Mark Twain

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.


Dorothy Parker

Ducking for apples - change one letter and it's the story of my life.


Bertrand Russell

There is much pleasure to be gained from useless knowledge.

Call of the Wild


2003-08-25 at 2:00 p.m.

I live with a wild jungle cat. Sort of.

So, last night, I go to let Hilde back in after her long day of cavorting in the jungle, er...my backyard, and what do you think the wildebeast runs in with? A mouse, hanging from her jaws, dead as a doornail.

She then reverently drops it on my feet and begins purring and rubbing up against me.

Now, I know that she sees this as a gift. She's giving me a little pressie. But dammit, why can't she come running through the doors with Matthew McConaghey in her mouth? Not dead, of course, just confused. And randy. Ahem, anyway...

I am not squeamish, really. I've handled more poop and vomit in the past two years than I even want to think about. And real, live mice are cute. But dead things creep me out. Dead mammals twitching on my feet make me squeal like a girl and run around my house, shrieking.

Hilde was offended. Why didn't I drop to my knees and begin devouring her gift, or at least play with it a little? Why, instead, did I inisit on running around the house making little gibbering noises and looking for a dustpan? She thinks I'm a jerk and showed me by biting my ankle.

Finally, I calmed down enough to find a dustpan and a couple of plastic bags. Eventually, gagging the entire time, I managed to scoop up ol' Mickey and dump him in the three layers of plastic grocery bags that became his burial shroud. His coffin is my big ass trashcan outside.

Hilde isn't speaking to me. I gave her a can of Fancy Feast by way of apology this morning and she warmed up enough to rub up against me a few times before I let her out for the day. If dead mammals are what she gives me when she likes me, I'm almost afraid to see what she might bring when she's mad at me.



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