vituperation

October 23, 2002

Word up on the Alabama politics this season, Uncle Bob. The ads made me sick enough to the point that I called both gubernatorial candidates’ campaign offices last week to ask if they could give me something that would tell me what they stood for, rather than just telling me what was wrong with the other person. For the record, neither was really able.

The race for lieutenant governor is no different. If you look at the news page of Bill Armistead, you’ll find that his opponent’s name actually shows up more than his, because of his overwhelming eagerness to make her look bad. And speaking of his opponent, Lucy Baxley, I can’t find anything on her site to tell me her views on various issues facing the state. I called her office last week to ask if someone could explain her stance on said issues and was told that someone would call me back.

I’m still waiting for that call.

But enough of Southern politics, let’s move on to politics of a different sort.

Warning: Easily offended readers may wish to skip this section.

For the numerous people who seem to feel I chose the “Keep Honking, I’m Reloading” bumper sticker just because there’s a sniper shooting people in Maryland and Virginia, I didn’t. I didn’t even pick it to be obnoxious (well, no more obnoxious than usual. It’s an obnoxious sticker, like all the stickers I have to give away). For what it’s worth, my wife thought I picked it because of the sniper, too.

I picked it because it was the top one on the stack, plain and simple.

That said, I’m sorry if you choose to be offended over it; I have no control over your choices. The giveaway stands, and I’ll be giving away another sticker below. Like the current one, the next one is right off the top of the stack.

I will say this: if I’m ever in the crosshairs of a sniper’s rifle, I hope like hell someone else nearby is packing heat so they can return fire. Please remember that for every crazy person shooting people, there are hundreds of thousands of us who are responsible gun owners and who aren’t going to suddenly start shooting folks.

I hereby devote the rest of this entry to talk about cats, who are apolitical with the exception of King Tubby.

Yesterday morning as I stood peeing, having just gotten out of bed to work out, I heard a most unusual noise behind me. A vigorous rubbing sound, as it were, then some thumping and bumping. I turned to look.

Miz Poo had to go to the vet yesterday, you see, to get her tongue shaved and a big plug of her lip cut out for a biopsy, so the vet can figure out what’s wrong with her. These things have to be done while she’s under general anesthesia, which means Robyn had to take the cats’ food and water up before she went to bed Monday night.

Needless to say, this was not to Tubby’s liking.

He was crouched on the blue tray we keep their food and water dishes on, digging furiously at the plastic. His big meaty paws were a blur, moving back and forth and creating the sound that had caught my attention.

“Tubby,” I said, matter-of-factly, “what the hell are you doing?”

Tubby looked up at me.

“Meh,” he replied, bitchily.

“I know, buddy, but we have to keep Miz Poo away from the food.”

“MeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeh!” he squawled and resumed his feverish digging at the tray.

I finished peeing and flushed. As I walked over to the sink, there was a smacking sound of plastic on slate behind me, followed by the unmistakable sound of teeth crunching on food. Once again, I turned to look.

In his frenzy to find some food, Tubby had knocked the blue tray a little way away from the wall, and was now madly sticking his nose and tongue into the opening between them, licking up little pieces of food that had worked their way back there.

And we wonder why he’s so fat.

In addition to volunteering for the Animal Shelter in Huntsville, I volunteer with the no-kill kitty home from where we adopted our two fat cats, Tubby and Miz Poo. Specifically, I stop at a local pet store on Monday mornings and feed / play with / scoop poop / clean up after them. This past Monday, Robyn came with me and brought the camera.

The pictures below were taken by my wife (who manages to make me look my absolute worst every time), sans flash so they’re not great. Yes, I’m wearing a tshirt over my normal work shirt; it just wouldn’t look right to show up at the office all cat hairy.

This is Duke.
He used to be very feisty, always giving
the love bites and love claws.
Then he got fixed. He’s much calmer now.

This is Sassy, a true sweetie.
She’s got the coolest-feeling fur ever.

This is Mindy.
She has a sensitive stomach,
and requires special food for it.

This is Olivia.
She’s a bobtail, having nothing back there but a little stubby stub.
One of the most loving kitties there.

This is Samantha, looking concerned.
We have to be careful with her front paws because some
fuckity fuck intentionally slammed her feet in a door.

This is Apple, my very best buddy there.
He’s one seriously loud purrer, and has
quite the high-pitched gay little meow.

This is Austin.
He’s Robyn’s favorite, because he’s such a snuggler.

This is Birch.
He bears a striking resemblance to a certain
FancyPants of a cat seen around our house.

This is Magnolia.
She’s a scaredy-cat, and hid in the litter
box amongst the poo. Poor kitty.

This is Cicely.
Speaking of poo, we think Cicely here is like a little mini Miz Poo,
because she looks similar and is just as feisty.

This is Mimosa.
Unfortunately, I can remember exactly nothing about Mimosa,
except that he settles right down when you pick him up.

Want this sticker?

Just send me an email and tell me in 50 words or less just what Scooby would do, and if I pick you at random, it’s yours. One entry per person, and make sure the subject of your email is "SCOOBY" or I’ll scrappy it. This offer is available until 5:00 CST Friday, October 25 2002.