Apr 26, 2013
I recently had to explain to my seven year-old why I was shooing the kitty away from the house and away from the girl kitty who was acting kinda funny. We were having a birds, the bees, and kitties talk in which we discussed how boy kitties have spikes on the end of their winkles to ensure their parenthood possibilities.
My poor son will never be able to shake the images of that conversation. Good. He did understand there’s a biological imperative for species survival. They don’t even realize they are programmed to continue their existence. People too. And our job is to ruin their job when propagation is a bad thing.
If left up to their funny business, this is how cats would multiply and procreate. One mommy kitty can have three kittens three times a year. So she can potentially spawn 9 kittens per year. Second year and you multiply those 9 kitties by three and three again and now you have 81 kittens. And by the third year, 775 cats in your backyard howling and spraying.
So we treated our girl kitty to a cab ride to the clinic and unkittened her. Because I feel that if you’re going to feed them, then you need to make sure there will be no other mouths to feed later.
We’re just lucky enough to have an old country vet down the road who’ll take their crazy furry butts out of the trap and fix ‘em up. My husband and I live near a river and this is a highway for all animals. We have taken care of at least 50 cats in one way or another in the past 12 years. And, although it’s been heart wrenching at times, it’s also the least we can do.
One week ago, we lost our Butthead to a surprise case of cancer. And although we got him from the streets of Denton, actually in a parking lot, that is no place for kittens. So please do an extra good responsible action toward an animal and spay or neuter or call the local authorities to humanely and compassionately end or deter future suffering of any animals. Our bigger brains suggest we are smarter. Right practices of any sort are a choice.
Apr 25, 2013
Here on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, when we say we’re going over the bridge, it usually means a 45 minute drive west over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge into Annapolis, MD and destinations beyond. A grand adventure since the big cities beyond, Baltimore or Wash DC, are way more exciting than out little rural town of Denton.
But when I said to my husband, “I’m going over the bridge for lunch” last Thursday, I meant I was strolling over our town’s bridge over the Choptank River to the West side to lunch with the lovely Christina.
She works for the Caroline County Office of Tourism which is on the water on River Landing Road in a restored waterfront warehouse called the Choptank River Heritage Center. That darkness above me is the bridge.
And so over the river I strolled with Fiona on a lovely spring day.
We sat inside the center at a table clad in a happy blue tablecloth that Christina had set for our lunch of grilled chicken, a green salad with Gorgonzola cheese, and a orzo salad. And we enjoyed the view of the boats going by.
I was so lucky to have my special waterside picnic lunch prepared by this beautiful lady who held my baby and spoke to her so sweetly.
And then we rolled back over the bridge and I marveled at all the little spring weed flowers, flowering trees, and finale-ing forsythia.
I send my utmost gratitude to Ms. Christina who is soon enough to be a Mrs..
PS. And I’ve got my eyes on that Heritage Center to use for some special events. I know a guy who can fabulously light an evening cocktail soiree on the water.
Apr 23, 2013
Newborns are like zombies. Maybe it’s me missing those last Walking Dead episodes. But there are some uncanny similarities.
No one mentions this but those weird dark eyes we are born with are kinda creepy. Have you seen the opening montage for the Walking Dead and that sudden shot of the black eyeball twitching about? Aha.
Secondly, she’s trying to eat me alive. Albeit with the cutest little bowed lips and hopeful gulping sounds. But eating alive is eating alive.
And then there’s those weird jerking movements. You know the lurching and twitching and flailing that zombies do even if they are missing a torso. The spastic movements of a newborn are eerily similar.
The insatiable need for you is last on the zombie-alike list. Their hunger to have you satisfy their continued existence. Husband said she was like a vampire, sucking on his neck and staying up at night and we called her Fionicula at first. But zombies have an undying need for you too. The need for your brains.
Willingly and happily we invite zombie babies to come live with us. And they do and then proceed to eat our brains, one sane brain cell at a time, for the rest of our lives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.