Dear Ned

Dear Ned,

You really scared the scat outta me the other day when I walked into the bedroom to change my clothes and saw you standing in the backyard, staring at me through the window.

We've lived here 10 years and have never before seen a live deer anywhere on this island and then BLAM - you appeared in our backyard like it was your regular summer retreat.

You happened to arrive on a Sunday, when all city and county offices are closed, such as Animal Control and the Department of Fish & Game.

The police answered the phone, but couldn't have cared less about a deer hangin in the city. Just so you know, I did not phone the Oakland PD.

Amazingly enough, none of our neighbors were home while you were here. We had you all to ourselves. Had I not snapped a few photos, you could have been a hallucination. Even my parents didn't believe me at first.

Of all the stories one might make up - really? Why would I lie about a deer in our backyard? Anyway...

I just wanted you to know how much we enjoyed your visit; watching you leap effortlessly over the back fence to eat our neighbor's plants, scarfing up the oats I put out for you and curling up for a nap under the giant sequoia.

We miss you but hope you got home safely.

A Different Kind of Job

These are tough times for finding good jobs. It's tempting to look for a safe option, like tech writer or online producer, but what a great time to find your calling and do something you've always dreamed about, or something that needs to be done that no one else is doing.

I think I've found that job. Killing everyone and anyone who ever abuses or neglects an animal. No warnings, no trial, no jury - just me, a nice gun and a list of names.

Who pays for this service? Good question. The ASPCA? The government? Let's not worry about that for now. Regardless of where the money comes from, this is a job that pays for itself in a few ways.

Firstly, the sense of satisfaction we could all feel knowing these people and their genes are off the planet. Whew! Wouldn't that feel great?

Secondly, these people area huge waste of resources. If they can't properly look after an animal, there's no way they can be trusted to look after children or any other human, and they obviously have no respect for the planet, so why keep them around?

If they can't take care of an animal, they can't possibly be productive members of any community. They're useless morons, plain & simple. Some might say, "Oh, they didn't know that XYZ might be harmful..." Bullshit. Ignorant? Misinformed? Lazy? No excuse - you're dead.

Thirdly, just the threat alone of knowing you'll be shot and exterminated if you're ever caught doing anything untoward to an animal seems like it would be an effective deterrent and possibly prevent these things from happening in the first place.

Think of the money saved by having these idiots off the planet. You know they call in sick to work to stay home and watch Springer, so if they're working for you, you're getting shanked, and that's if they even have a job. They're probably living off the dole - your tax dollars at work. Why not put those tax dollars to work eradicating these pests?

I'm available to start now.

Birds Might be Stupid

Maybe not all birds, and maybe not most parrots, but my bird - he's either a little stupid or very smart, or maybe I'm the stupid one - that's usually the case.

Just about every morning I bundle up in my sexy microfleece robe and I'm instantly warm and ready to work. It's become my Wonder Boys robe, only because I seem to never take it off, especially since we moved here.

Henry loves this robe - I *guess* because if I'm wearing it, it means I'm not going anywhere too soon. He wants me here at his beck and squawk at all hours of the day.

And usually my hair is down and a complete mess. Because if I'm going to schlub around the house in a robe all day, why on earth would I bother combing my hair? I can't be a crazy cat lady if I get dressed and GROOM myself. I have an image to maintain.

This morning was trash day - very exciting - and that means not only gathering up the trash, but scooping out the cat boxes so it's ALL gone and out of the house. To do this, I take off my cherished robe and put my hair up.

This is when Henry goes from being a goofy, loving pet bird to an insane, homicidal maniac who will kill me if I get too close.

The sweet pet bird sits happily on his tree with slightly fluffed feathers, chattering to no one in particular, then the maniac comes out with tail feathers splayed to full width, head feathers in the tell-tale triangle of death, wings pulled out from his sides and eyes pinning wildly while he makes an eerie trilling noise - the last noise you'll hear before he rips your jugular out of your neck.

When this transformation happens, I speak to him in quiet, soothing tones, go about my business and maintain as much distance as I can. He's been known to jump off the cage at me. Nothing more fun than dodging a crazed bird in mid-flight with a 1000lbs/psi beak coming right for you.

He kept up his menacing display while I finished the cat boxes & got the trash ready to take outside. I came back inside and thought I'd try a little experiment. I went to the bathroom to wash up, then I put the robe back on and took my hair down.

I came out and walked over to his cage and he was still prancing around like an idiot, but he immediately started talking to me instead of making that shitty noise that means he wants to see me dead.

I talked to him and kept my distance, but his attitude had instantly changed. He was still excited, but he was happy. A few minutes later, he was asking "do you wanna come out?" which means any/all of these things: I want to come out of my cage, I want whatever you're eating, I want to sit on your shoulder and look out the window, I'm in my cage with the door open but I've forgotten it's open - can you please let me out, or Those cats are really stupid and you should let them out - permanently.

He seems to know that if I'm wearing shoes I'll be leaving the house, even if I'm in the robe, if the shoes are on, he knows it's time to get into his padded cell and take his nap.

He seems to know if I'm putting things into a bag and zipping zippers, I'll be leaving the house. He's started making the zipper noise, maybe thinking I'll grab him along with the other stuff and take him with me.

What's really insane about all this is he's still just a baby - he's only 10. I have another 40 or 50 years (or so - we'll see how the vitamins do) to observe this strange creature and try to understand what's going on in that walnut-sized head. He's got another 70 years or so to learn fluent English so his next caretaker might have an easier time figuring him out.

Very Restless Natives

Neo & Nikita

Since Nikita's last projectile pukey episode several weeks ago, the kids have been on a new feeding plan.

No longer do we leave kitty kibble out for grazing - cats aren't grazers by nature, though if you try to tell Neo (aka Medicine Ball) that, he'll slap your big human face.

They get two hearty meals a day - a bit of kibble and some very delicious-smelling ground up fish in a can. Mmm mmm mmm mmm MMM!

While this new routine is supposedly much healthier for them (they haven't yet told me if they feel more cat-like and better nourished), it's created another new routine.

Every morning the bed is covered in cats, starting around 6:30am. They assemble and parade all over everything until we get up, their way of letting us know it's TIME FOR BREAKFAST, BITCHES. NOW.

They've always been helpful in waking us up early in the morning, but now they do it with so much more purpose. You have to admire their tenacity. They will wear you down until you put some damn food in their damn bowls.

In the afternoon, as it gets closer to 3pm, they begin to follow me wherever I go, maybe just in case I have their food in my pocket - they'll be right there in case I decide to feed them on the couch, or in the bathroom, or on top of the clean laundry.

And as the clock approaches 5pm, the hour we decided best for their dinnertime, they collect around me like a tiny gang of cat thugs, staring at me and maneuvering closer and closer to me as time ticks down to the magical hour.

If I'm working on my laptop, usually standing up at the pub table in the bar, one will sit on the chair behind me, one will sit directly behind the laptop, and the third will sit on the bar next to the chair - each no more than 1 foot away from me.

If I do not acknowledge their presence, especially the one directly behind me on the chair, he/she will proceed to "climb" up my back and rest forepaws there until I turn around.

There are times I've given into them way earlier than 5pm, because they all have very sharp teeth and dozens of claws between them.

If they manage to trip me in just the right spot, I'm done for. And then David comes home late from work and finds them snacking on my face.

Ninja (El Retardo, Chimpee the Ass Monkey, Big Walking Rug, and a number of other nicknames)

I'm a Dumbass

Not this little guy - me - I'm the dumbass.

I'm in Oregon at the moment and just after arriving, looked through my bag for a pair of sweatpants and other warm layers and found none.

I must have been sleep-packing, because I packed t-shirts but no sweaters, no fleece, nothing warmer than a sweatshirt, and nothing to lounge around the house in.

Clearly, my vitamins aren't working or they can't stop my brain from dissolving and running out my nose with every sneeze.

On a positive note, the opening at the museum was a big success and that night I was commissioned to get more wildlife shots. I spent some time there yesterday watching a lively river otter swim all around his pond - otters have the coolest paws - and getting new shots of the lynx and bobcat. It was hard not to get in there and snuggle with them.

Travelogue - Friday (8/4)

Lazy black eyed susans in the front yard - lazy, cause all they do is stand there in the sun, doing nothing. Kinda like me this week.

Happened by a Pierce Arrow convention... one of many gorgeous cars we saw on our way into the High Desert Museum.

A bobcat resident of the High Desert Museum - not so much a musem as an animal rescue/rehabilitation and educational institution. They take wild animals injured or confiscated from dumbasses who thought a bobcat or lynx would make a good pet, and if they can rehabilitate them back into the wild, they do, and if not, they create an optimal environment for the animal to live out a healthy, comfortable life, while teaching anyone who will listen how to live as one with nature. They have lovely historical exibits, too, but the best part about them is their work with animals.

This guy was taken from a dipshit who thought a bobcat would be a swell pet. There's another beautiful cat there, a lynx, who was found out in the wilderness starving to death, after another asshole had removed its canine teeth and had it declawed. The lynx is now healthy & enjoying his days at the HDM.

The job I'd really like to have is that of hunting down these morons & shooting them full of incredibly painful things - bullets, nails, razor blades, really any sharp, harmful things, then maybe pouring gasoline all over them & lighting them on fire.

This is Moki - Moki was found as a baby otter without any sign of her mother. After some time trying to find her mother, she was rescued & brought to the HDM where she spends most of her time playing or sleeping.

One of the amazing birds of prey at the HDM. Some of their birds sustained injuries (hit by car, power line, etc.) that prevent them from being released back into the wild, others were confiscated from idiots who thought they could keep a red tailed hawk as a pet.

A beautiful boy - can't remember the type of hawk - ruffled hawk, perhaps? I was too distracted by how gorgeous he is & wasn't listening.

A giant lava flow, now used as an informal firing range and we think is the same place where every New Year's Day, the locals find an old beater car and tie the steering wheel in place all the way to one side, throw a cinder block on the gas & let it go, then they all shoot at it from the top of the surrounding ridge. I love country entertainment.

Dinner at 38 Degrees - one of the best dinners I've had.

Fantastic vino, from the other home country.

I don't remember the rest of the night... lots of fresh air, wine... Zzzzz