The Cliffs of Insanity

There's something I forgot to write about regarding my admissions meeting. The admissions officer looked at my application and saw that my major was going to be veterinary assistance. She commented with a favourable vocalisation, then asked if I liked animals.

"Yes," I said. "You could say that."

"Do you have any pets?"

"Oh yeah. I have 3 dogs and over 30 cats."
"WHAT?" She said, giving me that 'this woman is a crazy cat lady' expression.

"I've had animal rescue status with my vet's office for about 10 years because I take in stray cats and try to find homes for them. If I can't, I just take care of them and make sure they're fed and happy."

"Do they all live indoors?"

I explained to her that, no, they were feral and I only placed the tame ones. She then asked how on Earth I could feed all of them, to which I responded, "Well, it's kind of hard, especially when you're unemployed, but I get by."

"Well, you must be one of those animal angels. There are plenty of angels on Earth, mainly people angels, but you're definitely an animal angel."

"Well, thanks for saying that. I do love animals, so I decided to follow my heart and do something that would allow me to work with them."

"I think you've made a wise choice."

She then proceeded to tell me that the veterinary program at Greenville Tech will probably expand with the completion of the new campus, if the program was favourably received. So there's hope that, before I finished my assistance program, they may very well have a vet tech program with which I can proceed. Then two of the three hurdles before me on my way to the Veterinary Doctor goal will be scaled successfully. I shall then rule the world and my cat friends will enforce all the laws of the land with sharp claws and teefies. Amen.

I'm needing to get the cats straight. There've been some changes over the past few months, so the last list of felines is no longer valid. For shits and giggles, I'm including the dogs and opossums as well.

Dogs

• Winchester Napoleon (Chester) -- Yorkshire Terrier


• Riley -- Dachsund/Scottie mix (Bratwurst on legs)


• Sheba -- Bassett/Cocker mix

Indoor Pride

• Smidgen -- Ginger Manx (half-tail that doesn't work)


• Shmoop -- Full Tabby (she thinks she's a dog)


• Motley -- Tortoiseshell Manx (no tail at all, she looks like a bear)


• Foley -- Pastel Calico (a big brute of a cat named after Dave Foley)

Outdoor Pride

• Theodore -- Ginger Manx (half-tail that does work, mostly tame, will eventually become part of the Indoor Pride)


• Aloysius -- Long-hair Tabby (broken jaw that's healed wrong. He gets a lot of canned food now. Partially tame, we're working on getting him indoors as well, and getting his jaw fixed)


• Sluggo -- Surly black cat with flat ears, flat eyes, and flat face (grandfather cat, retired from the competition, named after Ron White's bulldog)


• Goldie -- Tortoiseshell Manx (half-tail that does work, mostly feral but she will allow me to pet her on occasion)


• Agro -- Tabby cat with orange spot on her head (Shmoop's mama, mostly feral).


• Festus -- Tabby cat with a bad eye (Shmoop's daddy, mostly feral, will tolerate petting, but will then turn on you and bite you. Schizophrenic).


• Joe -- Young Tabby Tom. (follow's Theo's lead and will let me pet him)


• Flakes -- Solid white cat (totally feral)


• Moo -- Mostly white with black spots (looks like the Gateway cow, totally feral)


• Speck -- Long-haired black cat with one one white speck between his eyes (totally feral)


• Biafra -- Pastel Calico with one bad ear thanks to a hematoma (mostly feral)


• Iggy -- Ginger cat with very unusual eyes and herpes (50% feral)


• Hook -- Tabby and Tortoiseshell Manx (half-tail with a hook, it does work, mostly tame)


• Bagheera -- Calico Tabby Long-hair (mostly tame, very hateful to the other cats)


• Spiteful -- Ginger kitten (beat the crap out of me the first time I encountered him. He's calmed down a lot now)


• Norvus -- Ginger kitten (very young. He will be tame. Goldie's son. She brought him and his siblings to me)


• Scrumpy -- Norvus' sister, Tabby (she'll also be tame)


• Shades -- Another brother, soft grey with three dark grey stripes on his rump (another tame one)


• Ghost -- Another sibling, indeterminate gender as this one is a bit feral. Mostly black, long-hair, possibly a Tortie, but I can't be certain.
  
• Jolsen -- Yet another sibling, also black. Looks like s/he is wearing black face; thus, the name (for Al Jolsen).


• Zsa Zsa -- Long-haired Tortoiseshell. Very elegant. (Mostly feral)
  
• Gotrocks -- Long-haired black. Also very elegant. (Totally feral)
  
• Caeser -- Tabby and white male, Festus' primary rival (totally feral)


• Autumn -- Tortoiseshell and white (Motley's full-tailed sister, mostly feral)

Opossums

• Sven -- big opossum. I assume he's male.


• Helga -- smaller opossum, camera ho. I assume she's female.

Rest in Peace

• Jacob -- She disappeared without a trace.


• Blueberry -- She disappeared without a trace.


• Lynx -- He was squooshed by some heartless asshole in a car. He was the most beautiful cat I've ever seen in my life. His name describes his appearance.

Of all the members of the Outdoor Pride, I have hope of finding homes from Spiteful, Norvus, Shades, and Scrumpy. They're all very young and already quite responsive to human presence. All four allow me to pick them up and give them medications. Like every child of Goldie's and Agro's they came to me with funky eyeballs and a runny nose, so they're on the normal regimen of Amoxil drops and erythromicin eye goo. By the time they're ready to be placed, they'll be healthy and happy, totally tame kittens.

On a related note, I got a great buy on cat food at Bi-Lo. They had 18 pound bags of Kit-n-Kaboodle for $5.00 a bag, almost $4.00 off a bag. So I got three bags. That should hold the hungry little buggers for two or three weeks. They aren't eating as much as they were 'cos it's too damned hot to eat. They sure are sucking up the water though. Aren't we all?

I had to run a quick errand and, whilst in the car, I got to thinking about all the nicknames the animals that live with me answer to. Why I subject them to such torment and why they put up with it is beyond me.

Nickname Database
The Core Group

• Chester (Full registered name is Winchester Napoleon): Nappy, Asshole, Chester-butt, Chesterkins, Chester the Molester, Rat with a Hippie Wig, Shithead


• Foley (Full name is Foley Buddha): Foley-butt, Wide-Ass, Tank, Brute, Bully, Butt-Butt


• Motley (Full name is Motley Dot): MotDot, Dot, Mot, Stubby-butt, Squeaker, Motlums


• Riley (Full name is Riley as far as I know. He came pre-named): Riley-dog, Demento Dog, O'Riley, Schizo Dog


• Sheba (Full name is Sheba. She also came to us pre-named): Eyeball, Dummy, Sheblit, Sheebie, Ugly


• Shmoop (Full name is Shmoop ~ sweet and simple): Shmooples, Shmoopus, Shmoopster, Shmoopy-pants, Scamper-pants, Whiny-butt, Bubbeleh, Shmoople-poopeleh


• Smidgen (Full name is Smidgen): Smidge, Smidge-butt, Muscle-butt, Smidgels, Yellow-belly, Angel Face, Angel Baby, Silly-butt

The Outdoor Pride

• Lynx: Lynxie, Lynxie-butt


• Theodore: Theo


• Iggy: Iggums, Iglet


• Aloysius: Al, Big Al


• Zsa Zsa: Glamour-puss

I haven't given many nicknames to the members of the Outdoor Pride because I haven't been exposed as much to their personalities, seeing as how they're feral and refuse to let me "in" very far. It's probably for the best, because my assignment of nicknames has reached the level of absurd.

Henry Herman was my very best friend for 16 years. He was a blue tick beagle who had this perpetual expression of peevishness that endeared him to almost everyone who ever had the privilege and honour to meet him. Like any dog, though, Henry had his moments, especially when he was a youngster. One such moment occurred when he was right at two years of age.

It was early in the morning and I was heading out to work. At that time, I had just gotten the yard totally fenced and installed cattle gates through which I could drive my car. It was a brilliant idea, I thought, to have the car parked inside the fence. Henry thought it was brilliant too 'cos he had all this room to run around in. He was so thrilled that he wanted to stay outside the night before and listen to the call of the wild, so to speak.

So, anyway, I went out to the car and tried to start it. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I called Timothy and told him I'd be a little late, that I was having car trouble. Janice took me on to work and Granny & Aunt Tudi called Joe Rogers, our mechanic at that time, to ask him to bring us a battery, 'cos that's what we figured was the problem. Yes, Joe made house calls for his favourite customers. I miss that man....

Joe came out with the battery and installed it. He tried to crank the car and there was.....nothing. Right about that time, Henry trotted up to Joe with a wire in his mouth. Joe took it from the crazy beagle and inspected it. He then stooped and looked under the car where there were strewn a multitude of chewed wires of varying length. In his boredom during the night Henry had proceeded to chew all the wiring out from under my car. D'Oh! So Joe went back to his garage to get supplies and returned to rewire the entire underbelly of my sorely abused vehicle. While he worked, he suggested to Granny that we smear the underside of the car with Texas Pete sauce as that would keep Henry away from it.

"First you should give him a piece of bread soaked in Texas Pete. It'll burn his mouth, but it won't hurt him seriously, just enough to make him want to stay away from it."

So Granny got a piece of bread and doused it with Texas Pete. She gave it to Henry, who was a total whore when it came to food. He ate it enthusiastically while Granny, Aunt Tudi, and Joe watched in anticipation of smoke coming out of my precious pup's ears as he ran to the water bowl. But it didn't happen that way. Instead, Henry licked his lips and sat up on his back legs asking for more. Again....D'Oh!

So I bought more fencing and had the cattle gates relocated to section off a parking area separate from the rest of the yard. This way Henry couldn't get to the car, but he still had all sorts of room in which to scamper about and bury his rawhide bones. For years after that incident, neighbours would come up with various wires and ask me if my dog needed a special treat. I told them only if it were garnished with hot sauce, thanks.

Har dee har har.

One day back in the early 90s I was driving down one of the many back roads that comprise Duncan when I spied a mourning dove in the middle of my lane. I ran over it, straddling it with my tires, so I could get to a spot where I could park and go rescue the bird. I was about two feet away from it when it looked at me and snickered evilly (well, that snicker was in my imagination, but the bird was fucking evil), then flew off. Right about that time a pick-up truck rounded the corner and almost turned me into road kill.

To this day, I carry a special resentment for mourning doves. That won't stop me from trying to save one if it's in trouble, but I'll think twice before playing in the road again.

Yesterday we had a pot roast and invited Llew over for a nosh. Today Aunt Tudi is feeding the cats beef fat. I keep telling her that cats don't eat cow, they're too big. All cats can do with cows is nibble at their hooves and get kicked in the head for their trouble. When I told Aunt Tudi this, I realised that I can't say "hoof" without emulating the way Patsy Stone says it in the "Morroco" episode of Absolutely Fabulous. Edina is telling Saffy that the Moors didn't have toilet paper before the more "civilised" Brits came to enlighten them. She asked Saffy: "Do you know what they used before we came?" (that's paraphrased....I may be incorrect in the quote) And then Patsy piped up and said: "Old bits of hoof." That's pronounced hooooof, long "o," not huhff. Ever since, I say hoooooof, long "o."

It's like the word "speed." I have to say it with a French accent, like "speeeedddddddd," thanks to Eddie Izzard. clumsycake is in the same boat. We get together and talk about the movie Speed and we sound like a couple of Parisian whores.

In other news, das_prompt was good enough to announce the confirmation of the existence of bootlegging primates. This reminds me of a show I saw back in the late 70s. It was a National Geographic show on PBS (pre-Cable for you whippersnappers) about the inhabitants of the African Savannah. During the wet and fertile season, all the animals (both predator and prey) would gather at the water hole to enjoy having water. The trees around the water hole would have fruit that had fermented on the branch. All the herbivores and omnivores would partake of this fruit and have a drunken party while the carnivores would roll around in the water and essentially laugh at them all. I'm not lying. I clearly remember seeing inebriated giraffes and monkeys yucking it up together. If there'd been a tattoo parlour around, these critters would have gotten inked. All in all, it was a feelgood moment for all the animals, and the only time they all got along before going back to killing, being killed, and feuding over water rights. Bornean apes apparently don't have to worry about waiting until the right season when the fruit will ferment in the trees. They make their own brew and raise their own roofs.

Thanks, primed!


RACCOON - your daemon may be a raccoon. You are a
trickster. Your daemon's nimble hand-like paws
can help in the creation of pranks. You may
prefer the cover of darkness to pull off your
stunts. You may be fascinated by gadgets, and
are probably good at figuring out how things
work. Independent and fun loving, you love to
get the best of someone. You have no
pretensions about yourself. Crafty and clever,
you can adapt to any situation and find a way
to make it work in your favour.


What Is Your Daemon?
brought to you by Quizilla

---

This makes me want to find that little bit of a children's story I was writing years ago. Yes, I was writing a children's story. No, I don't like kids. But I like a lot of their stories and I had one about a little raccoon named Rikva. It was illustrated and everything. I may have to resume that tale if'n I can find it.

I know a bit about raccoons. The Mother Unit rescued a pair of babies whose mother had been smushed by a vehicle. She named them Rocky and Racky (yeah, original, but she probably did that for cuteness' sake since I was like 4 years old). Rocky couldn't be tamed and ended up in the Greenville zoo. Racky became a pet and he was every bit as brilliant and mischievous as one would imagine a raccoon to be. The Mother Unit loved to play tricks on him by giving him a slice of bread on occasion. Racky would wash his bread and look dumbfounded as it disintegrated in his hands. His best friend was our cat. I can't remember her name. They would sleep and play together, what a wonderful sight to see! Both Racky and the cat disappeared one night and we never saw them again. Ever since, I've wanted to work with raccoons again. I don't think I'd want a pet because that's really not their natural state, but I'd love to interact with raccoons perhaps in a wildlife rescue capacity.

There are some days I'm tempted to convince people I have Tourettes Syndrome just so I can curse people in public and make a scene of my rampant misanthropy without severe ramifications. People will just say, "Oh, she's got Tourettes. Don't mind her." And I can be left to my own devices and wallow in my ocean of expletives.

National Geographic Channel is showing this documentary on exorcism. It's thought that a lot of people who were accused of being witches or being possessed by the devil in the middle ages were actually just victims of Tourettes Syndrome. I wonder how many people diagnosed with Tourettes today are actually possessed by demons! Surely it can go both ways.

---

While some lucky folks are enjoying seasonal snowfall and are prancing about in their Winter Wonderland, I am experiencing balmy temperatures and thunderstorms. Mind, I love thunderstorms. I adore lightning and I'm inspired by tempests, but not in December. I want some frickin' Winter for once, dammit! I'm tired of living in the South where the only inclement weather we get is the occasional ice storm. I want a buttload of snow, a foot or more!

The last really fantastic snowfall we got was in 1988. It was in January of that year and the storm started when I was at work on third shift. The snow was coming down so thick and fast, we couldn't see our hands before our faces. Timothy told us that, if he did a donut in the parking lot, we could go home. So we all gathered outside and watched Tim do a fantastic donut in his orange Cherokee Chief. I barely got home that night. By the time I got in, there was about three inches on the ground, and I only lived 2.5 miles from work. When morning came, we had over a foot of snow and the whole of the Upstate was essentially shut down for over a week. It was glorious.

---

Watching this Evangelical exorcise demons, then accept tithes in the form of Mastercard, makes me want to manifest a demon of my own and go kick his ass in the name of god. Surely drawing on demonic power to off a shithead who is victimising the most ignorant among us is doing god's work, right? The end would justify the means in such a circumstance, I'll wager. People like this Evangelical deserve to be pounded like a veal cutlet on network television. That would be prime entertainment!

---

I'm having this undeniable desire to go camping. I think when I get the 401k money, I'm going to purchase a tent and two sleeping bags for the purpose of taking Aunt Tudi up to the Smokies for a camping expedition. I'd prefer to go back to Mills River, but I hear that area is now being "developed" and is no longer accessible by campers. But there are abundant camping opportunities in Western North Carolina. It's just a matter of finding that perfect spot.

There's just something supremely peaceful about dwelling in the forest and cooking beans over an open fire. And, if you're lucky, going to sleep to the sound of rushing river water right beside you. Yes, I must go camping this Spring.

---

Right before I fell asleep last night, I looked down at myself and this is what I saw: Chester at my feet, Shmoop between my knees, Riley up near my head, and Smidgen on my chest. I looked like a scene edited out of an old Hee Haw show. It'll be the same thing tonight. The beasties may change positions, but they'll all be on the bed with me, enjoying the warm cosiness of my blankets and watching a movie with me. Shmoop loves to watch TV.

Early this morning, I went on a picture-taking binge. Here's what came out of it.

( lotsa photos, doo da, doo da )

If I were half as photogenic as my animal pals, I'd be kicking Cindy Crawford's arse all over the place.

The Father and Stepmother Units have a room dedicated to nothing but their computers. It is from this room I send out my bleats for rescue. Right now, Mary is on her computer writing up a report for work and I'm on the Father Unit's computer behaving badly. The Father Unit is having a lie down and Aunt Tudi is wandering about aimlessly in another part of the house, having a deep conversation with BB Burdie.

Earlier today, BB clicked his tongue at me and then very clearly said, "Come here." When a bird commands me, I obey. I went over to his crib at which time he began ringing one of his many bells and eyeballing me with a fierce superiority. I remain humbled before the King Budgie of Doom.

Dunno what we're gonna do tonight. If everyone can come together, I suspect gaming will be in order. If not, then I'm going to bed early since Aunt Tudi and I are heading off to C-town to be at the Hampton Inn by 6 AM. She's wanting to touch base with an elderly lady who works there and was quite kind to her when she was staying with Erica during her kidney transplant. Aunt Tudi is keen on thanking this old lady for her kindness above and beyond the call of duty. After that, we're heading on to Sullivans Island to commune with Mother Ocean.

I was thinking about taking everyone out to dinner tomorrow, but I don't want to risk being gone past 9 PM. I will lay waste to all the surrounding hamlets if I miss an iota of LOST. So, on Thursday, I'll be dragging everyone to some restaurant wherein we can all bloat up like ticks. Nothing of importance is happening Thursday night. Well, Nightstalker comes on, but I'm not so into the show that I'll perish if I miss it. Really, it's just an hour of eye candy to me anyway.

I miss the pups, Smidgen, and Shmoop. I want to feel their furry souls about me! Waaaaaahh..... I know we're just gonna have a big orgy of lovin' when Aunt Tudi and I go to pick them up from Dr. Patch's.

Oh, speaking of orgies, I'm planning on getting some screen caps from the movie Caligula tonight. Prepare yourselves for naughty icons in the near future!