How to kill a MAC cord and other bizarre happenings

I killed my cord last week and was hoping that it would magically come back to life, but NO.  It survived a bunny chewing.  It lived through wreckless use by teenagers.  And it DIED in my yogurt, when I dropped the computer end of it in a bowl of yogurt while it was plugged into the wall.  It’s a good thing my yogurt wasn’t electrified and didn’t come back to life as a cow.

My idiot daughter cut the screen out of her bedroom window and continues to tell me that someone else did it and she doesn’t know what happened, even when I took two knives off the inside of her windowsill.  But that isn’t the most ridiculous part.  The insanity of it all is that our cat, Lola the tiny Siamese, jumped out and a woman two houses down the street (not 75 feet away!) found her in her driveway and took her inside!  Then she took her to the animal shelter after a few hours.  Which was closed.  A $20 fine for staying overnight, a required rabies shot, and a dog catcher who said he’ll let my daughter off this time as far as a city fine (I sent her to get the cat).  I found out that cats are not allowed to be outside in this town except on their owner’s property or they can be picked up by the dog catcher as an “animal at large.”

Sec. 4-6. Animals at large.

Any animal off the premises of the owner, and not under the control of and on

leash held by the owner or a member of the owner’s immediate family or other

authorized person, or temporarily tethered by leash in an area open to the public.

No where does it say that a neighbor can pick up your cat and take it in.  She wasn’t starving.  It wasn’t 20 below.  We all walked around calling her, while she was inside the neighbor’s house!

GAH.

And then there was the confession by the child about how every time she eats Airhead Xtremes she shits green.  So I shared with her that I get the same effect from Fruit Loops.  And then I realized how often we talk about bodily functions.  All the time.

Another beautiful moment in the everyday life of ME. Why I never put tinsel on a Christmas tree.

This is a post about that cat I found in the closet, Marley, who has cost me for neutering and another $200 when he decided to pee all over the house because he had an infection and was peeing blood and then they couldn’t get a urine sample no matter how much they squeezed him so they kept him overnight and cost me a fortune.

I was sitting on the couch yesterday with Nick, while Nick was so nicely rubbing my poor aching, swollen feet.  Marley was sitting behind my head and THWAP THWAP THWAP hitting me with his tail.  Something he doesn’t usually do.  I thought nothing of it until he jumped down and did a weird little Marley dance around the living room, coming back to jump up on Nick’s lap and across to mine, sticking his ass in my face so that I would notice the sickly yellowish-greenish foot long string hanging out of his ass.

My first thought was:

Wow, that can’t be comfortable.

My second thought was:

Who would eat a string?

Followed by a third thought that motivated some action:

I have pulled enough Christmas tinsel out of cats’ asses in this lifetime.  This is not my job anymore.

So I called Emily over and told her to take the cat and his string in to Haley who was still asleep in bed, although I’m sure the rest of us had been up half a day already.  An interesting new way to get her out of bed.  Here’s your cat.  Here’s his ass.  Do something.

Amazingly she came out and took him into the bathroom.  I found myself yelling from the living room:

I’ve pulled enough tinsel out of cats’ asses in my lifetime.  This is why there isn’t any tinsel on the Christmas Tree

Only afterward did I wonder if Nick every thought he’d hear me yell that when he kindly agreed to marry me.

He probably didn’t predict the conversation that occurred after Haley had handled things either.

Did the string start out that color or was it once white?

Did Marley make string out of all the ends of Qtips he eats?

How full of cotton is he?

Is that look on his face from being violated?

 

 

I suppose when a teenager asks how I am I shouldn’t answer with TIRED, NAUSEOUS, GASSY.  Just being honest.

I finally let the news out at work so I can walk around with my pants unbuttoned and complain about being tired, although neither of those is new things, but at least I have an excuse now.  It’s funny, or not, that most of the time when someone comes to me to say they’ve heard they immediately ask how old I am.  I’ll be 41 next month.  I’m a dinosaur.

I feel pudgy, but the scale says I’ve gained one-tenth of a pound, and that might just be the kitkat I had for breakfast, BECAUSE I CAN.

And now for the cute picture of the day.  The closet cat and the bunny that no one plays with anymore:

I never thought the day would come when I’d be cleaning BUNNY POOP from a PUPPET’S FACE.

I don’t think that was in the contract I signed when I agreed to be a parent.  I was groggy and not really thinking at the time, but I think it said something about lots of cute baby laughter and adoring helpful teenagers.  Okay, maybe I was high and drunk and sleep deprived.  I missed the small print that talked about standing barefoot in an inch of toilet water, cleaning jelly off my keyboard, and saving puppets from being marked by the pets.

That rabbit must really hate Sunny, the puppet.  I’m sure she smells like Gina and everyone else in the house.  So the bunny must have thought that pissing on her nose would make Gina forget all about Sunny and cause Gina to only think about the bunny and how wonderful she is.

Instead Gina abandoned the bunny and moved her into the kitchen and said “I don’t want the bunny anymore, MOM.”

Well, I’m sure Gina has peed on things that belong to me too.  My bed.  My clothes.  My husband.  And she’s still here, isn’t she.

The Tragic Tale of the Worst Day Ever in the Life of a Mouse, How to feed a Boa Constrictor a Frozen Mouse, and Why I ran Screaming Into the House this Morning and I still Can’t Talk About it OUTLOUD

First let me introduce you to Monty, the boa constrictor, who is staying at our house until school starts.

No, wait, wrong picture!  That’s Haley’s boyfriend.  Who creeps me out almost as much as Monty. (JK, you know you’re okay in my book.)

No, that bug-eyed thing is not Monty either.  That’s my husband, who also creeps me out when he does that.

That’s Monty.  And that look on my face isn’t enjoyment.  It’s WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HOLDING THIS REPTILE?

So here’s the story of horror, stickiness, and hairdrying mice.

We left Monty for two weeks to go on vacation and when we got back he hadn’t eaten for 3 weeks and had been refusing frozen mice heated in a cup of hot water.  (The science teacher gave us frozen mice.  I didn’t do it.)

So I tried something different and heated a mouse in a ziplock baggy in the sink, to keep it dry.  Then once it was soft I used a hair dryer on high to fluff up its fur, smooth out its whiskers, and give it that primped attractive mousey look that the boa loved because after being whapped in the face a few times he grabbed it and ate it feet first.  The worst moment of this scene that even I couldn’t step away from was watching the mouse’s little head slowly disappear into the snake’s mouth.

Now here’s the real tragedy:

Nick saw a mouse run across the back patio last night and set out spider traps, that sticky tape that I was got trapped in with both feet and Nick saved my life.  This morning he looked out and saw that he had caught the mouse.  So Haley and I ran back there with tongs and a ziplock bag to carry it in.  She tried to grab it by its tail, but it peed bright yellow scared shitless pee. I was holding the paper down with a garden tool.  She couldn’t get the tale unstuck.  The mouse was lying on its side completely stuck to the paper and I had to help scrape it off with a trowel.  We finally got the tail loose and she grabbed that with the tongs while I continued to scrape it off the paper.  We got as far as the front left foot which was stuck bent backwards, and his little face which I tried to pry off, but when he started bleeding we both screamed and ran away.

I don’t want to know how Nick got him off, but he brought him in and dropped him into the snake’s cage.

Monty immediately grabbed him and strangled him until his eyes were bugging out, much like Nick’s in the picture above.  Then the little mouse stopped breathing and Monty ate him head first.

Yes, those are his little mouse feet sticking out.  I’ll bet he never thought when he woke up in our garage this morning that this was going to happen to him today.

My kitten is broken. (By Guest Author, Alex Baldwin)

I loved my new kitten.  She chased me and I chased her back.  I bit her toes when she slept in my cardboard box, until she moved.  I grabbed her fur with my claws, but she couldn’t grab me back because she has no front claws.  Perfect!

But then she started making weird yowling noises and sticking her butt in the air.  Like I want to see that!  I try to distract her by biting her face but she just raises her butt higher.  She won’t play anymore.  I chase her and she stops and gives me the butt wave.   She wants something, but I don’t know what it is.  I tell her she has a nice behind and all she does is roll on the floor and beg some more.  Day and night, I can’t sleep through all the noise.

They said this wouldn’t happen.  That she was spayed, whatever that is.  It think it has something to do with going to the vet, like I did that horrible day they stole my balls.  I went back to my nice biting clawing self afterward, and Lola seemed fine until now.  My kitten is broken.  She’s been replaced by a nasty, exhibitionistic, noisy streetwalker.