Friday, November 18, 2011

Squeal Of The Robot Cow

Right now my daughter is showing her brother how if he holds a magnifying glass right up to his eye, and then she runs at him from across the room with her mouth wide open then, "it looks like you're falling in a cave!"

At noon everyday the local volunteer Fire Department honk their noon-call fire horn. My daughter insists on going outside to wait for the school bus around this time so we always hear it. At which point she'll exclaim, "Daddy the electric cow is mooing!" No doubt mentally disturbed due to her mother's horrifying graphic torture-stories yesterday she whelped, "the robot cow is screaming Daddy!!"

Not today though. No school. Instead we've been enjoying the two - maybe three - inches of snow. The very-local weather doesn't have it's own radar, so uses a combination of the National Weather Service (one would hope) and reports from locals. The local number from my little town had us down for "six to twelve" inches. Which was not only way off but also involves two numbers that are so far apart that one of them is twice as big as the other. Nevertheless we strapped on some boots and waddled around in it for five minutes before heading out to the Thrift Shop. My mechanic had told me earlier to check in to see if he had finished up and could get my snow tires on.

So after swinging by there (no luck - a leaking truck was very much in the way) we went to see if the Thrift Store had any decent small stuff for Christmas. For 75 cents we walked out with a set of small tree ornaments that look like wrapped boxes (that came in a solid-silver Christmas tree dish that was pretty neat), another ornament that is a bear in a car and one of those stuffed scented trivets with a Christmas pattern on it. Not too shabby. My daughter wanted to go nuts and buy all the stuff they had. And they really do have a lot of very cool stuff. But we have lots of ornaments already and I want to go back to a tradition of actually giving an ornament each to the kids on Christmas Day. It probably won't mean so much if they just bought one hundred of them for $2.50 the week before hand. They also had these actual baubles there too which I was tempted to get for amusement value alone.

I met have let the cats try and smash those ones. Speaking of which Bodmin - my black cat - hasn't come home since Monday. I think it's likely she's done for. Nine years, two continents, seven houses and only one urgent vet visit (the most horrifying case of arse-worms he'd ever seen, apparently) isn't bad mind you. She was a good cat. That's not to say that she's definitely gone either, but she's never been gone like this before. We haven't told our daughter yet and aren't sure how to do that. She get's all the brazen truth and honesty if she sees dead squirrels, possums or pets on the side of the road. But then as this is my cat it is de facto her cat.

A relative of ours had a cat that left for six months in the Adirondacks. No way that thing should have been alive. It came back riddled with fleas, ticks and pure evil and was astonishingly let back in the house. I say that because as nice and well put together this person is, their house could technically be called a revolting shit-hole. Dog and cat waste all over the place. That awful cat urine smell permeated the entire place for awhile, and the basement was so noxious with piss-fumes you genuinely couldn't go in it. Add she's a hoarder. Those people you see on those TV makeover shows who are involved in an intervention because their house is appalling? Not even close. I remember watching Animal Cops or Animal Rescue (I think) years ago when an old lady died and when the authorities were clearing out her house they found a dead horse in a bedroom. That's not as bad as that obviously, but if her dog died on the couch it might not be moved for some time. Lovely woman though - and she owns some fantastic stuff. Anyhoo - the point is that once she gave us a waffle maker because she clearly didn't need four of them. We scrubbed it and foolishly tried it out only for it to absolutely reek of cat piss. Straight in the garbage.

But yes - Bodmin is likely gone. She's very friendly so maybe she just went too far and has inserted herself into someone else's life. They'd like her. She's not afraid of anything. When my father-in-law used to use a circular saw in the basement she'd sit right on the huge pieces of plywood he was cutting because she seemed to know that as long as she didn't fart about all would be well. But n all honesty I know that if a cat doesn't come home it's usually because either it was killed or knew it was dying. But instead of thinking the worst I've decided to imagine that the Beast Of Bodmin myth will take up root here. Slowly over the late-Fall more and more people in this community will call the Police and Animal Control insisting that they've seen a black panther wandering about.

I may even have to go out in the cold and molest some cattle just to give the story some weight.

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