My Booty, and Other Things
See, you guys thought I was making it up, didn’t you? The actual stuff looks sort of like popcorn:
And it’s clearly pretty well liked:
(Yes, I threw away the cat-spitty ones.)
Second thing: I finished the Pretty Petals socks, and love them:
That I love them so much is only partly due to the fact that I had enough yarn to finish them when I was quite worried that I would not...but it would be fair to say that I would have a proportionate amount of hatred for them if I hadn't.
Third thing: Ed is happy to have a fireplace and does not care whether or not I have wonderful socks:
Speaking of the above cat, the forth thing a story about moles. You know how they say not to make a mountain out of a molehill? Yeah, just try that with these:
Huge, yes? I swear, I half expect to come home one day and find them all wearing little hardhats and driving a bulldozer or something. I already asked Mr. K to make sure none of his shovels are missing. Now, the weird thing is that we own (or are owned by) a number of cats, three of whom are avid hunters. They routinely kill such delectable treats as voles, mice, shrews, squirrels, chipmunks, bats, birds, frogs, snakes, and rabbits, and I know this because they’re ever so proud of their hunting prowess and feel compelled to bring me the trophies. I don’t know if they imagine that I have a den somewhere with little tiny heads mounted all over the walls or what…but they really don’t feel the hunting experience is complete if they haven’t made me shriek and retch as I step out into the garage. (Since I’d rather have a dead mouse in the garage than a live one in the house, I try to remain loving and positive while shrieking but this is easier said than done; fortunately, Mr. K is a good sport about doing body dump duty.) ANYWAY, it seems to me that cats who have successfully debunnied about a two block radius should be able to take out a mole or two….wouldn’t you think?
Sadly, the little hunters have not brought me the body of a single mole, and I was forced to conclude that perhaps moles just taste bad. Okay, quit laughing. Obviously they would taste bad to me…but I figured maybe they taste like….whatever it is that tastes bad to cats. You know, like that 10 pound bag of cat food that I paid through the ass for because they loved it the last time and now they’d starve before they’d let a morsel of it cross their lips? Like that. (You’ll notice I didn’t say they taste like ass….from my observations, cats actually LIKE ass, so they probably don’t taste like that.)
I was quite happy with my delusions until the neighbor came by one day. I had noticed that one of our cats frequently goes over to that neighbor’s yard and I took the opportunity to say that I hoped the cat wasn’t a bother. You know what’s coming, don’t you? The neighbor assured me that our cat wasn’t a bother at all—because HE EATS ALL THEIR MOLES. I kid you not. The little snot is eating the NEIGHBOR’S moles while OUR moles are busily constructing Mt. Rodent in the back yard.
I have tried to affix some logic to this, but can only come up with these possibilities:
Our moles are low fat, low sugar moles that leave that nasty metallic taste in your mouth.
Our neighbor’s moles are bacon-wrapped and cheese-stuffed.
Our neighbors provide an assortment of mole dipping sauces.
Our neighbor's yard had a better wine list than ours.
Our cats are nasty little ingrates who eat all our food without compunction but then go over to rid the neighbor’s yard of vermin even as film crews are pulling up in our driveway for a remake of “Attack of the Mole People”.
Did I say I love cats? I lied. I can't believe I let him lick my Pirate's Booty.