They Eat Mice…….Don’t They?

It’s cats I’m talking about. When was the last time you saw one drop kicking a salmon out of a cold stream or taking down some Angus? Yet people say they are often finicky eaters. Not necessarily. Many will relish a trip in the garbage can for a taste of spoiled food. You know it’s true. And you know you kiss them anyway.

Cat food companies never try to appeal to your cat. Your cat’s not reading the “Good Housekeeping” ads for it, you are. YOU think the food sounds good to YOU. Ask your cat about it next time he turns up his nose.

So, ok then, what do the little buggers want? Mice. Dead or alive. With or without MSG or Zyanthm Gum added. Maybe an occasional rabbit, bird or squirrel for variety. This used to be a cat’s saving grace. Because mostly what they LIKE to eat are pests. And I’m not talking about some Chinese pests, either. There are plenty in the USA. So it could actually help the US economy and pet owners, too, to market catfood made from the freshest pests. Tie a string on the can and let your cat chase it around the house for 20 minutes and I guarantee he’ll love it.

Where the hell have you been?

That’s the million dollar question. The million dollar answer is in the hospital. There’s a conspiracy theory attached to that, of course, but we’ll leave that behind for now. Suffice it to say that I’m home now and as soon as I get enough energy back I’ll at least wrap up the stories for you guys.

Happy New Year and Happy Trails,

C

Mayor of !W!A!T!B! Achieves Lifetime Award ~~ SelfServing Praise Magazine Dec 2007

The Mayor of !We!Are!The!Best received a Lifetime Achievement Award today for turning out dictionaries at the rate of 1-2 per week for the last 3 years. The award is given by out anally by an obscure group based in !W!A!T!B! called MYMODS (Militant Yetis Mundanely Observing Diminishing Societies). When we find out what the hell that stands for we’ll let you know. The Mayor has never revealed how she actually manages to publish the dictionaries so rapidly but there is some speculation that a ghost dog named “Precious” actually guides her……err………hands.

The Rise and Fall of Adventure Town 13

He was flying high, spreading his wings to their full length, gliding, soaring, laughing insanely. Glancing downward he was pleased to see that his shadow was covering most of the town. This town would be different than the others. This town would welcome him and recognize him for the leader he truly was. This town would not dare to throw him out on his ass and bar him from their skies. His flaming breath would scorch them into submission and his scathing wit would awe them. The bumbling idiots in charge of the place would be easy to conquer. With the owners asleep at the wheel and the workers bees busy with their stupid altruistic goals it would be like taking candy from a baby….

Rocky, Bullwinkle and Nellie were busy unpacking books in the store. “Who is that?” asked Nellie, pointing at the street outside.

Rocky glanced up, saw who she was pointing at and laughed. A short, plump, prematurely balding gnat was running down the street with his arms outstretched, waving them up and down. “His name is DingBat. Spend two seconds around him and you’ll understand why. Right now he thinks he’s flying again, I’ll bet. His parents moved into a shack down by the saloon and he lives in their basement. He’s not as bad when he takes his meds, but whooo boy he can be annoying when he’s not.”

“Annoying? Annoying like how?” asked Nellie.

“Like the other day he demanded we paint flames on the gazebo because he felt the natural wood was not quite spiffy enough.”

“Ah, that’s why Natasha had it painted red, eh? I thought it was just something she dreamed up,” said Nellie.

“Well, it didn’t really hurt anything, I guess. We do want to include everyone’s imput into the town, even if sometimes it seems a little nuts to us. At least the thing was just painted red, no flames. Thanks to Rocky. He’s been kicked out of every other town around these parts so that puts him in the same boat as many of us. Most of the crap he pulls is just for attention, so we try to ignore him when he’s throwing a tantrum. Maybe he’ll learn he doesn’t need to do that here.” Bullwinkle smiled. “You know, lots of zoombinis come here looking for the boundaries that other towns have. They usually relax when they realize we really want to leave them alone.”

“I sure hope so,” said Rocky, shaking her head. “When he’s off those meds he runs around naked yelling insults at people. We should do something about that if he keeps it up. Quite a few townies have stopped me to complain about him.” Suddenly she started laughing.

“What?” asked Nellie, grabbing the best sellers off the top of Rocky’s pile of books.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” snorted Rocky, laughing even harder. “It just strikes me as hilarious.”

“WHAT?” asked Nellie again.

“It’s just that most of the complaints have been about his fat, naked, pink ass.” Try as she might, Bullwinkle just could not keep a straight face. Nellie wasn’t doing too well holding it in, either, and soon all three of them were rolling on the floor.

Moody dials 911

The blinking cat had what he calls a situation this morning. For him, it’s adventure with a hint of danger. For me, it’s life and death. My own slow, painful death by the hands of my daughters if anything happens to this cat while he’s in my care. And he knows it. And he generally flaunts it.

I went out to the garage to clean the litter pan and heard a bunch of thumping and whumping type noise. Looked around. Couldn’t really ascertain the exact location or reason for it. Figured my husband was moving stuff around in the cellar and the noise was just carrying somehow. Until I remembered Moody was in the garage. And he wasn’t visible. I called him. Nothing but more thumping. Then it dawned on me that the thumping could somehow be related to the missing cat in the garage. No problem, figured he was just meandering around behind some plywood that was stacked in there. Went around to the back of the pile and called him again. He’s very verbal and always answers. Nada. More thumping. Clueless I just figured he had a mouse cornered back there and was purposely ignoring me. So I decided to ignore him back.

Then the plaintive meow. His “Oh shit, I’m up a creek” meow. Where? Again the meow. “Look up, you dolt” the meow seemed to say. Yeah. He was stuck between the eaves and the 2 x 6’s that are inside the garage wall. Looking at me as if I was completely stupid for not noticing him earlier and hanging on for dear life.

“Crap, get down here before you fall inside the wall,” I said. “Remember all our previous conversations about getting down out of trees and lofts. You can do it.” I walked over to an 8′ ladder leaning against the corner he was closest to. Probably the way he got up there. Tapped it encouragingly. No dice. All I got for my trouble was a patronizing look and a cat’s equivalent of an eye roll. And then the sound of his back legs slipping……..

He managed to get himself to the corner but no way in hell could he get his back legs out of the void between the studs to jump down. He could only try to go up, and he was already as high as he could be. I eyed the pile of crap piled around the base of the ladder. I tapped the ladder encouragingly again and showed him that I really had confidence in his ability to get himself down. He wasn’t buying it, but he at least began to look interested.

I hate ladders. Mostly because I seldom bother to tie my shoes at home and always seem to forget that until I step on a shoelace when I’m on a ladder and come close to killing myself. Give me a tree to climb any day. Today, though, looked like I had no choice. Move the crap, pull out the ladder, climb to the top of it and grab the cat under his front legs. No way. He wasn’t going for that. Besides, he still could only go up because his rear legs were straddling the divide. Okay, well, there’s only one way to get any higher for me. Yeah, that sign “This is NOT a step”? They’re right about that. Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. Ladder shaking, knees quaking, claws digging in I lifted the damn cat straight up and out.

Was he grateful? Did he lick my face and cling lovingly to me all the way down the ladder so I could focus on not falling 8′ to my discomfort if not death on the concrete floor? Nah. He stuggled and drew as much blood as he possibly could through my 2 sweatshirts. Finally we made it to safety and I opened the kitchen door figuring he would fly into the house kissing the ground at his feet. Did he? No, he turned right around on his heel and made a beeline for that pinking ladder……….

Well, the next time he gets stuck up there I’ll get the last laugh. I’m pretty sure he’ll wet himself……when he hears me start the chainsaw…heheheheh.

Vegetable Soup Unlucky 7

Author’s note: ‘Rise and Fall’ was stripped from MM. Somebody made another scene about something. This was the end of the road for MM for me but I needed some kind of closure to the former chapters. This was it. Not the best but it suited the circumstances.

The Prince surveys the destruction sadly, walks to the edge of the crater and peers down. There were hundreds of broken bodies and many broken souls laying scattered around a piece of twisted metal that had once been a van. His nostrils flare as he recognizes the odor of vegetable soup that had been stirred by too many hands and his eyes burn. He grips the exquisite neck of Schecter’s white cloud tightly for a moment, thinking about the dead moose, the dead squirrel. He knew that this was not an ending Y would have written. Gone. His fingers moved gracefully over the strings.

I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted one time to see you laughing
I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain
purple rain, purple rain
purple rain, purple rain
purple rain, purple rain-
I only want to see you bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend
baby I could never steal you from another
it’s such a shame our friendship had to end
purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain -
I only want to see you underneath the purple rain
honey, I know, I know, I know times are changing
it’s time we all reach out for something new, that means you too
you say you want a leader,
but you can’t seem to make up your mind
I think you better close it
and let me guide you into the purple rain
purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain, purple rain -
I only want to see you, only want to see you
in the purple rain……*

“See you, Y, see you in Cheetober,” he whispered.

*lyrics – Prince – Purple Rain. Used totally without permission.

Vegetable Soup 6

“What made you think you could do that?”

“Do what?” Y hated these sessions, go away, go away, go far, far, away, punk.

“Fly.”

“I didn’t fly, where did you hear that?”

“You flew. You were seen flying. No use in denying it.” The Analyst was adamant.

“People see what they want to see, don’t they?” answered Y testily. Masked punk.

“Maybe, but when it’s reported by a number of people that they saw you flying, then you must have been flying. Else why would they say that?”

“How many said they actually saw it with their own eyes? Ten? Twenty? Three hundred?”

The Analyst’s mask rippled. “I’m asking the questions, not you.”

“Ah, I see, then. One. Right? Oh wait, sorry, that was a question, wasn’t it? Oops, sorry again, another question..”

“Y, why do you always do that?” asked The Analyst.

“Do what, answer your stupid questions? Good question.” Punk, thought Y, punk in your underwear, masked punk in a thong with an onion hat on…

“Make a joke out of everything. It’s redundant. You know why we’re here, yet you insist on making a joke out of everything.”

“Check your sources, buddy. I didn’t fly. No joke.” Y was picking a loose thread in the brocade.

“Did you ever think that maybe it’s you that sees what you want to see?”

Y had to concede the point. “It’s possible. But why should that make me different than anyone else? If that’s the case, why are you assigning motives to every move I make? What are your motives for doing that? ”

“This isn’t about my motives, Y, it’s about yours. I can see you’re a little tense,” said The Analyst, filling a glass from the pitcher near Y’s head. “Here,” handing Y the glass,”drink this.”

Y grabbed the glass, grateful for the short break in the conversation. “What is this, it’s pink.” she noted.

“Koolaide, I thought you’d enjoy it,” answered The Analyst. “Everybody loves Koolaide.”

Though the glass was already half way to her lips Y quickly set it back down without drinking a drop. “Umm, maybe later,”she said.
________________

Vegetable Soup 5

“This looks like it’s going to be a bad one.” Y was gazing intently at the darkening sky.

“Long way out yet, I think. Let’s get out there and cover the piano, Dude.” said X.

“No way, did you just call me Dude?” Y asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, Dude, I did, let’s get out there.” chuckled X.

They worked swiftly, covering the piano and stashing all the instruments in the van as the wind picked up and the sand started to swirl around them like tiny tornadoes. X looked up just in time to see Y recklessly spitting into the wind. “Y, why do you always do dumb stuff like that?” she laughed as Y wiped her face clean with a gritty old Grateful Dead tshirt.

“Somebody told me not to once,” Y actually smiled. “So I thought I’d try it. Have to admit they were right.” She glanced at the sky again and suddenly the smile was gone. “CRAP! The van, get into the van X, quick!” X reacted to Y’s urgent warning by hurling herself into the van just as the sandstorm blasted it full force. As the van rocked in the wind X searched out the back window for Y. And saw the strangest thing she had ever seen.

Y was climbing the wall like a spider. Like a spider on a mission. Fighting her way through the storm to the top of the rocks. Standing up and turning into the wind Y laughed like a maniac. Laughed like the old days, laughed enough for all the songs in her to be freed. The storm roared back, buffeting her, pushing her, mocking her. That’s when the really strange thing happened. Y turned her back on the storm and stuck her arms out straight to each side. And flew.

Vegetable Soup 4

X was actually smiling for the first time in quite a while. Y was pounding on a set of bongos and singing her head off, oblivious to everything but the tune of the day. As the last line died out and the final finger roll crept ever so slowly and softly to a close Y leaped up, flipped backwards and landed in an impressive split. “Thank you, thank you very much,” said Y in her best Elvis voice, “God Bless and goodnight everyone.”

“That was the best set we’ve done in a long time, Y.” laughed X, clapping. “We need to get that one pressed somehow.”

“No!”

“Are you kidding, it was great! What’s your problem? All you have to do is get those lyrics down on paper and we’ll take it into the studio.”

“I don’t write lyrics anymore, you know that. Can’t do it.” said Y sadly.

“Can’t, or won’t? Looks like won’t from over here,” responded X with a look of confusion. “What’s your hang up with writing the lyrics down?”

Y suddenly looked exhausted. She picked up a kazoo and played a string of notes on it. “How do you feel about that melody line?” she asked X.

“It’s ok, a little scratchy on the kazoo, try the piano and I’ll let you know.”

Y walked over to the piano and picked out the same tune with one finger. “Now?”

“Yeah, I like it, crisp, clean, makes me think of being a kid again,” said X.

“Exactly, most people have pretty good memories of this tune,” said Y. “Maybe even 98 out of 100 would smile when they heard it. Now how about if I add this?” She added full chords to the melody line. It sounded hearty and warm in the night.

“Even better, what are you getting at? I don’t get it, everybody knows that tune. Are you saying a few hate it so we shouldn’t play it?”

“No, not really. It’s just music. Anybody that hates it just won’t listen to it or think about it at all. But what if I add this..”

She played the tune again and sang, “Bah, bah, black sheep, have you any wool?” Y took her hands off the keys and looked searchingly at X.

“I still like it, makes me remember the cubby I had in kindergarten and the smell of paste for some odd reason.”

“Exactly so,” said Y. “But remember the 2 people that didn’t like the music in the first place? What if now one of them decides that the way to make the annoying music stop is to start telling people that the song is unfair to sheep? Says it celebrates the fact that humans have learned to indenture the poor sheep and exploit them for their wool? What if the other one decides that the song is a thinly veiled racial slur? What if they take to the streets and protest the song? Somehow, someday, the song will disappear. People who enjoyed the song to begin with will just stop singing it because those negative connotations are hard to shake once they start up.”

“You’re kidding me, that would never happen,” said X. “People just aren’t that extreme.”

“Yeah X, they are. There will always be someone who will claim that the lyrics mean something sinister, no matter what the writer really meant. Mostly people who don’t like music to begin with and just see protesting lyrics as a way to draw attention to themselves. That’s why I don’t write down the lyrics anymore. If I don’t write them down they can’t be twisted like that.” Y was more serious than X had ever seen her. She played the opening notes of the song again. Her fingers passed over the keys slowly , with a hint of despair. This time X picked up her trumpet and joined in. “I’ll miss you,” whispered the horn to the piano.
_________________

Vegetable Soup 3

The couch Y occupied was a lovely brocade and pretty comfortable with the exception of a maverick spring that poked Y in the back occasionally. Y herself, though, looked anything but relaxed as she lay there stiff as a board with her hands crossed defensively on her chest. X and Y had no idea how or why The Analyst dragged the couch along for their sessions.

“Do you know why?” asked The Analyst.

“What? Do I know what?” asked Y.

“No, Y, w-h-y, why you feel so uncomfortable?”

“Well, for one thing you always wear that mask. The mask makes me uncomfortable.”

“Just put your faith in the fact that there’s a reason for the mask. There’s always a reason for everything.” said The Analyst coldly. “That’s the reason we’re here. So that you can learn to have faith in reason. Learn to listen to reason.”

“Well, I can’t usually follow people’s lines of reasoning because they’re rarely based in logic, much less truth.” said Y. “Usually it turns out that parts of their reasoning are based on an untruth somewhere along the line. An untruth throws the whole thing off for me, I can’t help it.”

“Let me ask you something, Y,” said The Analyst. “If you see a box in front of you and it looks black, what color would you answer if you were asked to describe it?”

“Black, naturally.”

“What if you approached another box and saw that it was white? What would your description of that box be?”

“White, I can’t see where you’re going with this at all.” Y yawned.

“What if you somehow discovered it was the same box, painted white on one side and black on the other? Would you have lied about the description of the box when you described it earlier?”

“No, I would have been correct both times. I would have been describing what I saw.” Y answered.

The Analyst’s jaw clenched. Y only saw a flickering shift in the mask.

“Let’s start again, Y.” said The Analyst.