Wednesday afternoon I was sitting at my desk, working, when Roan came running up stairs completely hysterical. “Eric! Eric! Eric! Oh my god..! Eric! Oh my god… check this out… I found a four leaf clover!”, I stopped working immediately (obviously, it’s a fucking four leaf clover yo!) and snapped the above photo for him. He then told me he didn’t know four leaf clovers were real, because people say six leaf clovers aren’t real (two things: I have never heard anyone say anything about a six leaf clover ever, and how does that even relate to a four leaf clover?). I then asked where he found it, and I got the whole story. “Cameron said we should look for four leaf clovers, so we found a patch of them, and the first one I picked had four leaves, and I was like – holy crap! That’s awesome.. It’s just so cool.”. I told him he’s supposed to have good luck, but I might have been wrong…
The four-leaf clover is an uncommon variation of the common, three-leaved clover. According to tradition, such leaves bring good luck to their finders, especially if found accidentally.
Apparently if you’re clover hunting the results may vary from someone who just stumbles upon one. I normally would dismiss all of this as superstition, but it would appear there might be some truth (not likely, but just pretend) to it all. The very next day, our luck was far from good. Then this morning Roan woke up to find a slaughtered mouse in the middle of his new rug.
Hopefully his trip to Medieval Times today goes off without a hitch. I personally know just how rotten of a time one can have at that place when cursed with bad luck.
For the record, clovers can have more than four leaves: the most ever recorded is 56, discovered by Shigeo Obara of Hanamaki, Iwate, Japan on 10 May 2009. Thanks Wikipedia.
These two are always doing something. It’s usually something cute, and often something loud, but it is always something stupid. Individually they are quite stupid, but combining their intellects is a bit like multiplying a negative by a negative and somehow ending up with a negative. I suppose, however, that I may be misinterpreting brain-dead exploration with some sort of super genius. After all, they were both only recently sprung from jail. They could be honing their escape skills, or subjecting themselves to cell like conditions to train their minds to cope with captivity in the event of being recaptured before completing their mission.
Our friend Lesley set up an appointment for us last night with her friend who does pet grooming. I wanted to get Mr. Squirrel the “lion” hairdo because I think it looks super cute and figured I might as well add another layer to her identity issues. She was very quiet in the car on the ride to and from the groomers, and sat still for quite a while before starting to squirm. Even when she squirmed it was mostly due to the other cat that was roaming around making her nervous, otherwise she seemed fairly content with the attention she was getting.
It seems to be nearly impossible to get a decent picture of her new ‘do, but trust me it’s awesome. Her tail looks just like a lions, and her head looks big and fat compared to her skinny little neck. Unfortunately her boots don’t stick out as much as some of the other cats I’ve seen with this hairdo, but I think it’s just because of her colours. I’m also kind of sad I didn’t remember to tell the girl not to cut her little toe hairs. If you look close in the top picture, you can see she had what looks like claws made of fur sticking out from the ends of her paws. It was one of the things Holly and I loved about her, and I wasn’t expecting the groomer to trim them, but she did.
I’m pretty sure she loves her new look, and probably appreciates the time she will save bathing too. She definitely wasted no time assuming the role of King of the Jungle as you can see in the photo above.
Post Titles That Didn’t Make the Cut:
Honestly, I’m not lion… I’m a squirrel, I swear
This no good lion cat claims to be a squirrel…
Drag King of the Jungle
If you don’t own (or rent) a nine year old human you’re probably unaware of the existence of something known as Silly Bandz. You’re probably also equally unaware of how lucky you are to be ignorant to such a pointless waste of money and resources. I however am quite familiar with all things Silly Bandz since Roan brought his first ones home back in September. Back then he had maybe half a dozen and he rarely ever took them off his wrists. Fast forward to last week, his collection is now in the hundreds (partially our fault) and not one is on his wrist. Instead, they are scattered around his room and various locations in the house.
A few days ago I found three half eaten Silly Bandz in different spots, at different times. I told Roan how important it was that he not leave them lying around so the cats ate them. Although we love our cats, we could not afford to drop a few thousand dollars on stomach surgery because they’re retarded and can’t distinguish food from brightly neon coloured pieces of rubber. If faced with the decision of thousands of dollars to save one of their lives vs. letting them die, we would have to choose the latter. It would suck, but we would have to remember that we had done everything we could to give them a great life, even if it has to end prematurely. If we want to avoid that, we need to pick up our Silly Bandz.
The next morning I found a pile of cat barf with a half eaten, semi-digested Silly Band right in the middle of it. I called Roan and Holly downstairs to show them, and again tried to stress how important it was to not leave things like them laying around for the cats to get. I asked him if his Silly Bandz were more important than the cats, and if maybe he could consider which he’d rather keep forever. He decided to give away about 90% of his collection to his friends at school this week, and kept only a few dozen in his locker.
I was really proud that he was able to see which was more important, and was willing to make a sacrifice. He also told me he would have gotten rid of most of them sooner but he felt bad giving them away since lots of them were bought for him by Holly and I (oops!). I made him the above card as a thank you. I wanted to buy him something as a reward (something less dangerous to the cats), and to fill any feelings of emptiness left behind from saying goodbye to his collection of Silly Bandz, but I’m currently waiting on a paycheque. Once I can afford it though, I’m going to get him something cool.
The Niagara Falls Humane Society has been a ‘No-Kill’ policy organization for a long time. Recently they have had no choice but to euthanize sick/unwanted cats. Apparently people from all over the region bring their cats to the Falls because of their policy against killing, and now they just have too many. We’ve done all we can as far as adoption goes (we’ve got 3 from there), and I’m constantly telling people to go adopt. So please, if you have the ability to care for an animal (even a sick one with limited days), now is a better time than ever to go get a cat from the NFHS.
Maybe they need an ad campaign like the Winnipeg Humane Society to boost adoptions.
Last week I spent an evening catching up with a friend I’ve known for about 15 years, but hadn’t seen in about 4. We lost touch shortly before I went back to school, and neither of us expected to ever be able to track down the other. A few months ago another friend of mine put me back in touch with my long lost amigo, and finally after numerous attempts we were able to schedule a time that worked for both of us.
We sat around a few hours and caught up on what’s new in each other’s lives, and before I left he told me he still had my old snake – Bitey! I was amazed that he still had him. I originally got Bitey from him years earlier when he was still pretty tiny (and nameless). I kept him right up until I decided to get cats, then gave him back to his original owner (now nearly fully grown, and appropriately labeled). He was my favourite of all my snakes I had. He earned his name and my respect, and from what my friend says, things haven’t much changed.
While digging through old photos to find one of Bitey I found a couple other decent photos of past pets I miss, along with this look at the typical bloodbath that is a Bitey meal. One thing I don’t miss about snake ownership at all is smacking rats hard enough to paralyze them. That was the only part that bothered me. I would rather not have done it, but I didn’t want my snakes to die because they were too stupid to kill/eat their food properly. So, as any good snake owner does, I would bash their tiny little rat heads off something solid until they went stiff (like a fighter when they get knocked out), feel bad, then toss them in and hope to hell that snake was hungry and that I didn’t just ruin a rat’s life for nothing. The above photo shows what happens when the rats aren’t knocked out. Almost all of that blood is from the snake (if you couldn’t already tell from the rat’s mouth).
I also found this picture of me an one of my old bearded dragons. I got a pair of them at a reptile show for next to nothing because one of the litter was a dick and bit the tips of all the other’s tails off. I never named them, but they were cool. I ended up actually giving these to Holly (along with some other reptiles) years before she fell in love with me, for the boys (whom I had never met at that point in time). She gave them to a friend of hers a couple years later after their light and a cat almost burnt her house down.
The pet I miss most is the pooch in this photo here – Nikki. I can remember the day we got her. We had been shopping in some mall in Hamilton for a few hours when I begged to go look in the pet store. We saw her and her brother, and I instantly fell in love. I begged my parents to get her, they said no. I cried and my brother helped, and eventually they gave in. I pet her in the box the entire drive home, while my mum explained to me what a leap year was (Nikki’s birthday was Feb 29 1992). She was the third dog I ever had, and she was the smartest/best. She knew pretty much every trick, and always did what you told her. Every time you left or came in the house she sat on the stairs to shake your hand. She’s been gone for years now, but sometimes when I visit my parents I still expect her to be waiting on the stairs to shake paws hello.
Back when Tabbouleh was sick, we bought a harness to take the cats outside. Most of them hated it, but Shakespeare loves it and constantly whines to go outside. I take him out pretty much every single day, except when it’s raining. Lately I’ve been trying to get him use to the snow, but he seems to hate it (as you can tell from the video above). We got a ton of snow yesterday, and are getting more now. He was begging me to take him out so I decided to let him see what he was missing.
I need to get a video of me putting his leash on, and how he acts when I’m putting my shoes and coat on to go out. Before he hated the process of getting the harness on and off, but now he seems to love it and it’s become a pretty cute little routine.
Maybe I’m the only person who finds things like this cute, but so what. This is Mr Squirrel drinking the last of Roan’s morning pill taking water. She had to squish her little fuzzy face in there to get it, but that’s a hell of a lot easier than walking over to the water dish. Water dishes are gay.
Last night, while Holly and I were making dinner, Gage asked if we could name the new cat Mister Squirrel. Holly said “No, she’s not a mister!”. I quickly pointed out she’s also not a squirrel, and said I’m all for the name. Holly thought about it for a second before agreeing it was a good name. Gage couldn’t believe we agreed to it, and asked “Really? we can call her that?”, then ran off to tell Roan and his friends.
I remember being a kid and wanting to name my dog Puppy. My parents refused to let me, so I tried to get away with Kitty. They again said no and named the dog Dusty. I remember being bummed because instead of my options, it got named after one of my least favourite G.I.Joes. Perhaps that had something to do with why the dog turned out to be a huge asshole.
Over the weekend I finished Roan’s catapult and he did his written part of his assignment. This morning he had to bring it with him to hand in. I walked with him so he didn’t have to carry it. I also tried to briefly explain why long levers are better for exerting more force, but I think it was a little beyond my skills as a teacher. After I dropped him off I saw a little girl getting dropped off by her mom and they were carrying a suit of armor made of cardboard and aluminum foil. It was pretty awesome.
On the way back home I wandered over to Donut Diner for a coffee. By the time I got back, the new kitty (still no name decided on) had dumped Holly’s box of Gobstoppers all over the floor by my computer. I decided after cleaning up her mess, to introduce her to the rest of the gang. Her last pill was yesterday, so she’s finally cleared for release from de-con.
After a few minutes of stare-downs and face sniffing the cats seemed to be relatively unfazed by the new member. Her and Tabbouleh had a brief hiss-off, but it didn’t last long and seemed pretty harmless. About ten minutes after being introduced Shakespeare initiated first contact.