Damn feral cat

This morning, I let my dog out as usual. I have a five pound Chihuahua named Pandora. She’s adorable.

Pandora

You seriously can’t get more adorable than this. I’ve tried.

Anywho…she ran out into the back yard, spotted something in the bushes near the back fence and went to investigate. There was silence for a few seconds and then suddenly, my dog comes flying out, screaming, with a black and white cat on her heels. I’ve seen this cat before. She usually runs when she sees Pandora. Not this time. At this point, my instincts kick in and I go running at the cat. I think my teeth were actually bared and I know my hands were ready to claw at the thing if I got hold of it. And it’s a good thing I didn’t because all my brain was thinking was “DESTROY!” I responded like a mother seeing one of her children being threatened and I think I would have killed it before I realized what I was doing. Sometimes the primitive part of the brain is scary. But I digress. As usual. So the cat gets away from me, I comfort my dog, hover protectively while she relieves herself and then take her inside to clean her up and check for wounds. She was favoring her right front leg and I found what seemed to be a puncture wound there. Cleaned it with disinfectant, wrapped it in gauze so she wouldn’t lick at it and keep a scab from forming (best protection from infection) and now she’s laying in my lap, still shaking from time to time. Poor thing.

After, I IMed my boyfriend at work to tell him about it. He mentioned that he saw tiny, tiny kittens in the backyard this morning. We concluded that they are probably the cat’s and she was defending her kittens, which would explain why she didn’t run off as usual. People – if you insist on letting your cats run free, for the love of ALL gods, get them FIXED. Please. There are now a bunch of kittens, born out of doors, who, if they make it to adulthood without getting sick or picked off by predators, will be completely feral and make more kittens and more kittens…you get my meaning. I’m going to go out there later and see if there’s a little nest of cats in the bushes. If so, the Humane Society is getting a call. That situation ends here. Sorry to go all Bob Barker on you folks.

The whole point of this story (aside from venting) is to get to the rest of the conversation  my boyfriend and I had on IM. It was hilarious and I had to share.

Me: Ok, well, I may have to go out there and see what’s up. We can’t have a nest of kittens in the back yard.

Boyfriend: Indeed. I wonder what would scare her away?

Me: Well, calling animal control or the Humane Society should take care of it if they’re living back there.

Boyfriend: Maybe some tiger blood or panther urine.

Me: I’ll call Charlie Sheen

Boyfriend: I’m sure Petco has some.

Me: He’s got Tiger blood, right? Oh yeah. Petco has shelves of panther urine

Boyfriend: I think that might be metaphorical tiger blood. Don’t get the cheap panther urine, it doesn’t work for shit

Me: Right. Pricey panther urine only.

Honestly, I think I’d go crazy if my life wasn’t filled with conversations like that. Laughter makes everything better. 🙂
UPDATE: Found another, worse, puncture wound on her chest/armpit area. I wasn’t comfortable letting that one go so we ended up at the vet who found even more wounds! She’s all cleaned up now though and is full of antibiotics and pain killers and sleeping soundly. That was seriously a hell of a morning.

What’s in the package?

I keep looking at my blog and the design and my options and just keep coming back to one thing: How the hell do you work this thing? Okay, it’s not bad as all that. I’ve pretty much got it figured out. I just can’t seem to be satisfied with the designs I keep picking out, so you’ll pardon me if I keep changing themes and such.

So why I’m really here is mention that I’ll be on vacation for next two weeks. I should get plenty of writing done, right? Probably not. I’ll be wandering off to places with little internet connection. In fact, I won’t have access to much electricity. Spending some time in the woods, feeling the earth, hearing the stream and the trees…sweet bliss to me. Anyway, seems like perhaps I should have started this whole thing AFTER my trip to the woods but, meh. I don’t leave for a day or so, so let’s see how much I can pack in before then, shall we?

For right now, I’m watching Labyrinth. I never realized what revealing pants David Bowie is wearing. They leave little to the imagination. I’ve seen far more of his junk than I’m comfortable with at this point. I’ve also just discovered that there’s a Facebook page entirely dedicated to Davis Bowie’s crotch. Check it out: Bowie’s crotch is here. In fact, a Google search proves this to be a rather popular topic. Who would have thought? You know, actually, I’m not even surprised. Why wouldn’t there be numerous references to David’s Bowie’s unit? He’s David Bowie. Most of his parts bear scrutinizing in some fashion. Actually, I’m guessing you search for anyone’s crotch and come up with a few references.

Speaking of packages, my boyfriend received on a little while back. I happened to be home that day when it arrived and we were IMing at the time. He asked me to open it and the following conversation took place:

Me: There’s a gas grill cover and…some other thing. A Grill Out handle light. No clue what that is.

Boyfriend: It’s for grilling at night.

Me: Ah, all that naked night grilling you have planned.

Boyfriend: I LOVE me some nighttime grilling. I mean if you can’t grill nude in your backyard at night the terrorists win.

Me: See, this is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.

Boyfriend: They hate our freedom, my dear.

Me: I know, I know. If everyone just embraced naked nighttime grilling this would be a much better world. Although maybe an apron would be called for. We don’t want sparks or grease getting on any sensitive bits.

You see, I’ve somehow ended up talking about junk again. Ah well. On that note, I’m going to wrap this up. For now.
UPDATE:
I did a Google search for Mitt Romney’s crotch. Turns out, no one is interested in that.