Calling Coyotes by Cross-Country Communication in all Counties

Thursday, July 28, 2005

All of the weekdays I came in and worked 8 hours. Did I ever not come in?
Do you get full value on your service? I want full value on my fucking paycheck.

I will dig a hole
Save my pennies for a rainy day
I will dig a hole
Saving pennies for a rainy day

I'm not scared

I will build a wall
Sensing trouble from a mile away
I will build a wall
Saw it coming from a mile away

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Carnival of the Cats #70 is up at L'Oubliette.
The Great Blue Hunter Is No More

My grandmother's cat, Mitzi, died a week ago.

Mitzi was friendly and aloof, confident and arrogant, distant and close. From when she was adopted into my grandmother's home after life on the streets of a small town, to her unavoidably too soon death at the age of 16, she was a cat that provided companionship to people, disliked other cats, and lived for the hunt. Perhaps her imperious nature, which combined with her almost flawless Russian Blue pedigree led to her nickname, "The Tsarina Mitzi," was responsible for her complete ease in the presence of any people, while also resulting in her condescending and disliking attitude towards other cats. Or maybe that was the result of her formative experiences when she was first brought to my grandmother's house.

There she met Angie, an aging cat that was both similar and different from Mitzi, in having equal dislike for people and cats. Mitzi outlived Angie, and also Gigi, a female cat that was adopted when she was not much older than a kitten. Gigi was treated with distaste by Mitzi, but was a joy to people with his youthful playfulness and friendly demeanor. Sadly, Gigi met a tragically early and random end. But Mitzi's life went on, and for a long time she lived without any other cats. It was during this time that the day of events occurred that made Mitzi's hunting legendary.

It was a summer day, and Mitzi was found in the morning to be stalking and playing with a "hop-toad" in the field behind her home. The hop-toad was rescued before Mitzi could, hypothetically, eat or kill it. Around noon that day, my family returned home to find Mitzi standing near the driveway with part of a 2-foot long green garden snake in her mouth, and the rest of it wrapped around her neck. That was, and still is, the only time I have ever seen a snake in the area of my grandmother's home. The snake was also rescued, and slithered away to hide in some bushes. Late in the afternoon, the penultimate event happened. Mitzi was seen from an enclosed porch to be walking up the lawn out of the woods while holding something in her mouth. As she came closer, I could see that it was a baby rabbit, about half a foot long. My brother's and I ran outside to try to save the rabbit. Seeing us running towards her, Mitzi dropped the rabbit and hid under a nearby tree. For half a minute, the rabbit lay on the ground feigning death. Then it got up and made what was indisputably the biggest mistake of its short life: it ran under the tree where Mitzi was biding her time. That day is the reason I believe that with Mitzi's death, the world has lost a feline hunter par excellence.

Mitzi is survived by three cats; JD, a cat that once belonged to my family, and two kittens that were adopted a few weeks before her death to give JD feline companionship Mitzi was loath to provide. In disgust at the presence of so many other cats in the household, in the last weeks of her life she disappeared for days on end three times, probably living off of her great hunting skill. The final time she returned, she must have known she would not live much longer, and in the final days of her life she returned home; not for food, which she was too sick too eat, but for the companionship of the people who cared for her. At the very end, she was purring.

What can be said about a cat that hated other cats, lived for the hunt, and enjoyed the company of people? That it lived a long life that was not long enough for the people that cared for it, but the lives of our pets never are. That it was a companion, a friend, just like millions of other departed pets. No, what made Mitzi unique, what made her special, was that in spite of her dislike of other cats, despite spending most of her life living in a house with other cats, despite her personal dislike of three of those cats, she was generally a happy cat, and despite her arrogant nature, she liked people. Mitzi wasn't a perfect cat, but she was a good one, despite her flaws. Perfect cats, if they exist, are not as special as the good ones, because it is their flaws, their "felinity," that makes a cat special, and it is how they work their ways into our heart even with their flaws, that endears them to us, and makes their loss so piercing.

Goodbye Mitzi.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

This Day in Canadian History

The "Gimli Glider".

Canadians are great. They're government and health-care system may be completely fucked, but only in Canada could something like this happen, and it would end up as a case of SNAFU.

Sunday, July 17, 2005


Laurence Simon has been thinking about how to maximize ease of grilling.

I moved the grill from the far end of the patio to just outside the living room sliding glass door.

I keep telling myself it is so I can grill when it rains and it makes dumping the ashes into the ash bucket easier, but the truth is I don't want to have to walk the extra twenty or so feet back and forth.

Some smoke comes in through the open door when I cook there.

Everything in life is a trade-off.


I used bamboo skewers this time.

Coconut milk, ginger, shallots, chili powder, oil, peanut butter... makes an excellent messy glaze.

I burned my thumb.

My corn popped out of the holder as I was flipping it, and the whole place filled with smoke because I had moved the grill close to the door.

The grill's back in its old location. And it's staying there.

Now pass the aloe vera.

I think he's still in the trial and error phase.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

In the Mail

Paul Anka's cover album, Rock Swings.

Paul Anka slices like a fucking hammer.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

The Big Capsize

Laurence Simon's cat, Edloe, died. Go pay the furry grumpus your respects.