Sometimes I get so mad, I shake my tiny fists in the air

For six weeks I’ve had a coveted Saturday appointment at the vet for my two girls. This morning (I repeat, morning, Saturday morning, beloved morning time, the time where nobody should speak or look at me if they want to live) I prepared everything by getting the carriers ready, trying to sweet-talk the girls into not hiding from me, taking Tarlie on a potty walk, letting Gus do a walk-through (I think this is a Manx thing), washing all my sunscreen off from last eve’s hike, and forgoing my coffee so I could at least be only 5 minutes late. The girls hate going in carriers and on car rides, and The Idaho Summer was also pushing 85 degrees by 10am. Their cries were making me want to stab my eardrums out. I get on the freeway with the cussing hollers of stress behind me and Ms. Fugi dies. No acceleration after 50mph, just happily farts out.

I limped home and currently the cats are refusing to come out from under the bed. I would like to join them, actually. Why can’t anything just go smoothly? Why do I have to do everything twice to get it done? Why do I have to spend the vet money on the car? And so forth. While shaking my fists towards the sky.

Mama needs a cocktail, but it ain’t even noon yet.

In the mean time, I found Tarlie’s sweet spot. One where he is an actual happy dog rather than a stoner lump who could take me or leave me. Unfortunately, it involves another particular dog. Which I will never get, another dog. There will be no another dog. However, regular dates would be nice. This apparent soul mate is a 6 month old Corgi named Bender who belongs to my niece’s boyfriend. I have never seen such gentle, fun, fabulous dog play. It was exhausting to watch, they could not stop after what seemed like hours. It was dusk, so I couldn’t get really good shots of the somersaults and chasing and nibbling of the kneecaps off.

Squirrel Watch 2008: Those frakers are everywhere taunting us all

Dear Green Yuppies,

I’m all maddied up by this whole wave of replacing yer stuff with green stuff. Just. Stop. Member that bumper sticker that says, “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”? Well, it’s that freaking simple, snooty holes. Start with what you have already, BE GRATEFUL THAT YOU EVEN HAVE IT, don’t dump it into the landfill by replacing it with barely green products (do the research! Did that bamboo come from a huge plantation where the money still doesn’t go to the local markets and where the water was diverted from local needs so big man could grow it quicker than snot? I betcha it does. BETCHA THAT PERFECTLY GOOD FLOOR YOU’RE ABOUT TO RIP OUT TO REPLACE WITH BAMBOO AIN’T REALLY A SUSTAINABLE THING TO DO).

Start with what you have. Sure, enhance it. It’d be nice to have a little back-up energy source and some non-toxic paint on the walls. But this is what I really think going green is: making little shifts in your Earth-ruining behaviors. (I mean me too). Even if it’s one thing, that’s totally okay. It’s one more thing than you were doing before. I think it should start with behaviors and with what you have rather than spending dough on more freaking stuff, more stuff, more freaking stuff.

You know, reduce your consumerism, your usage, the disposable coffee cups. Reuse what you have already. Wash that shit, it’s okay if yer mama doesn’t think it’s stylish anymore. Hi! You have that, why are you buying another one? Then, for heaven’s sake, you’re still not recycling?! Dude, this is where I pass my real judgment. Be grateful you drank a fine beer, now recycle that container as “thanks.” Holy crap, lazy-ass. That’s right, I said it.

Slow-down, y’all. Slowing down, planning, yet having urgency for doing good for this place we’re on, this is what sustainable means. To me. Going green? Look at the impacts you’re making. (Well first, even before all this is something else – actually caring about the impacts you’re making. How, how, how do we get people to care about the Earth and its’ creatures?)

It’s something, isn’t it, that the recession or whatever we’re dealing with is making people shift towards reducing and reusing. Even if they are not thinking of the Earth first. Hard times, simplifying. I am not making light of tough times, tightening our belts and all, it sucks ass.

Anyway. It’s complicated, but it doesn’t really need to be.

Sincerely,

Hypocrite, I’m Sure.

p.s. If you ever want to see fire erupting from my eyeballs, mention the words, “rip out” in any context. I mean ANY CONTEXT.

Profiles, Part Whore

Charlie (aka Chuck, Tarlie, Yoga)

Ancestry: Canadian

Sign: Capricorn with a Libra rising

I adopted the dude aboot 7 weeks ago for selfish reasons: A walking/hiking/cabin partner, protection, and dog companionship. Turns out he’s all that and a bag of chips. Tarlie is kind, friendly, very smart, very mellow, patient, slightly stubborn, easy-going, unreadable, affectionate, aloof, quiet, into routines, understands the hierarchy of the house (sorry dude, yer bottom), and part of what I call a “witness protection program.” I mean, the poor guy had to start all over from a life he knew with a brand new name and routine and person and house and cats and places to go. Totally new to him, and to me. And he has done impressively well. Nobody knows where he came from, but I think I have a fair guess. I think he was ignored, yet exposed to children, dogs, and maybe even cats and horses. I think he used to jump the fence and spend his time dumpster diving for food (talk about being too thin and having bad skin), and have I mentioned he was ignored? He even ignores himself – he has finally started peeing when he needs to and drinking water regularly. He doesn’t know how to play with dog toys! Or any toys!

For being previously neglected, he does have pretty good manners and is house broken, so work was done with him. I’ve taken it really slow with progressive trust-building steps, yet what he can’t give up is his intense desire to chase squirrels and the absolute pull towards eating cat food. He is also not quite trustworthy to hang close off-leash. This frustrates me, and yet, dude, those behaviors are normal. He is very normal, and good, and…distant. I don’t know if he has ever bonded with anybody, and maybe he’ll wake up one morning and say to himself, “This ain’t so bad.”

ADDENDUM: January, 2009. I’ve had him about 9-10 months now, and things have adjusted in a very good way. He is the perfect fit for me, and I really lucked out in choosing him.

• He is a people person. Loves, loves, loves people. I am not enough for his love. He would go home with everybody.
• He is gay.
• If I had a bow-tie, I would put it on him. Or a polo shirt with the collar up, depending on the mood.
• He likes me.

Profiles, Part III

Gus Nubbin (aka GusGus, DudeShutUp, The Original Nub)

Ancestry: Bad-ass

Sign: Taurus (pretty damn sure anyway)

He’s sitting here on the futon with his butt splayed sideways and his long spidery legs in all directions. He’s conked out. The guy is the most persistent, most smartest cat I’ve ever met. I swear he understands english for reals. It’s unnerving sometimes.

In case you don’t know the recent story or just checked in for a cocktail recipe, Gus lived around here before me, has always been somehow homeless but attached to this residence, and trained me to be his next person. I’ve spent a lot of dough on him at the vet, and he really doesn’t give a crap. He just INSISTS I FEED HIM AT THE SAME TIMES EVERY DAY thank you very much. He’s tolerant of my girls and the new dog as long as I FEED HIM AT THE SAME TIMES EVERY DAY. And sometimes let him in to crash on the couch. Or on my lap.

His internal clock is ridiculously down to the minute and his Manx/Siamese voice rocks the hood as I bow down to feed him. MEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHWWWW. MAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHOOOOOOO. He actually stalks me through the windows if I’m not on time or if he wants in.

I am humored by him, and totally like and respect him. Even though I roll my eyes when he yells at me.

Profiles, Part 2

Two summers ago, Crazy Ex and I were having some fabulous afternoon sex when I kept hearing an alarming sound out the window. I thought to myself, after my nap I’ll check it out. Sure enough, I woke to the death cry of a wee creature and I stumbled out the house with dogs, ex, then neighbor, neighbors dogs, neighbors grandkids, and more neighbors alerted to my whirlwind rescue panic. Hopping fences and calming dogs and children, a tiny-gray-screaming-starving-torn-up-skeleton-hamster was shoved into my hands and we rushed to the emergency vet where they taught me how to bottle feed and wipe the privates. They said, good luck, hope she makes it through the night.

That night we went back to the crime scene and found an even tinnier-almost-dead-pee-covered-crunked-up-second-hamster. We put the two together on a heating pad after warming up the second one to life-temperature, and their reunion made doves cry their asses off.

Lucky Lou (aka Woojiah, Weezer, Hooty, LL Cool J)

Ansestory: Northern European Woodland Sprite

Sign: Gemini

Summary: The most beautiful cat creature in the world, she is bonded only to me, and takes months to warm up to other people. She speaks telepathically and few have the fortitude to even look her directly in her gorgeous eyes to say “Hi” properly. She was the alpha cat in a house of 3 other cats and 2 dogs for the first year of her life, although one would never believe she was the ring leader. She consistently looks after her sister, who needs looking after, and thinks up brilliant games to play mostly having to do with conveniently “loosing” a toy mouse under large objects. LL is both young and wise, quietly magical, and looks to me for partnership in games and routine. I almost gave her and her twin away because of having a full house, but she persevered and patiently waited for me to look her in her soul and understand that we belong together.

__________

Chi Chi (aka Chili Pepper Sanchez Munoz Gonzalez Ramirez)

Ancestry: Mexican

Sign: Gemini

Summary: Chi Chi sometimes comes across as a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but she is actually very insightful, with a great memory and funny disposition. When I say “funny,” it is with much love and sometimes pity, for she only wants love and doesn’t understand why everybody isn’t stopping to make out with her. She makes me laugh out loud every day with her radar for getting into trouble and her dramatic reactions to minor events. She always has a look on her face like she just woke up with a hangover (and I do have to stop her from licking the tops of my beer). We have long conversations out loud, and I have a desire to learn Spanish because of her. She is the quintessential little runt sister who nobody understands but loves anyway, and I believe everybody needs a calico in the house after loving the Chi-Cherz-Rodrigerz.

The girls have survived major life transitions with their sweet souls intact, keeping to the same routines they’ve had with me since being days old. I don’t know what I would have done without them at the snowed-in cabin, or sitting here at my first place alone with them in their cat tree together. Even though they sometimes purposefully wake me up at 4am just for the hell of it, I’ve only cussed at them once in their whole lives. (But I don’t count threatening to punch Chi Chi’s little head off).