vituperation

September 18, 2002

Yesterday morning when I came out of my bedroom, I noticed something small and dark on the carpet between my room and the spud’s room. Assuming it was a tuft of Fancypants hair I left it and went to work out. When I came back upstairs, the spud was up and in the bathroom getting ready for school. Her door was open, and light from her bedroom spilled across the landing between our rooms.

What I thought was a tuft of Fancypants hair wasn’t. It was a dead toad. A small, headless, dried-up dead toad, laying in the floor all by itself, the victim of one of our evil cats. I bent down and picked the toad up by one leg. For one brief moment I thought about putting it on the spud’s bed as a surprise for when she came out of the bathroom, but I ultimately decided against it. In my mind’s eye, I saw her jumping and screaming, much like I would should a spider ever get on me.

I’m sure I could’ve had a big laugh at her expense.

Yesterday afternoon after I got home from work, Robyn and I took some time (like we do most afternoons) to lay down on the bed and discuss our days. As is my custom, the first thing I did before we settled in to talk was strip off my work clothes. Normally, I put my clothes in the basket we keep in the closet there but yesterday Robyn was washing the dirty clothes and the basket wasn’t there. No problem. I dropped my clothes on the floor where the basket normally sits and climbed onto the bed with my wife.

At some point in our conversation I coughed, and when I did I heard a strange sound from near the closet. When I looked, I saw Miz Poo, looking mightily freaked out. She was standing there, looking into the closet and staring intently at my clothes. Cats are like that, you know. One little thing out of the ordinary and they get creeped out, slinking around low to the ground and being really jumpy.

I love it when the cats get jumpy, because I am evil.

Miz Poo backed away from the closet slowly, worked her way across the room, then got freaked out by the kitty hammock we have lying under the TV table. She went low, staring at it with big dark eyes, and I saw my chance. I picked up a book from my bedside table and pitched it across the room so that it landed right behind Miz Poo. It landed with a thump, surprising her slightly but not causing much of a reaction at all. Miz Poo is generally not a jumpy cat. Spot, on the other hand, lost his mind and hightailed it across the room and under the bed.

And then, then Miz Poo took a step backward and touched the book with one of her back legs.

With the greatest of ease, she soared from the ground as though she were spontaneously levitating. Given her overall portliness, this in itself is no small feat. She flew in a weird sort of cat-time slow motion over the kitty hammock, her ass end rotating around in mid-flight and at the same time lifting above her head. I’ve noticed during times like this, when you get a good cat scare, that their asses tend to jump harder than their front ends, causing the weird contortions. Her ass hit the wall with a soft thump, and she slid ungracefully to the ground, where she immediately hoofed it about five feet away and began to lick herself with great vigor.

Robyn and I had a big laugh at her expense.

Last night, Robyn and I were watching the season premiere of “Grounded for Life”, and Tubby was in the den with us, sitting on the back of the couch I was on and giving me the lovey-dove eyes. During one of the numerous commercial breaks, I got a little feisty with him, zipping my hand back and forth in front of him, and occasionally grabbing his big square head and giving it a little shake.

Tubby took my little game far more seriously than I did.

He sat up tall with his ears laid back and started machine-gun-quick whapping (dat-dat-dat-dat!) my hand with one meaty paw, then began edging backwards along the top of the couch. I continued to mess with him with my hand, because he looked so pissed off, crouching there with one paw extended. Tubby edged back a little further, then suddenly, he was scrabbling madly on the couch with his clawless front legs. For one instant, I saw his normally half-closed eyes widen in surprise, then he dropped out of sight off the end of the couch with nary a sound.

Robyn and I had a big laugh at his expense.

The spud has a wall clock that farts. Instead of a chime or a cuckoo, this clock is painted with people straining from the effort required to break wind (something I know nothing about) and every two hours on the hour it makes a mechanical farting noise. Rather, it does that now, because she put batteries in it.

This morning, I woke up at almost four o’clock on the dot. I was halfway across the landing - right where the dead toad had been, actually - on my way to go put on my workout clothes when it happened. With a mighty grunt, the clock farted at me, startling me so badly that I very nearly leapt down the stairs to my death.

I imagine everyone would’ve had a big laugh at my expense.