Wednesday, December 01, 2004

Livestock and poachers.

I don’t let the cat in the house as much during the holiday season, because he thinks the Christmas tree belongs to him, as the trees back in our woods do. He climbs those; he pees all over those; he sleeps on those branches; he sharpens his claws on those trees; therefore, he sees no reason why he can’t do all those things with the Christmas tree.

If someone tells him not to, he just stares as though he were some kind of animal or something.

And continues on his merry way, climbing up and tipping over. If I had a nickel for every time he’s tipped over the tree, I’d have enough for a case of Three Musketeer bars and a month’s worth of Diet Coke.

That’s not even counting the number of times he’s tipped over the tree and the kids hurriedly put it back up and didn’t tell me.

There are many things they’ve done and not told me. When I think about all the things I still haven’t told MY mother, this is probably a good thing.

“Merry way.” Well, it IS Christmas.

We should all be going our merry ways. I think most of us are.

What’s a home without a cat? This cat likes to sit on my shoulders, with his feet hanging down on either side of my huge lumpy head. Sometimes he will rouse himself enough to give my ear a lick. It’s fine with me when he doesn’t, though. I don’t like it when the cat starts to lick me. I know where else that tongue has been, and I don’t want it touching me. Besides, even though I love my cat and ‘humanize’ him in my speeches all the time, the fact remains that he is an animal, and when animals lick something, they’re not being affectionate towards it. They’re marinating it for later consumption.

A cat’s purr will soothe me when nothing else will.

Yesterday, it was in the sixties outside. Tonight, it’s nearly freezing. That’s Indiana for you. If you don’t like the weather here, just wait a few hours. Yesterday, I still had a few flowers. (The ones the deer missed. . . .) Tonight, they are all gone.

Speaking of deer, I think every deer in the known universe has gathered in the protected haven of our woods. If we ever decided to devour a deer, all we’d have to do is sit on the deck in a lawn chair, with a loaded gun, and pick one off as the herds thundered past.

We are not, however, hunters. Bambi and his mother are safe in our yard.

I’ve actually called the sheriff to report poachers and trespassers in my woods before. I’m a real bitch when it comes to protecting Bambi on my property. Besides, our kids used to camp back there and when a trespasser would fire off a shot, my adrenaline would kick in and I’d be back there with an opinion before the echo faded away. Grown men ran in panic and fear. They had good reason to.

Poachers and trespassing hunters are scum, anyway.

Occasionally a friend would ask permission to hunt on our land and we always said yes. Key word: ask permission. This is apparently a concept not comprehended by said poachers and trespassers.

Don’t set foot in my woods with a gun when my kids are camping back there, Mr. Poacher, or you’ll wish you’d never been born. And the same for you, Mr. Trespasser.

Friends who ask permission first: this doesn’t mean you.

We have several acres of woods and yard, and apparently it’s a favorite hangout spot for huge masses of deer. HUGE masses of deer.

Eat your heart out, poachers and trespassers. You won’t be eating any of my deer, that’s for sure.

I wonder why it is, that when we are young, we sometimes bend over backwards to be as different from our families as possible; and when we are older, we put forth the same effort to be as much like our families as possible. Why is that?

Not all the family, of course. Just the cool ones.

Maybe it takes a certain number of years to discover that most of your family ARE cool. And that even the ones you don’t consider cool are still lovely people, and probably considered cool by lots of people with different tastes than you. More traumatic still, is the realization that you personally are probably not nearly as cool as you think you are.

I guess my point is, I love my family dearly, and I wish we could get together more often. People do not have to always agree, to agree to get along and have fun together. Diverse opinions and lifestyles and priorities are not reasons to avoid each other. They are reasons to get together and LISTEN to each other, and put aside differences and relax and enjoy each other, and maybe even learn from each other.

Families that can not do those things, are not making an effort to be a real family. They are not friendly, and they are not nice. They are nothing but individuals who must be right at any cost. I wonder if they realize how high that cost often is.

MY family is not like that, however. Usually. My family is not perfect, either; how can they be, with me in it? My family is loving and well-meaning and would do anything for any member of it. So there.

Update on my knees: Ouch.

Hey poachers and trespassers: you can’t have my quail, either. Hahahahahahaha. . . . .

Neener neener neener.

Posted by Mamacita (The REAL one) @ 1:12 AM | |


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