As far as bachelors go, I'm quite a bit more domestic than a lot of guys out there. I clean regularly and I cook perhaps better than most. I can cook at least as well as any of the women I've dated, better than some I suppose. Nonetheless, I'm still single...
Somehow one of the things I've never done in my 40-plus years, is clean an oven. I probably never would have either had it not been for the oven in my apartment filling the kitchen and living room with smoke and setting off the smoke alarm every time I've used it recently. Yep, I'm going to have to clean this thing. I didn't think I really used the oven that much as I do most of my cooking on the stove top. I guess two years of making pizzas, steaks or salmon filets now and again, along with a batch of slice-and-bake cookies and some other oven cooked things I've forgotten have left the inside of my oven walls covered in a smoke alarm triggering funk of brownish-blackness.
How hard can this be to clean right? Buy a can of oven cleaner, spray it on, wait a bit and wipe the mess away - right? Just to be sure, I ask a female friend if she's ever cleaned an oven.
"Yes - why?", my friend asks. Why? Because I'm hoping you'll be a dear and offer to come over and clean it for me? Actually that thought didn't occur to me until much later, and no, I wouldn't have asked. I just wanted to get a heads up on anything I needed to keep in mind or be careful of. What I got, was her simply telling me that there was basically nothing to it- spray the stuff on, leave it for a few hours and then wipe it off.
I ask her if I need to avoid spraying the cleaner on the heating element, she says no, that it's pretty hard to avoid that and not to worry about it. I don't believe her, and using my MacGyver logic, devise a plan to wrap the heating element in aluminum foil. I know that one of two things will happen if I don't do this: either the oven cleaner will corrode the heating element into an electrical fire hazzard, or it will infuse it with a toxic fake lemon scent. I cannot allow this to happen. I will not allow this to happen.
At the grocery store, I have three choices for the task at hand, all of them aerosol cans. The first is bargain brand at barely 1/4 the cost of the other two name brands. Since the bargain brand is so much cheaper, I decide that it can't possibly do a good job on my oven. As if the standard-issue, rental complex electric oven is something I'm proud of. The leading brand says "Fume-free" - looks like we have a winner folks!
Back at home in my kitchen, it's on. I open the oven and cover the heating element with strips of foil. It's a damn good thing I did too, because the instructions say not to spray the cleaner on things like heating elements as it could result in the heating element being damaged. See? I know, good thinking, right? For those of you watching at home, it uhm, takes around ten strips of aluminum foil to completely cover the heating element.
Now I'm ready to let this oven know I mean business. I douse the oven walls with the leading national brand - liberally. I notice the white foam soon turns to a brownish bubbling mass of foam. I decide that I cannot afford to take a passive stance with this mess and I spray the living shit out of the inside of my oven - poetic justice being served for it setting off a very hard to reach smoke alarm - take that oven - you shall exist in a state of greasy brown/black funk no more!
After a while...never mind how long, I open the door and take a damp sponge to the greasy lemony scented foam. Hmm...seems to work pretty well, though I would've thought that more would come off after....after...20 minutes? Has it only been 20 minutes? I give the door another dousing of cleaner and tell myself I'm not touching the oven for at least two hours.
On the phone with my mom, I casually mention that I'm cleaning my oven. The only advice she offers? "Leave it on for quite awhile."
Well of course...I know that. It's not like I'm going to try and wipe it off after like, 20 minutes - again.
Nearly three hours later and this is where the fun stops. No one tells you this. This is the point where things start to suck. It is also the point of no return. You have to finish what you started.
Yes the oven walls will wipe clean with amazing ease, but that is of no comfort now. There is nothing comfortable about being on your hands and knees and wiping the inside of an oven. What wipes off so easily, is still inside your oven. While it's no longer stuck to the walls, it has now turned into a puddle of black-brown lemony-greasy scented funk that is surely toxic. Don't get it on you. Don't let it touch anything you want to keep. Make sure you remove every last drop of this stuff from the inside of your oven. No one tells you this - so I will. Oh, just to be safe, don't breathe the fumes - I'm pretty sure they'll make you retarded or dissolve one, or both of your lungs.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this mess? How will I get it out of the oven? Won't it eat through whatever I put it in? Do I need to go back to the store and buy a container that says "Biohazard Material" on it? Sponges seem unable to absorb this toxic puddle, paper towels aren't any better. I decide I've got to act fast and grab some empty plastic containers to put the biohazard liquid in - quickly! I can't have much time with this stuff. I've got to get it out of my apartment, because soon it will eat holes through everything. Let the fact that it will eat through the apartment dumpster in the parking lot be someone else's problem. If anyone asks me if I threw this toxic mess into the complex dumpsters, I'll simply say no.
All this is in the front of the oven. The entrance to the cave, if you will. Further inside the cave, I start to realize just how nasty this job is. Thought it was nearly over didn't you? I know - me too. Now is when I realize that I may not be able to get all of this cleaner out of the oven - this is bad news because surely the oven will not be safe to use if I don't get every last bit of oven cleaner off the floor, ceiling and walls of my oven. Now is where I turn into an injured and struggling comic book super hero, struggling and straining to breathe, or see inside the cave and press on: ...Must...gasp...must finish...can't...see....fumes...making...me...dizzy...gasp...oven clean....must get...gasp...finish. If I can't do this, the oven will be a toxic hotbox that will fill my apartment with poisonous gasses as I preheat it to make my next pizza. No one tells you this.
Just as paranoia is setting in, I realize that a miner's hat with a light would let me see the spots that still need cleaned. At this moment, Paranoia's two friends, lower back pain/strain and knee pain arrive. Unwelcome guests, even at a cleaning party. No one tells you this. I think back to a time in my childhood when I noticed my mom cleaning her oven. I didn't give it much thought until I finished cleaning my own oven. Funny how now it seems like childbirth would be easier to go through than the dirty job of cleaning an oven. So for every time you cleaned an oven and none of us noticed, THANK YOU MOM!
Oh I finished the job alright - though I wish I could say that I'm confident that I got every last bit of the greasy cleaner foam - which is toxic remember, out of my oven and that it's now safe to use. I'm not so sure, maybe I can live off things that I can cook using only the four burners on top of my oven, at least for a month or two, however long it takes for the oven to be safe again. No one tells you this.
Sarcasm spoken here
Monday, January 12, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
McNugget Love?
I almost never go to McDonald's. It's always a last resort type of thing when I do go, and it's always bad it seems. Never say never, but it wouldn't bother me much if I never set foot in a Micky D's again. Oh I've had my time of actually liking the food, but it's long past that now. I've enjoyed a Big Mac or two in my 40-enough years, Quarter Pounders, hamburgers, cheeseburgers, a fish sandwich here and there - but for all practical purposes, I'm done.
So what's my point? Ah, the latest commercial for chicken McNuggets, slathered with an excessive amount of R&B in the form of a song, a GOD-AWFUL song at that. Not only is it awful, it sticks in my head the way most of the menu at Micky D's would stick to the walls of my arteries if I actually ate there. As a friend of mine said, it kind of serves to illustrate just how cheezy R&B is these days. I'm not trying to hate here, but give me Earth, Wind & Fire, The Isley Brothers, Tower of Power, Al Green or Sly Stone any day over most of my current choices in that musical genre. I don't want to run down the entire song, but the opening line goes like this:
I woke up and found you creepin'...blah, blah, blah, something, something, McNugget love....
The drama plays out when the composer/singer of the song is denied any McNuggets by his lady love. Allow me to write my own song and finish it as if I were the guy in the commercial:
I woke up to find you creepin'
Smelled that greasy chicken while I'm sleepin'
Girl I can't eat no chicken that they stuff into a mold
Dip it in some batter & deep fry it frozen cold
Lady love's not sharin' but I can't say as that hurts
'Cause I know when you're finished girl you're gonna have the squirts
Okay, sorry - perhaps a bit vulgar, but now you get an idea of how I feel about Chicken McNuggets, and yes, I've eaten them too. Every time I've had them they've given me heartburn and I finally got the note-to-self about not eating them again. I suppose this is a rather pointless post huh? Maybe, just maybe it'll help get that blasted song out of my mind. In the commercial, the guy's lady love does compliment his song despite still denying him the golden goodness he's foolishly craving. I wonder if my commercial would have the woman say "that's a stupid song - here, try one of these."
So what's my point? Ah, the latest commercial for chicken McNuggets, slathered with an excessive amount of R&B in the form of a song, a GOD-AWFUL song at that. Not only is it awful, it sticks in my head the way most of the menu at Micky D's would stick to the walls of my arteries if I actually ate there. As a friend of mine said, it kind of serves to illustrate just how cheezy R&B is these days. I'm not trying to hate here, but give me Earth, Wind & Fire, The Isley Brothers, Tower of Power, Al Green or Sly Stone any day over most of my current choices in that musical genre. I don't want to run down the entire song, but the opening line goes like this:
I woke up and found you creepin'...blah, blah, blah, something, something, McNugget love....
The drama plays out when the composer/singer of the song is denied any McNuggets by his lady love. Allow me to write my own song and finish it as if I were the guy in the commercial:
I woke up to find you creepin'
Smelled that greasy chicken while I'm sleepin'
Girl I can't eat no chicken that they stuff into a mold
Dip it in some batter & deep fry it frozen cold
Lady love's not sharin' but I can't say as that hurts
'Cause I know when you're finished girl you're gonna have the squirts
Okay, sorry - perhaps a bit vulgar, but now you get an idea of how I feel about Chicken McNuggets, and yes, I've eaten them too. Every time I've had them they've given me heartburn and I finally got the note-to-self about not eating them again. I suppose this is a rather pointless post huh? Maybe, just maybe it'll help get that blasted song out of my mind. In the commercial, the guy's lady love does compliment his song despite still denying him the golden goodness he's foolishly craving. I wonder if my commercial would have the woman say "that's a stupid song - here, try one of these."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Dog vs. Cat
I'm not ready to get another dog yet - for a number of reasons. I wish I could say that I'm ready right this very minute, but I can't. I've been using this time to research other breeds of dogs that I might enjoy having as my next dog. I tend to favor bigger dogs, but most dogs can win me over given the chance. In the end it won't really matter what kind of dog I end up getting as much as how that dog behaves will matter. Since my dog was absolutely perfect, those are big paw prints to fill.
I've briefly considered the idea of getting a cat, but the fact is, I'm not much of a cat person really. I love the interaction of man and dog. I love the expressions a dog can, and does make with its face. While one might not think that a dog is capable of giving you a look that gives you an incredible guilt complex, I'm here to say that a dog can indeed look at you in such a manner. As a friend of mine once said, when Maggie did that it usually spelled n-e-w t-o-y.
I'm not trying to suggest that cats don't have their good points. Who wouldn't want a box of shit in their house? Sorry, I couldn't resist that one. Seriously, I just prefer dogs really. I like how they get excited about doing things and they let you know it.
Cats, at least to me, are often aloof. Almost like they're too cool to be a pet. The feeling of my dog being happy to see me when I come home is much more satisfying than what I would get from a cat. Given how much I tend to humanize pet behavior, the odds are heavily in favor of dogs.
Imagine the following:
I come home to my cat, it's been a long day and my cat seems very happy to see me - although I wouldn't have guessed he or she gave a shit while they were sitting in the window barely noticing me coming up the walk.
I open the door to my cat running up to me purring loudly and rubbing up against my legs, doing figure eights in and around my feet and legs. In my tendency to humanize this behavior, I read this as:
Cat: purr, purr, weave in and out of your legs, keep purring, move tail, keep purring, keep moving, purr, purr, follow your every movement, maintain purring and physical contact
My translation of this behavior: I'm so happy, SO glad to see you, oh my god, you're back - so soon, oh it's so good to see you, I'm never happy when you're not here, I couldn't function without you despite us both needing our space, have I said that I'm happy you're home or that I love you? I have? Would you mind if I said it again? I do and I can't seem to say it enough at this moment, listen...if it's not too much trouble, could you pick me up and hold me close? If you think I'm purring now, just wait...
Actual Cat Meaning: you're home. Nice - did you have to leave the door open so long when you came in? You let a draft in that only served to remind me that I'm not allowed outside. I noticed a few things while you were out that need attention: one, my water tastes funny, what's up with that? Also the food in my bowl is stale and if you're going to insist I eat it, I will not be held responsible for any undesirable effects I'm certain it will have on my digestive abilities. Oh yeah, I took a dump under your bed, but you'll figure that one out in your own due time and when you do, I'm perfectly fine with the fact that you'll likely blame yourself for not addressing the litter box soon enough. Oh and I did you a favor while you were gone - I noticed that there is no cat scent behind the couch. How the hell do you expect that should you decide to bring another animal in here, they would have any way of knowing that the area behind the couch is mine and mine alone? I use that for keeping things I don't want you to know about secure....you know like maybe your keys, one or two of your credit cards or perhaps an important bill that you'll tear the house apart looking for...just stuff. So I did you a favor, since I was already back there, and sprayed the entire length of the couch - you're WELCOME!
Somehow I just don't think a cat would do for me. I've always been more of a dog person I guess. There you have it.
I've briefly considered the idea of getting a cat, but the fact is, I'm not much of a cat person really. I love the interaction of man and dog. I love the expressions a dog can, and does make with its face. While one might not think that a dog is capable of giving you a look that gives you an incredible guilt complex, I'm here to say that a dog can indeed look at you in such a manner. As a friend of mine once said, when Maggie did that it usually spelled n-e-w t-o-y.
I'm not trying to suggest that cats don't have their good points. Who wouldn't want a box of shit in their house? Sorry, I couldn't resist that one. Seriously, I just prefer dogs really. I like how they get excited about doing things and they let you know it.
Cats, at least to me, are often aloof. Almost like they're too cool to be a pet. The feeling of my dog being happy to see me when I come home is much more satisfying than what I would get from a cat. Given how much I tend to humanize pet behavior, the odds are heavily in favor of dogs.
Imagine the following:
I come home to my cat, it's been a long day and my cat seems very happy to see me - although I wouldn't have guessed he or she gave a shit while they were sitting in the window barely noticing me coming up the walk.
I open the door to my cat running up to me purring loudly and rubbing up against my legs, doing figure eights in and around my feet and legs. In my tendency to humanize this behavior, I read this as:
Cat: purr, purr, weave in and out of your legs, keep purring, move tail, keep purring, keep moving, purr, purr, follow your every movement, maintain purring and physical contact
My translation of this behavior: I'm so happy, SO glad to see you, oh my god, you're back - so soon, oh it's so good to see you, I'm never happy when you're not here, I couldn't function without you despite us both needing our space, have I said that I'm happy you're home or that I love you? I have? Would you mind if I said it again? I do and I can't seem to say it enough at this moment, listen...if it's not too much trouble, could you pick me up and hold me close? If you think I'm purring now, just wait...
Actual Cat Meaning: you're home. Nice - did you have to leave the door open so long when you came in? You let a draft in that only served to remind me that I'm not allowed outside. I noticed a few things while you were out that need attention: one, my water tastes funny, what's up with that? Also the food in my bowl is stale and if you're going to insist I eat it, I will not be held responsible for any undesirable effects I'm certain it will have on my digestive abilities. Oh yeah, I took a dump under your bed, but you'll figure that one out in your own due time and when you do, I'm perfectly fine with the fact that you'll likely blame yourself for not addressing the litter box soon enough. Oh and I did you a favor while you were gone - I noticed that there is no cat scent behind the couch. How the hell do you expect that should you decide to bring another animal in here, they would have any way of knowing that the area behind the couch is mine and mine alone? I use that for keeping things I don't want you to know about secure....you know like maybe your keys, one or two of your credit cards or perhaps an important bill that you'll tear the house apart looking for...just stuff. So I did you a favor, since I was already back there, and sprayed the entire length of the couch - you're WELCOME!
Somehow I just don't think a cat would do for me. I've always been more of a dog person I guess. There you have it.
More Musings From Over The Top
I'm new to mourning the loss of a pet. My dog was 13 when she passed away. It wasn't until the last 2 years of her life that she really acted like the old dog she was. She slept a lot, had practically no interest in her toys - which I'd spent a small fortune on during 11 years of owing her, she grunted a lot at times when she moved around and her hearing was questionable, though it often seemed selective. A friend of mine gave me the book Marley and Me nearly two years ago. I started it, but put it aside in favor of other things and only finished it a few days ago. Everything in the book about Marley's actions as he became an old dog is pretty much exactly what I saw with my own dog. I found myself taking more time to appreciate all the wonderful things I saw in my dog.
Now that she's gone, I miss so many things. I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable as I watched my dog become a senior citizen, but there's really no way to prepare yourself for the end of such a wonderful friendship. For the most part my days now are not as painful as the ones that immediately followed the one awful day of owning a dog that I had - but there is an empty feeling to them that I often have no choice but to think of. This is the first time I've gone through this and it's the other side of 11 years of ideal pet ownership. I'm not the first person to feel this kind of pain, I won't be the last one. There is another side to this time as well and every passing day gets me further away from the pain and closer to the healing.
People who aren't dog lovers don't really get it. At the risk of sounding over the top, I can truthfully say that I miss my dog as much as I miss anyone who has passed from my life. The fact of the matter is that my dog was at the upper end of a lifespan for a big dog. There's nothing I can do about that. I can't exactly write my congressman or get enough signatures on a petition to change the lifespan of a dog, no matter how wonderful that dog was. It is what it is.
My sister said that my grief was normal and that she'd only start to worry if I hired a pet psychic to communicate with her. As much as I miss that dog, that's not going to happen - but if it did....
Pet Pyschic: hi, have a seat please.
Me: Thanks, have you got a box of tissues?
Pet Pyschic: yes, but that's an additional fee
Me: I'm okay with that
Pet Pyschic: Let's begin then. I'm just going to close my eyes and relax and I want you to do the same. Think of your dog...
Me: got it
PP: now I'd like to ask you a few questions - I'm seeing a dog, but there are many dogs in my vision and we need to find your dog
Me: yes, of course - please
PP: your dog is a female....is she a black dog?
Me: yes - why do you have to bring color into it?
PP: very good, a large female black dog...and what is her name?
Me: Maggie
PP: ah...there are some issues, Maggie was adopted by you later and had other names...
Me: uh, yeah...I got her from the Humane Society when she was around 2
PP: let me ask you something about Maggie....did she like to play fetch? I'm seeing a ball....was there a tennis ball?
Me: fetch? are you kidding? She took being a retriever very serious. Yes there was a tennis ball, there were lots of tennis balls, they were often covered with dog saliva - that acted like a glue to hold dirt and grass to them, thus making the game of fetch more disgusting with every toss. Hell yes there was a tennis ball, but there were sticks, frisbees, nerf footballs, soccer balls and tons of other things as well.
PP: I'm seeing her tail wagging - did she wag her tail?
Me: Wag her tail? Of course she wagged her tail - I often thought she would break it off from smacking it against tables, walls, appliances, it often sounded like it had to hurt!
PP: Here, (hands me a soggy tennis ball covered with dog saliva, grass, dirt, tiny pebbles, etc) I want you to relax, close your eyes and throw the ball for Maggie....she wants you to throw the ball....
Me: what? where did you get this...?.....throw....huh?
PP: Please...this is a really important step in communication with your dog and in your healing process, so please, embrace it fully, relax, embrace the feeling, embrace the ball...cock your arm and release the ball
Me: well, okay.....(throwing ball....immediately followed by a loud crashing sound, like the sound of several picture frames being displaced and falling in various directions and glass breaking, maybe a few unspecified nick-nacks falling)
PP: Oh my...SIR! My pictures!..I didn't mean to literally throw the damn ball!...I meant for you to imagine throwing it!...I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir....you can pay the receptionist on your way out....
Now that she's gone, I miss so many things. I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable as I watched my dog become a senior citizen, but there's really no way to prepare yourself for the end of such a wonderful friendship. For the most part my days now are not as painful as the ones that immediately followed the one awful day of owning a dog that I had - but there is an empty feeling to them that I often have no choice but to think of. This is the first time I've gone through this and it's the other side of 11 years of ideal pet ownership. I'm not the first person to feel this kind of pain, I won't be the last one. There is another side to this time as well and every passing day gets me further away from the pain and closer to the healing.
People who aren't dog lovers don't really get it. At the risk of sounding over the top, I can truthfully say that I miss my dog as much as I miss anyone who has passed from my life. The fact of the matter is that my dog was at the upper end of a lifespan for a big dog. There's nothing I can do about that. I can't exactly write my congressman or get enough signatures on a petition to change the lifespan of a dog, no matter how wonderful that dog was. It is what it is.
My sister said that my grief was normal and that she'd only start to worry if I hired a pet psychic to communicate with her. As much as I miss that dog, that's not going to happen - but if it did....
Pet Pyschic: hi, have a seat please.
Me: Thanks, have you got a box of tissues?
Pet Pyschic: yes, but that's an additional fee
Me: I'm okay with that
Pet Pyschic: Let's begin then. I'm just going to close my eyes and relax and I want you to do the same. Think of your dog...
Me: got it
PP: now I'd like to ask you a few questions - I'm seeing a dog, but there are many dogs in my vision and we need to find your dog
Me: yes, of course - please
PP: your dog is a female....is she a black dog?
Me: yes - why do you have to bring color into it?
PP: very good, a large female black dog...and what is her name?
Me: Maggie
PP: ah...there are some issues, Maggie was adopted by you later and had other names...
Me: uh, yeah...I got her from the Humane Society when she was around 2
PP: let me ask you something about Maggie....did she like to play fetch? I'm seeing a ball....was there a tennis ball?
Me: fetch? are you kidding? She took being a retriever very serious. Yes there was a tennis ball, there were lots of tennis balls, they were often covered with dog saliva - that acted like a glue to hold dirt and grass to them, thus making the game of fetch more disgusting with every toss. Hell yes there was a tennis ball, but there were sticks, frisbees, nerf footballs, soccer balls and tons of other things as well.
PP: I'm seeing her tail wagging - did she wag her tail?
Me: Wag her tail? Of course she wagged her tail - I often thought she would break it off from smacking it against tables, walls, appliances, it often sounded like it had to hurt!
PP: Here, (hands me a soggy tennis ball covered with dog saliva, grass, dirt, tiny pebbles, etc) I want you to relax, close your eyes and throw the ball for Maggie....she wants you to throw the ball....
Me: what? where did you get this...?.....throw....huh?
PP: Please...this is a really important step in communication with your dog and in your healing process, so please, embrace it fully, relax, embrace the feeling, embrace the ball...cock your arm and release the ball
Me: well, okay.....(throwing ball....immediately followed by a loud crashing sound, like the sound of several picture frames being displaced and falling in various directions and glass breaking, maybe a few unspecified nick-nacks falling)
PP: Oh my...SIR! My pictures!..I didn't mean to literally throw the damn ball!...I meant for you to imagine throwing it!...I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir....you can pay the receptionist on your way out....
Over The Top
On this past election day, I had to put my wonderful dog down. It was a very difficult time, to say the least. The first few days that followed were even tougher to get through and lately, I suppose I've reached a certain level of accepting the inevitable, but it's still tough. I've written a ton of thoughts and ideas down, but I've yet to sort through them and see if I have something worth working on with any of it.
I think I'm somewhere in the middle as far as pet owners - devoted, perhaps on the outer fringes of codependency, but not so fanatic as someone I know who actually anguished over getting home late and waiting to feed fish until morning for fear of waking them up. I'm speaking the truth here. The same person who said they had to take back roads to a destination because the kittens don't like it when the car goes over 35 MPH. I'm speaking the truth here. That is over the top, and perhaps smack dab in the middle of codependency. I find it hard to believe fish would be traumatized by being fed at a later hour, or that kittens would have an internal speed limit. I'd imagine such scenarios playing out in the following manner:
Fish: swim, swim, swim, swim away, swim, notice food, eat food, see food fall to bottom, follow food, eat food, swim, swim, swim away, swim....etc, etc, large human face looming, swim, etc, etc, that's my day, every day.
That's what fish do.
As opposed to:
Fish: swim/sleep/sleepyswim/swim/sleepy/swimmysleep....HEY!!...What the??....it NEVER gets light this time of night...!!...what the.....oh shit! FOOD!...aw crap, I'm not even hungry...swim, dart about, swim....Jesus that light is bright....can you give me a swimmy minute to wake my scaled ass up already? Aw man, all this food is hitting the bottom, it's gonna touch fish poop and it won't be any good.....couldn't this have waited until morning???
Thanks a lot asshole, thanks for making the day for all the bottom dwellers!
Or the kittens:
Kittens: meow, meow, purr,meow,meow
Translation: oooh, we're riding in the car! Where are we going? I have to use the litter box...are we there yet?
All of this would, of course, be at speeds of 35 mph and lower...but once we come to the highway:
Kittens: meow, meow, whine, meowy-whine, non-stop whine...
Translation: Oh God...is that an onramp? oh no, please...don't....are you going into overdrive? oh God, we're gonna die, we're all gonna die, I'll never see my little ball with the bell inside it again....oh please, slow down - I need a litter box, I want to scratch something - PLEASE
That is over the top, at least it sure seems that way to me. Not to worry though, I'm sure that to many people my own manner of being a pet owner is over the top as well. More on that later!
I think I'm somewhere in the middle as far as pet owners - devoted, perhaps on the outer fringes of codependency, but not so fanatic as someone I know who actually anguished over getting home late and waiting to feed fish until morning for fear of waking them up. I'm speaking the truth here. The same person who said they had to take back roads to a destination because the kittens don't like it when the car goes over 35 MPH. I'm speaking the truth here. That is over the top, and perhaps smack dab in the middle of codependency. I find it hard to believe fish would be traumatized by being fed at a later hour, or that kittens would have an internal speed limit. I'd imagine such scenarios playing out in the following manner:
Fish: swim, swim, swim, swim away, swim, notice food, eat food, see food fall to bottom, follow food, eat food, swim, swim, swim away, swim....etc, etc, large human face looming, swim, etc, etc, that's my day, every day.
That's what fish do.
As opposed to:
Fish: swim/sleep/sleepyswim/swim/sleepy/swimmysleep....HEY!!...What the??....it NEVER gets light this time of night...!!...what the.....oh shit! FOOD!...aw crap, I'm not even hungry...swim, dart about, swim....Jesus that light is bright....can you give me a swimmy minute to wake my scaled ass up already? Aw man, all this food is hitting the bottom, it's gonna touch fish poop and it won't be any good.....couldn't this have waited until morning???
Thanks a lot asshole, thanks for making the day for all the bottom dwellers!
Or the kittens:
Kittens: meow, meow, purr,meow,meow
Translation: oooh, we're riding in the car! Where are we going? I have to use the litter box...are we there yet?
All of this would, of course, be at speeds of 35 mph and lower...but once we come to the highway:
Kittens: meow, meow, whine, meowy-whine, non-stop whine...
Translation: Oh God...is that an onramp? oh no, please...don't....are you going into overdrive? oh God, we're gonna die, we're all gonna die, I'll never see my little ball with the bell inside it again....oh please, slow down - I need a litter box, I want to scratch something - PLEASE
That is over the top, at least it sure seems that way to me. Not to worry though, I'm sure that to many people my own manner of being a pet owner is over the top as well. More on that later!
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