the house.

Enter, contractor dudes, a.k.a., TEH MONZERZ!! They brought their big, stompy feet, their loud voices, and worst of all, THE SAW!!! Jeebus H. Crispy, that thing is horrifying to the cats.

When it started up, Meow dashed under the vanity and Freya Fish-whore took up her place under the bed. Thud, with nowhere else to go where he could be alone, attempted to take up residence under the recliner but changed his mind when Ye Olde Fartte pushed the button to lower the footrest. This caused much hilarity for about ten seconds. I had no idea where he'd gone until I went to heat up some soup for lunch. I opened the cabinet door and...

Me: What the hell?
Thud: Yeah, that's what I'd like to know. What hell has come here now? I thought you'd be the last of it.
Me: Asshole. You'd better be nice or I'll sic the red dot of tail death on you.
Thud: No, YOU be nice. I have yet to shit in your shoes, but don't think I haven't considered it before this moment.
Me: You shit in my shoes and I'll toss your furry ass outside. Remember what happened the last time you went outside?
Thud: Mommy cried.
Me: I was referring to the wild things-
Thud: NO! Don't remind me! Damn long-eared menaces. They LOOKED at me! WITH THEIR EARS!
Me: Those were slugs.
Thud: Yeah, whatever. They were horrible.
Me: Look, just move over, I need to heat up some lunch for Ye Olde Fartte.
Thud: Well, for him, I'll let you have a pot. I bet he'll appreciate the special seasoning I put in it.
Me: I'll be sure to wash it well before I put food in it.
Thud: Why do the others actually like you?

Just then the reciprocal saw started up and with a loud POP! Thud poofed out before disappearing deeper into the cabinet.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Tuna Dance

“Make some tuna salad for your folks’ lunch today.” Tam said as she got ready for work.

I wanted to yell, “NO! Anything but that!” but I refrained from doing so. It was such a small thing, and well, with no electric can opener, I thought I might actually have a chance to survive the task. I sighed. “Ok.”

She had already set the can of tuna on the counter, so I pulled the mayo, pickles, and onion from the fridge and started chopping. Everything was smooth and easy. I went from one section of the kitchen to the other, smoothly and easily. It was SO smooth and easy, I considered adding singing and dancing to my kitchen activities. I’m usually hindered in my kitchen waltzes and arias by the feline members of the family, but not this time. I had all that floor space to myself.

I opened the drawer with all the kitchen gadgets and pulled out the hand-operated can opener and glided my way to the sink where the can of tuna awaited. “Click! Clunk! Hiss!” went the can opener and the tuna can.

“MEOW!” said Frey Fishwhore. “Gimme fish! You got fish!”
“Yeow!” I exclaimed, stepping away from reaching claws, “back off, fur-face. I’m fixing lunch for my parents.”
“FISH! FISH! FISH!”
“No fish! This is people food.”
“Fish juice! Fish juice! Fish juice!”
“I have nothing to put it in because there is too much food in your dish.”
“Ha! No such thing as too much food. Gimme fish juice.”
“That’s my foot.”
“It nice foot. I pat it.”
“Remove. Your. Claw.”
“Gimme juice?”
“Fine, I’ll put it in here until I’m done with the can, then you can have your juice in that.”
“You gonna leave me chunks?”
“Not if you sink that claw into my leg again.”
“Ok. Look. No claws. I pat you nice leg.”
“I need to get this over there. You need to move out of my way.”
“OOH! Fish juice in fish can! Juicy, juicy, fish juice!”
“Move! Out of the way! No! Not that way! Dammit! Oh, shit, look out!”
“Whee! We’re doing the fish juice dance!”
“No! I don’t want to do that dance. Let me finish making lunch, then you can have juice.”
“Dance!”
“No!”
“AAAAH! YOU STEPPED ON MY TOE! I HISS AT YOU! Now, I touch you with my non-hurting claw.”
“Sorry, kit—HEY! Ow!”
Silent glares from Freya Fishwhore as I began mixing the tuna salad. The moment I began to hint that I MIGHT be heading back to the sink, she darted into what she knew would be my path.
“Oh! Cat! Just! No! Look out! Move your tail! And the rest of your body!” My smooth and easy kitchen experience was taking on all the grace and tranquility of a mosh pit.
“Fish, fish, fish, fish, MY TOE! I HISS!”
“Missed me, you idiot.”
“I not even try to hit you, beast, but next time I draw blood!”
“You want fish juice?” I asked, waving the container of tuna water over the sink drain.
“You better not!”
“Yeah? Or what?”
“You aske me ‘or what???’ I tell you what! I know where your shoes are! Gimme fish juice or I leave you present you only find with toes!”


Yeah…still not a cat person.