My Cats Are Stoned

My two cats, Anatoly and Amelia, were neutered and spayed today. I've had pets fixed before so I was expecting them to come home pretty droopy and sore. Then I figured they would crash for the rest of the night.

What I didn't realize was that apparently the vet uses crack as a pain killer.

The kittens arrived home and Anatoly zipped out of his crate and raced around the room, purring maniacally.

I've never had my genitals snipped so I guess I can't judge, but I don't think the first thing I would do upon arriving home would be to leap from the floor to the bed to the floor to the bedside table to the chair to the back of the chair and finally to the bookcase where I most definitely wouldn't knock my pain medication and deodorant to the floor in my purring ecstasy.

Amelia's response was much more what I expected. She dragged her poor, tubby little body out of the crate and took refuge under my bed. When I tried to pull her out to put her on the nice blanket I laid down for her she growled at me. She's never growled at me before.

But like I said, I can't judge.

I left them locked in the room for a while until I heard a crash so I ran back and discovered that Anatoly had somehow knocked over both cat crates and, once again, his medicine and my deodorant.

I reached down to pet him and see if he was ok and he started writhing under my hand, purring and purring. And then he looked up at me and his eyes were HUGE and fully dilated, even though all the lights were on. I gave him food and he seemed happier, at least he hasn't spewed all over the floor yet.

Finally I came in here to use my computer and make sure he didn't kill himself and he started BOUNCING up and down. He jumped halfway up the chair, halfway up the bed, halfway up me, and he just did these weird little crack kitty hops all over the room. I peeked under the bed and Amelia was staring into space with these big red circles around her eyes, totally stoned.

I thought "maybe his pain medicine will calm him down!" But no, he just freaked out and insisted on being let out of the room. I let him until he started bounding around the living room. Then I locked him in my room and it was like he had just arrived again.

My attempt to translate his behavior:

"Holy crap! I don't know what they gave me at the vet but I feel GREAT. Is that a chair? A CHAIR?! I've got climb up this chair...oh my gosh! Is that the floor? THE FREAKIN FLOOR??? I HAVE to be on the floor! Ouch, that hurt, why do I hurt there? Wait they didn't-OMGOSH THOSE ORANGE PILL BOTTLES LOOK LIKE THE BEST THINGS EVER!!!!"

Then I pet him and he starts spazzing again:

"TO THE WINDOW! TO THE WALL! TILL THE SWEAT DRIPS DOWN MY-something's wrong here..."

I locked him in his crate so Amelia could eat and the whole time he was in there he ran around in circles. Since that crate is too small to actually run around in circles in he just wound up rubbing all the walls in turn and banging his head repeatedly into the door. But I could tell what he was getting at.

He wolfed down more food and then rolled around on my keyboard (and opened 50 Internet Explorer browser windows, I don't even use Explorer) and he has FINALLY passed out. His head is on the keyboard and every time I bump him to hit "t" his ears twitch.

ttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt....

Just kidding, he moved. That would have been mean. Now he's blocking...well he's blocking that letter between "P" and "R" in the alphabet. I can't hit the actual button you see.

Q! He stretched! Yay!

He doesn't look like he's on crack, but trust me, he is. He's just finally crashed.


And this poor baby:



These are her red circles. They're normally completely white so you can see how stoned she is:



And on a completely different note, this is my crazy burn I got from the wood stove. Don't touch fire! It hurt so bad, and I was babysitting so I couldn't even swear like I wanted to.



Hopefully my poor kitties will continue to be good (the vet says they were SUPER good and friendly, suck it other cats!) and they won't lick their sutures and such because then I'll have to cone them and I think somehow a cat on crack in a cone would be more sad than funny.

We should try it on a person. :D

Have You Ever Snorted Worms Through Your Gills?

Unless you are some highly evolved, computer-using, ocean dweller then I doubt it.

This an axolotl:


They are a type of salamander that grows into adulthood without ever leaving the larval stage, this type of development is called neoteny, and because of this axolotls have gills instead of lungs. When they're pets you keep them in tanks filled with rather cold water.

I was at OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science and Industry) volunteering in the life science lab and feeding the axolotls their lunch of earthworms, which I didn't find appetizing but the axolotls were enjoying them.

Except for one axolotl. Lets call him Bob.

Bob snatched his earthworm and gulped it down whole, like a proper axolotl. A little family was watching me and their daughter asked me:

"Do they chew the worms when they eat them?"

"I'm not sure," I replied, when Bob dramatically answered her question. The worm he had so recently swallowed was bravely making an escape through one of his gills and was trailing behind him like a fleshy windsock.

If you have ever snorted milk or soda or an invertebrate through your nose then you can empathize with Bob's discomfort. He began thrashing and rolling in the water (the axolotl equivalent of hacking and spluttering I'm guessing) and furiously clawing at his gills. I was going to let him deal with it but then I was bombarded by the two little girls watching me:

"Oh wow! Poor axolotl! Is he hurting? What happened to his worm? How is he going to eat it? What if he chokes? What if it kills him? How are you going to get it out?" Their queries alternated between alarm and eagerness. They were feeling sympathy towards Bob but they were obviously thrilled that they were going to witness my axolotl Heimlich maneuver, or perhaps some variation thereof. Obviously I had extensive training in axolotl rescue maneuvers or I wouldn't be wearing the red vest and sticking my hand in the tank now would I?

I turned back to Bob and his now stoic suffering and my only idea was to reach in and pull the worm out of his gill. Bob wasn't thrilled about the giant hand descending on him trying to grab his worm. And the still-living (they're impossible to kill) earthworm wasn't eager to be yanked out of anything. My two helpers in the back were undaunted by my lack of success and appropriately cheered and groaned whenever my hand touched and missed the worm.

I finally decided that maybe I should grab Bob and then pull out the still-firmly lodged worm. But Bob's answer to this tactic was to hide under a rock. This confirmed my original hypothesis that he didn't want or need my assistance. I decided to leave him alone. I clearly wasn't helping and surely there was some animal instinct for when you have food lodged in an orifice? I wasn't too worried. I pulled my hand out and, turning to reassure my cheerleaders, was confronted with about 15 people who had been witnessing this little drama. All very intrigued in my pathetic attempts at catching the salamander.

I had planned on saying something like "dang it he's hiding under the rock, I'll just try later," but the expectant crowd obviously wanted a more conclusive ending to the show. Maybe they thought it was some type of demonstration? Something like:

2:00, Rat Mazes
2:15, Snake Feeding
2:30, Catching a Slimy Axolotl and Pulling an Equally Slimy Earthworm Out of Its Gill While Hand is Immersed in Numbingly Cold Water

At any rate, I needed to sound scientific, or at the very least like I knew what I was doing and had developed some stratagem while flailing around in the tank. (In actuality I had been wondering how much of the worm was lodged in Bob's throat and if the worm was at all conscious of being partially digested, yet almost free. But these thoughts didn't seem appropriate for the mixed crowd before me. Besides, I hadn't been planning on discussing the emotional well-being of earthworms so I just bypassed the whole subject.)

I smiled at the crowd, "Well he still has the worm in there but the best course of action is really to just let him work this out on his own."

If that's true why was my hand numb and dripping? I can only assume it was peer pressure. I resisted my first impulse, wiping my hand on my vest, in order to appear professional. Most of the adults must have realized I was NOT an expert in axolotl first-aid procedures, but some of the kids obviously regarded me as a true biologist so I tried to fit the role. I continued to nod sagely while trying to think of some fact about axolotls that would cement my authority on the subject. Sadly nothing came to mind.

"Will the axolotl be OK?" My helpers asked.

"Oh he'll be fine. Animals are usually best left to their own devices anyway." I fake-chuckled and all the adults chuckled knowingly with me. After all, they knew about animals, they were adults. The kids all nodded seriously and informed each other that animals are best left to their own devices and assured their parents that the axolotl would be fine.

I picked up my worm dish and strode confidently through the crowd to the back office. I was a biologist after all. I calmly encountered animal conundrums on a daily basis. Or at least that was the aura I was trying to create.

Bob did eventually get the worm worked out. I know this because I checked on him about 20 times. Despite the fact that I KNOW animals really are capable of solving their own problems, and I really do think hands-off is the best policy, I was panicked that I would find Bob floating like a dead goldfish at the top of the tank, asphyxiated by my lack of care and his own freedom-loving, over-zealous lunch.

Making Peanut Butter Frosting

My sister, Katie, and I were making peanut butter frosting tonight (well she was making, I was watching) and almost at the end she tasted it:

Me: How does it taste?
Katie: Mmm...salty (continues to pour milk into peanut butter frosting).
Me: Salty?
Katie: Yeah.
Me: How is it salty?
Katie: Well...
Kim: There's no salt in this recipe or in that peanut butter, how does it taste...What did you put in it?
Katie: Umm...Sugar?

(we both pause, hysterical laughter ensues)

Katie has now stolen my kitchen Sharpie and labeled all her jars. This is, I think, long overdo because about two weeks ago her husband Edward flavored a fruit smoothie with baking powder and my niece cried when she tasted it.

I have adopted a firm "don't use any white substance in a jar" stance just to be safe.

We're Closed. GO HOME.

Late at night, I'm still at work

I'm trying not to be a jerk.

But there's still people in the store

So I can't leave and work the floor.

(Which means I have to stay quite late.)

I look at them and start to hate,

their humdrum life which made them say:

"I think I'll go to Kohl's today!"



And so they leave at 10 o'clock,

and then they shop and shop and shop.

And when we announce "we're closed!"

They say "Let me buy my clothes!"

And then it's "Let me pay my bill!"

"Honor my coupon, I know you will!"

Finally, at last we're free!

One comes back, "I have to pee!"

Another, hiding in the back

Is tearing up the discount rack.

They've thrown it all upon the floor,

They've stolen some and then what's more:



They tell me that the store's all wrong,

All the lines are much too long.

The mirrors are in a rotten place,

They never saw a friendly face.

All our stuff is foreign made,

The make-up isn't just their shade.

The ornament they've hauled around

Has fallen, broken on the ground.

The signs are all too hard to read,

The clearance isn't what they need.

The shopping carts all were gone,

Or were too small, or big, or long.



I smile and think "if that's so true,"

"Then what the @#$% is wrong with you?"

No one forced you through our door

And if you asked I'm pretty sure

That every worker in this place

Would gladly tell you to your face

That you can kindly go to hell

And take your kids and dog as well.

Are They Evil?

There is a force of evil in the world, not some great unseen force but a very real and deadly evil. Unfortunately many will never see this evil coming because they have been blinded by tactics used against them. So successful are these tactics that people are completely unaware of this evil that they pet, cuddle, give to their children, and even allow in their homes. It will be too late when people realize what I’ve been saying all along: rabbits are evil.

“No they’re not!” you cry indignantly. “How could rabbits be evil? They’re so cute!” Cuteness is perhaps their most powerful weapon against humanity. How easily humans are taken in by something that is cute! It is our biggest weakness and rabbits know this. In the animal world, cuteness is not for our benefit but for our destruction. In a list of “Deceptively Dangerous Animals” we can see the reality of cute and innocent creatures such as: the duck-billed platypus (the males are venomous), Siberian chipmunks (they carry disease), chimpanzees (in one incident a chimp ripped off someone’s eyelids, lips, and hands), bottlenose dolphins (very intelligent and surprisingly violent), and ranking number one are swans. This symbol of love and beauty has been known to attack humans and will often attack from above, forcing their victim underwater (“Deceptively”). We can see that cuteness has nothing to do with the nature of an animal. If anything, the fact that rabbits are cute only contributes to their deadliness.

“But rabbits make such wonderful pets!” You argue. With this I have to disagree. When I was young, my family adopted an abandoned rabbit who we named Abby. We all loved Abby and decided to let her be a house bunny, having free run of the house. Abby quickly and completely won my family over. While I was determined that Abby and I would be special friends Abby had determined that I was her first target. Abby would sit and glare at me, or completely ignore me. She became more purposeful in the way she moved about the house and finally one day she put her plan into action. Every single time I sat down on the couch she would hop up, squeeze in behind me, and head butt me until I slid onto the floor. It was funny to my family but I realized there was more at stake than a quirky pet. Abby must have realized I knew this because she disappeared soon after. Was she really eaten by a hawk like my Dad claimed? Or had she realized her cover was blown and taken off? Clearly she had an agenda and she was determined to remove me from the house. Rabbits are certainly not an ideal pet.

“Rabbits never attack people,” you insist. I beg to differ. Perhaps the most damning evidence of a rabbit’s true nature is the attack orchestrated against President Jimmy Carter in 1979. President Carter was fishing on April 20th, supposedly safe in his hometown of Plains, Georgia; but during that expedition a fearsome rabbit swam up to his boat. The rabbit didn’t achieve its goal (unless its goal was to make Jimmy Carter flail around with a paddle) but Carter’s press secretary, Jody Powell, said, “what was obvious…was that this large wet animal, making strange hissing noises and gnashing its teeth, was intent upon climbing into the presidential boat” (qtd. in “Jimmy Carter”). Evidently rabbits do attack people and are prepared for land and water strikes. Are we prepared to defend ourselves? Sadly we are not.

It’s plain to see that rabbits aren’t perfect but are they truly evil? In the Random House dictionary evil is defined as “morally wrong or bad; immoral; wicked.” Evil can also be something that is “harmful [or] injurious” (“Evil”). Using this definition most people would agree that Satan is evil. This doesn’t require a belief in God or even in the person Satan, just in the idea. Satan is “the chief evil spirit; the great adversary of humanity; the devil” (“Satan”). The Online Etymology Dictionary tells us that the Greek name for Satan is Beelzebub. In Hebrew it is Baalzebub, the god of Ekron. Two possible translations of this are “the lord of flies” or interestingly “the lord of dung” (“Beelzebub”). Rabbits and some rodents are unique in that they produce nutritive dung called cecotropes which they ingest from the anus (Logsdon). Pellets that they don’t ingest unfortunately look like tiny little chocolates and I have seen more than one child consume this “candy.”

Adolf Hitler is generally accepted as an evil person. He definitely fits the definition above and, not surprisingly, rabbits are very similar to Hitler. First of all Hitler believed in a pure race, and in propagating that race. Rabbits are fairly proficient at the expansion of their race. In fact, a rabbit mates as early as 3 months old, their gestation period is only 31 days and they can birth anywhere from 4 to 12 kits. If a doe has 4 litters a year of 5 kits each then that’s 20 new rabbits per doe every year. If you keep doing the math the numbers would be staggering. Hitler was also known for installing population controls and rabbits have similar measures to prevent the population from surpassing its food source. Hitler’s population controls, although very unpopular, probably weren’t disliked as much as a rabbit’s would be. Humans will tolerate many things but most draw the line at eating their own young.

No matter what your opinion of the rabbit is, clearly they are a species to be reckoned with. Think of the rabbits you know: the White Rabbit, the Easter Bunny, or maybe the Rabbit of Caerbannog of Monty Python fame (“Rabbit”). Really look at them to find their sinister undertones. Do they lead little girls into danger and darkness? Do they come from pagan traditions to take over holidays? Do they attack and decapitate you with the slightest provocation? All of this is important to consider when judging the evilness of rabbits. However, judge quickly or else they might just be sneaking up behind you, ready to knock you off the couch.



Works Cited

“10 Deceptively Dangerous Animals.” It’s Nature. N.p., n.d. Web. 09 June 2010.

Andrews, Connie. “Rabbit Fact Sheet.” Hopper Home. N.p. Jan. 2005. Web. 09 June 2010.

“Beelzebub.” Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, Historian. Web. 01 June 2010.

“Evil.” Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. 01 June 2010.

Logsdon, Alexandra and Anne McDowell. “Feeding Your Pet Bunny for a Long Healthy Life.” My Bunny. N.s., n.d. Web. 09 June 2010.

“Jimmy Carter Rabbit Incident.” Wikipedia. Wikimedia, 03 May 2010. Web. 01 June 2010.

“Rabbit of Caerbannog.” Wikipedia. Wikimedia, 01 June 2010. Web. 01 June 2010.

“Satan.” Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. 01 June 2010.

The Pioneers...

So lately I've been thinking about pioneers. And more specifically, how many pairs of socks and how much underwear did the pioneers have? I know in the little house on the prairie books the girls usually only had two to three dresses, an everyday dress and a Sunday dress, and maybe another one. But it never mentions how many socks they have, I'm assuming not very many.

Now to find out how I got to this point we have to follow my train of thought back a little further, all the way to my childhood in fact. When I was younger my parents used to drive me nuts by saying "Well that's the way the pioneers did it!" Everytime I whined about something they would connect it to the pioneers, it drove me insane. I'm not sure why it bugged me so much, except maybe that was the time when my parents were going through this really dumb phase. It was so strange, from the time I was 15 until I turned about 17 my parents were just idiots. Then they kind of grew out of it and now they actually know quite a bit. Really intriguing, but I think maybe everybody's parents go through that, it's just a part of life.

But I digress. In short, now in my life I am constantly making random connections to the pioneers and wondering how THEY did things.

The sock connection occurred because I have one pair of black shoes that I can wear to work, and I have four pairs of black socks I like to wear with them. I dislike doing laundry and so I don't do it until I run out of underwear (note: I have a lot more underwear than socks). I had worn my last pair of socks the previous day and now I faced a dilemma, wear my thin, black, gross, awkward ankle socks that make the shoes horribly uncomfortable? Or wear my previously worn socks?

Well how did the pioneers do it?

They obviously didn't have a great many socks. Clearly it was acceptable for them to wear socks repeatedly. And if it was acceptable then, why not now? So I wore my socks...for three consecutive days because I still have underwear left in my drawer and so have not done laundry. Perhaps others would just wear the socks without a fuss (or do their laundry before it retains the shape of the hamper when you dump it out). I prefer to be proudly justified in my dirty socks: This is how the pioneers did it.