A Christmas CATastrophe

Cute, but evil

In honour of the destructive and wicked ways of a recent family addition, an evil kitten named Archie.  This week's blog is dedicated to him and all the crazy cats that we have had before that seem to particularly love this time of year.

Twas the weeks before Christmas and all through the house

An evil was stirring, it wasn't a mouse.

The kitten sat proudly, his eyes all aglow

Soon his intentions would everyone know.

 

The Christmas Tree stood pride of place in the room

Its lights shining brightly under light of the moon.

His whiskers twitched knowingly, full of intent

So full of energy, none of it spent.

 

Before

He walked over slowly, so quiet on foot

And gazed up at branches dripping in loot.

His muscles coiled tightly as he launched in the air

Eagerly landing on a newly found lair.

 

The limbs on the tree quivered softly in fear

Knowing that dastardly deeds were so very near.

The tinsel it shook while the baubles all swayed,

Archie's cruel intentions were soon to be made.

 

Whiskers full forward and ear tips erect

The full force butt wiggle soon took effect.

Those shiny bright ornaments standing so still

Soon went flying over window and sill.

During



Santa rapidly bounced from the tree to the ground

And Rudolph fell next barely making a sound.

Archie just buzzed he was so full of glee

There was so much to do, it was not time to flee.

 

He batted at tinsel, at boughs and at globes

He swatted the glitter, the stars and the orbs

Garlands unwound quite free from their hold

Who was this kitten, getting ever more bold?

 

Eventually calm, he jumped from his perch

What was left of the tree wobbled with a great lurch.

Happy with self he started to groom

Before quietly stalking away from the room.
 

After



The sun filled the sky with its warm gentle glow

The cat's tail still calmly moving to and back fro

Mum entered the room, sleep still in her eyes.

Yet unaware of her festive surprise.

 

Archie rubbed on her leg with a soft little howl

Hoping she'd soon start to fill up his bowl.

Her eyes glanced over at her once pretty tree

She was stopped in her tracks by what she did see.
 

Way After

All her hard work so quickly undone

By one little brat, there could only be one.

She looked at that face all sweetness and light

And said 'It looks like you've had a very good night."
 

Time to relax

 With a sigh and a groan, she picked Archie up,

'You're such a bad kitten, you're worse than a pup.

But love you we will, despite your mad ways"

And with that she kissed him with love in her gaze.

 

To all the bad cats, I wish you goodnight.

You can be so naughty but try as we might

Hate and disdain cannot ever live here

We'll love you forever and ever, my dears.
 

Still loveable, despite everything

 

Friday Follies - Fifty and....Fabulous?

Yes it is!

Here I am, on the eve of my 50th birthday.  A half century, mid-life if I'm lucky.  Oh, the horror.

I was told my 30's would bother me.  They didn't.  In fact, my 30's were pretty great.  I was told my 40's would bother me.  They bothered me a tiny bit, but not that much really.  I was told 50's would be a breeze.  Uh, no.  I have not been handling this milestone as well as previous ones.  I should, there is a lot to be happy about, and I have a pretty great life.  But I'm not.

50?  50?  When on earth did this happen?  And how did it happen so quickly.  Sometimes it seems like it's gone by in the blink of an eye, but then sometimes I realise that it's been a long time, and there are bits that have been boarding the departure train of my memory, and I don't like it.

My friends and I used to talk about partying, men and what we might do when we grew up.  Now we talk about menopause. Double ugh.

In the pursuit of trying to make myself feel better, I've come up with some positive thoughts.  Logically, I know there are lots - just tell that to my wrinkles, sagging skin and aching bones.

1.  I'm still alive!  It's simple, but it's a biggie.  I know of lots of people that never made it to this age, and it's way too young to go.  I still have pretty good health, minus some minor but manageable issues.  I don't take it for granted that I'm still around, it's a blessing that many don't have.

2.  The phrase 'I'm too old for that' can come in pretty handy.  From avoiding activities that I actually don't want to do, but would have looked like a pussy for avoiding when I was young, to avoiding BS... it's a useful phrase.





3.  I don't sweat the small stuff as much as I used to.  Of course, the small stuff still gets to me, and I do tend to let it because honestly, it's in my nature, but I can quickly get over it now. Nothing lets you deal with things better than experience and the knowledge that most things don't really matter, and that with time they will blow over like Donald Trump's 'do in the breeze.  Things that seemed so traumatic and important in my youth are barely a blip in my memories now.  If I do remember them, I can see that they didn't really make a difference, or, in fact, were good things in disguise.  This experience has also helps me to pick my battles wisely whereas in the past, I fought way too many of them.

4.  Getting taken advantage of on holidays by people spiking your drinks isn't a big worry.  A few years ago in Thailand we met some young Aussies on the beach.  After chatting for awhile, we found out that most of their group had had their drinks spiked a couple of nights previously.  When your fat and old, the chances of this happening to you are on par with the chances of Russian athletes testing clean on their urine samples.  So relax and enjoy the cocktails.

5.  Nanna naps.  No one looks at me with a funny side-eye when I say I love nanna naps now. In fact it's almost expected that you have them.

6.  You can come to the rescue by whipping out your reading glasses when someone at the table can't read the menu.  And you all agree that they are making the writing smaller and why the heck doesn't someone turn up the lights so you can read the damn thing!

7. I now pay attention to all of the ads for over-50 insurance and discounts. Exclusive age-related groups only seem to apply when you are young or when you are old, not in-between.

8.  I have hit an 'invisible' age.  While this can be annoying when you are trying to get someone's attention at a shop, sometimes it's nice to not be noticed when you are carrying out your daily activities.  This doesn't apply if you have a bit of breakfast on your face or your fly is down.  You are never invisible then.

9.  A kind word is always welcome. I have learned how much a kind word, compliment or thank you can change my day and I try and put that into practice with others.  After all, we are all in this together and there is enough nastiness around us every day.  Why not make the world a better place, even if it's only a little bit.

10.  I become more grateful every year.  As I see bad luck, bad times and bad choices affect others, I realise that I need to be grateful for what I have had, what I have now, and what I will have.  There is ALWAYS something to be grateful for, and I try and acknowledge it every day.

And as they say, when you get older you can celebrate getting your head together....finally.  Sadly, my body has other ideas!

One thing that I have noticed about this milestone in my life is that I seem to have joined a club.  50 has a magical and elite feeling about it, as scary as it is.  So here I come, full speed, arms wide open and with a hesitant smile plastered on my face. Don't let me fall!  60 is just around the corner, and I don't know how I feel about that yet.



Happy Birthday to Me!

A Harvey By Any Other Name

Handsome Harvey Henbanger - Ladies Man

It's been almost a year since the prodigal hen, Electra, came home with her batch of chicks and surprised the heck out of us.  After all, we thought she was dead because we hadn't seen her in weeks.  Her two offspring that we kept are almost a year old, and it's time to revisit Harvey Henbanger's evolution into the very handsome boy that he is.

Baby Harvey - strutting his stuff already.

Harvey was one of two roosters and he quite happily let Uno rule the roost, so to speak, and take the lead.  Harvey was a follower, sweet in disposition and happy to hang back and sneak in a quick rendezvous with the girls at any opportunity.  Life was good for Harvey, all of the benefits with no responsibilities.

Uno had to go as we could only have on rooster, and it was decided that Uno had the potential to be a bit too dominant, and I wasn't going to deal with another aggressive rooster attacking me when my back was turned.  So Uno went to a new home, and Harvey Henbanger became the main man.

As I have written about before here, Harvey had a bit of an uphill climb learning his new role and trying to sort out his place in the universe.

He has turned out to be the most delightful boy, with his kind and gentle personality winning everyone over, even my ever-suffering husband who normally has to deal with unruly and ungrateful roosters.  Everyone that meets him agrees that he is something a bit special - in every sense of the word!

I'm special!

Harvey is now an attentive guard to his flock, constantly watching over them, alert to swooping birds and those pesky airplanes.  The girls now (mostly) listen to him, and look to him if they are concerned.  A good rooster will 'gift' the choicest food morsels to his harem before he partakes and he does this with aplomb.  When I give them their scraps and treats in the morning, despite the fact that there is enough to go around and the girls are already tucking in, he magnanimously places food in front of them. This presentation is highlighted with prolific clucking and chattering and a step back to ensure that they understand it's for them, not him.  Their comfort and happiness is his greatest delight.

But don't let his sweet demeanour fool you, he is still a rooster, and a very randy one at that.  The beginning of spring has brought with it an increased fervour within him, and it seems like he is always on top of one of them, proudly dismounting with a fluff of the feathers and a proud chest.  Some of the girls, sadly mostly his mother and sister, are missing some feathers on their backs and wings due to his attentions.

We have also noticed another interesting trait of his personality that has come to light in recent times.  When one of the girls sings the song of her people and announces the great accomplishment of laying an egg, Harvey Henbanger notices.  He must have something in him that drives him to immediately fertilise the next egg in the pipes, and he takes this task seriously.  He can be up the front of the acreage, hanging out with his girls, scratching for bugs in the garden, and the raucous ringing of the hen's announcement travels on the winds up to his little pointy head.  He grows about a foot taller, puffs out his chest, the wings go back at a rackish angle, and he runs.  He runs long and hard and fast, and nothing is going to stop his quest for fornication.  The hen is still singing loudly and proudly, walking around aimlessly when she sees this black and white bullet bearing down on her with dogged determination.  Some will submit, others will try and make their escape, and there is a flurry of feathers running in circles around the yard, one trying to avoid and one trying to conquer.

At heart, he is still a sweet boy and will often give up.  But the pull of rooster-hood is strong, and sometimes he doesn't care what the hen thinks - he has his mission.  He does it often enough that we now call him Harvey Weinstein as consent doesn't seem to be an issue for him. 

But no matter, the girls seem to have taken to him after many months of disinterest and disrespect.  He has earned their love and worked hard to do so, and is now reaping the rewards. 

We love you Harvey, you crazy rooster.

Harvey's Life Plan.

Friday Follies - Well Excuse Me!

An accurate depiction

Flatulence.  A common 'butt' (excuse the pun) of juvenile jokes, and, I'm afraid, a constant source of entertainment for some.  If you smelt it you dealt it, and silent but deadly are standard phrases used in our childhood (and adulthood for some).
The subject of today's blog was inspired by my recent incidence at the vets with my dog, Chamois.  She's such a lady.  And loud, very loud.

Actor-dog portraying Chamois

We all do it, and some are prouder than others.  Animals don't have any of the inhibitions or hang ups that we do, and embrace their bodily function with aplomb.  I include men in the animals category in this case. 

The word fart was derived from an Old English word 'feortan' ('to break wind') and the word was used in 1632 and defined as 'to send forth wind from the anus'.  There is some knowledge you never knew you needed!  The ancient Japanese even used to hold contests to see who could fluff for the longest and the loudest, so not every culture thought this function as crude as we do today.

Don't do it....



If you do a Google search, you will discover that there are hundreds of website dedicated to interesting fart facts.  Clearly we have an obsession. 

Here are some interesting facts - some you may already know, some may be an interesting surprise to you (like a fart is sometimes!).

1.  You can produce enough farts every day to fill up a balloon, should you so wish.  There is actually a device called a rectal catheter for this exact purpose - to measure that an average person can pass one to four pints of gas in 13-21 farts per day.  Personally, I think my husband is a high achiever, and I'm sure he's proud of it.

2.  Only 1 percent of this amount of gas smells.  I would like to argue this particular fact based on my personal experience of living with two extra-large dogs and a husband, but some scientist spent time studying this, so I'll have to accept it.  Your particular emissions are like a fingerprint and composed of carbon dioxide, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, and the much-maligned methane.  It's pretty common for us to believe that our flatulence is not as odoriferous as everyone else's, but that is only because we become habituated to our own personal perfume. The actual gas that makes the escaped wind smell is hydrogen sulphide.  Researchers have found that sniffing tiny amounts of this gas can reverse mitochondrial damage and help avert strokes, dementia, cancer and heart attacks.  I debated whether I should include this little tidbit or not, as I fear it will be used against me in the future.  If I live to 105 years old, you'll know what happened.

3.  Your fart can exit your body at 10 feet per second.  Yes, someone measured it and was lucky enough to put that in their job description.  I wish my internet was that fast.

Naughty little insects

4.  Termites are the biggest farters on Earth.  And you thought the cows were to blame....

5.  You can continue to fart and belch up to three hours after death and before rigor mortis sets in. 

Please don't try this at home.

6.  You can indeed light a fart on fire.  This fact has kept teenage boys in giggles for many, many years....and the results have entertained hundreds of front-line health care workers.



7.  You cannot hold a fart in until it disappears.  It never disappears, and will usually pop out to say hi at a most inconvenient and embarrassing moment.

And who can resist a funny alternative name for flatulence.  One of my personal favourites is one that was used by a family friend when I was growing up - putterputt.  I like it not only because the word has a kind of poetic rhythm, but sometimes they actually sound like that.  In our house it is also called a bottom-frog or a fluff. 

Who cut the cheese?

Here is a very short list of some of the good ones out there.  I actually hadn't heard of most of these, but quite frankly, I really like a lot of them.   I think it says something when there are more names for farts than there are for love....

30. Cutting the cheese

29. Roaring from the rear

28. Rebuilding the ozone layer

27. The lean mean bean machine

26. Sphincter siren

25. Thunder from down under

24. Fragrant foof

23. Doing the one-cheek sneak

22. Free jacuzzi

21. Nut knocker

20. Saluting my shorts

19. Ringing the Taco Bell

18. Floorboard lifter

17. Firing a stink torpedo

16. Mouse on a motorcycle

15. White Castle's revenge

14. Just calling your name

13. Passing the ass gas

12. Floating an air biscuit

11. Stomping on the barking spider

10. Fartrogen dioxide

9. The cry of the imprisoned turd

8. Pop a fluffy

7. Launching an air loaf

6. Horton hears a poo

5. Anal exhale

4. Vladimir Pootin'

3. Insane in the methane

2. Colon bowlin'

1. Blasting the butt tuba

(sourced from Buzzfeed)

So let them fly, ladies and gentlemen, dogs and cats. It's healthy, natural and good for you.  Just try not to do it next to me please.

I'd have to forgive this cat for making a smell, it's pretty cute.

The Small Things in Life

I have shared my life with all sorts of creatures - large and small.  While my life now is blessed with two extra-large dogs, two very spoiled cats, an assortment of hens and one lovely rooster, I have also had the pleasure of giving homes to many small pets over the years.

I think it all started when Mum and Dad got my brother and I a hamster.  Alison-Ann (named by my brother after a character in a children's book) was our first one, and she was quickly returned to the pet store after popping out a bunch of babies.  Someone had fun in their communal living....

Next was the infamous Peter Brady.  Peter Brady lived a good life for a hamster, and we had fun with him, watching him stuff his cheeks with tasty seeds and nuts, running on his wheel, and rarely biting us.

I love the idea of children getting small pets.  They are usually fairly low maintenance (no walks required, contained area to clean, and fairly easy to feed), teach kids to be gentle and kind, and they also have a short life span.  I know kids get bored of things in 5.2347 seconds but I don't know too many animals that only live that long.  Learning how to deal with the life and death is a skill that everyone needs to learn.

Peter Brady had a funeral and was buried in our yard.  I actually don't remember the specifics of the service, but it would have happened, and I would have cried.

After living for a few years in Australia in the 70's, our return to Canada brought with it a return to having small animals in the home.  My brother had his lovely little hamster Ralph.  Ralph was a lot of fun, and seemed to endure the stalking and staring directed at him from our cat Fred.  Ralph had one of those plastic balls that he could run around in.  These balls were clear plastic and had air holes.  Ralph loved to run around the house in his ball, safe from Fred's claws.  However, we had a split-level house and Ralph was not always supervised as well has he should have been....  It wasn't unusual to hear the bounce-bounce-bounce of Ralph stacking it down the stairs.  If he made it to the bottom without the ball splitting apart, he seemed to recover from his rapid descent and continue on with his exploring.  We also discovered that Ralph's poops fit nicely through the air holes, and he'd leave a trail of little brown nuggets, like breadcrumbs trailing behind Hansel and Gretel.

Those balls were hours of fun for everyone

Poor old Ralph made it to about 2 years old before falling into what we think was a coma and then passing away.  I'd like to think he had a pretty good life and didn't end up too traumatised by us.

Shortly after this, I got my first rabbit, Twitch, and then after her we got Bugsy and Thumper.  They were lovely black and white Dutch rabbits, very affectionate and lots of fun.  A friend of ours built a solid, 2 level rabbit cage with outdoor run, that was ideal housing for our spoiled rabbits.  We insulated it with lots of straw and they happily lived outside. 

Twitch

One bitterly cold November day, I went to feed and water the rabbits, only to be confronted with blood everywhere and Thumper laying out in the run area.  Mum and I scooped her up, and discovered 8 little bald, blind and helpless babies.  As it turns out, the pet store was not very adept at identifying the sex of the rabbits that they sold. We prepared a cage inside to keep them safe and warm.  Bugsy became a bachelor and remained outside.  Two babies died within 24 hours, but the remaining six were healthy and were very mischievous.  The makeshift cage that we had made wasn't rabbit-proof at all, and soon they had free run of the basement.  They were easily trained to use cat litter, but their growing incisors did do a bit of damage to some items, and Mum always had to shake out the laundry before putting it in the washing machine to ensure a little fluffball wasn't scooped up.

Bugsy and four of the babies were rehomed, and we kept Mum and two of the babies.

My cute babies!

All grown up and off to their new homes.

I also had guinea pigs.  I LOVE guinea pigs (or as they were known in our house - pinny-gigs).  If you haven't had the pleasure of cuddling one, they have delightful personalities, from chattering away in a jovial manner to squealing at a very high and loud pitch the minute your feet hit the floor until their food bowl is filled. 

One of my guinea pigs, Rhoda Dent (rodent...get it?!)

One such guinea pig, GP, was gifted to me by my Mum, and we noticed that she was getting quite fat.  I would chase her around the floor to get some exercise.  She often had a rumbly tummy that I could feel moving about under my hand as  I petted her.  Well, wasn't I naïve....she also had a bit of fun in her communal living at the pet store.  I have since discovered that guinea pigs can become pregnant at a very young age, and often. 

Oblivious to her condition, I went to serve her her breakfast one day, and surprise, there were two babies, fully furred and eating solid food.  GP did provide a good learning curve for me - I discovered that guinea pigs are born with their fur and eating solids, unlike the helpless, hairless rabbits that I had dealt with in the past.  One baby was hydrocephalic and died within a day, and the other baby grew up strong and precocious.  He was named Cisco The Pig, and he was given to friend's of the family.  Unfortunately their child ended up being allergic, so Cisco came back to us.  Being a male guinea pig (out of necessity, I had become very good at determining the sex of rabbits and guinea pigs thank you very much), he had to live in a separate cage from his mother.  Even though he wasn't born in the Ozarks, you would think he was with the great affection and attraction that he had for his mother.  There was no way we could ever let them near each other.

When I was in my adult years and living in my condo with Nip and Tuck, I decided that I needed guinea pigs again.  'Rescuing' two from the zoo that I volunteered at, Thelma and Louise joined our household and, remembering that Nip and Tuck were 'ornamental cats', we all got along very well.  They were lots of fun, and their chatter kept me entertained.

Thelma (R) and Louise (L)

While I no longer have any little pets, I have very fond memories and would highly recommend having them in your life.  They may be small, but they have huge hearts and surprisingly large personalities.

Because baby bunnies are adorable