The animals have turned against me.

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Ok, in this post she’s going to try and convince you that I am a weird cat. Just look at me, folks. I’m as right as furry rain. Whatever that means. And, I am cute, no?

 

So, I don’t pay much attention to the trash cans in this house. The reason for this is twofold:

  1. My children are in charge of taking out the trash. We really have a lead on something exciting here, folks. Our children can do the chores that we once had to do! It’s like free labor, if you discount all the whining and really crap jobs they do at any sort of cleaning, but I’ll take it.
  2. Who really wants to ponder a trash can? What? You don’t have enough stimulation from the Netflixes?

Anyhow. As I was upstairs today, making the beds, I did notice the trash can. I noticed that it was looking rather… shredded?

And then, I noticed our cat, Vader, (also referred to as Willie, Sir William, Vader-Tator, and Grandmaster Cat in previous posts. Keep up, y’all. In our house we like to make sure everyone is on rotation with their naming) as he sidled over to the trash can.

And then, he proceeded to START EATING IT.

That’s right. He was eating the trash can.

HE WAS EATING THE TRASH CAN.

What, wee grey cat? What is your problem? Do I not go to the Petco and buy you large crinkly expensive bags of super-healthy food pebbles? Ever since the gigantic white cat had his brush with death we have gone totally upscale on our food options here. Basically, it’s “So long college fund, kids! Gotta feed the kitties!” That sort of thing.

Vader, do you suddenly need more fiber in your diet?

Is it a “My Weird Addiction” kind of thing? Do you need Dr. Phil?

I can’t imagine a trash can tastes good. Perhaps, however, it’s a step up from the mortgage-breaker brown stuff that I feed you every morning.

And then, Vader made eye contact with me. His mouth was still sort of attached to the trashcan. It’s just like that time my husband caught me gnawing on his precious super sharp cheddar that he tries to hide from me. I hadn’t even bothered to slice off a piece of cheese. I was gnawing on it like an angry hamster, and I froze as his eyes locked onto mine. We then argued about sharp cheddar and how it should not be gnawed.

It had been a long day.

Anyhow, back to the cat/trash can thing. Vader stopped, mid chew. And then, he extracted himself from trash can, and sauntered off. All casual, like, “Well, that was a great trash can snack. Thanks Byeeeee!”

So, that’s it then. This little bit of daily weirdness was brought to you by an ungrateful furball and my inability to get it on film.

EXCEPT IT WAS SO NOT OVER.

BECAUSE THEN STEVE, THE WHITE WHALE CAT, THEN WALKED OVER AND STARTED TO EAT THE TRASH CAN TOO.

What is wrong with everyone? I don’t understand out world at all.

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Dog: Can you not?

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 Dog: And I get yelled at for the licking.

 

 

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I’m the Dog. I’M THE DOG.

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Best. Movie. Ever.

So, in today’s post, one of us is going to be the dog.

And, as so often the case, I really REALLY think if you just stay with me, it will all make sense at the end.

That’s how I feel.

Really.

Today I’m linking up with my oh so happy place, favorite people: Five Minute Friday!  The theme??

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Right now, I am writing this on the couch, because I can’t move. I can’t move because of two neurotic and highly co-dependent beasties have wedged themselves in on either side of me so closely that I can use one as an armrest and the other ones heartbeat is thumping up against my thigh. That sounds kinda weird, but she has a really pronounced cardiac rhythm going on. I am kinda impressed. She must have just finished her bootcamp  workout.

I give you… exhibit A:Photo on 4-28-17 at 11.59 AM #2.jpgI loooooooooooove you. That shiny, silver thing has come between us, yet again, but still, I loooooooooooooove you.

And, also, exhibit B:

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I loooooooooove you too. Not quite as effusively as the Missing Link dork-dog to my left, but you know.

Anyhow. Here I am. Stuck in the middle with you.

And, as I am typing away, I hear it: A sort of squeaky rumbling. It’s a weird sort of gurgling, actually. I look around the room for the culprit, but my living room doesn’t house a lot of things that… gurgle.

It’s the dog. I’ll just take the suspense away, right here. Hosmer’s stomach is jangling with such intensity that, clearly, he’s hungry. Like, LOUD hungry.

Honestly, it’s hard to type over all this racket.

But, yet… he remains varnished onto my side. His precious bowl of Doggie Lickums is right there, in the other room, but he’s seemingly content to sit here and rumble.

It is rare that I ever allow my stomach to get to this stage of gurgle (Hosmer is at, like, DEFCON level light red or two or whatever is really, really highly bad), but if I did… and about ten steps away was a bowl of chips? I would get up and go to the chips. It doesn’t really matter if I was cuddling with the husband prior or not. Food wins, when the stomach is in high alert.

Besides, I know too that I can always eat a few chips and then GO BACK to the husband on the couch.

So… basically? The dog would rather starve to be near me.

Perhaps I am exaggerating a little, but you’re not here. The rumbling is like that scene when the T-Rex finds the poor people in the jeep in Jurassic Park. Ominous. Thumpy. Has its own soundtrack. Jeff Goldblum is involved. That sort of thing.

Ok, so HERE IS MY POINT (Hallelujah!)

We need to be the dog. We need to be like this with God. And… since I am so happily wedged into my Congo fast these days… I get it. I am needing to be more dog like. Content. In the moment. Furry and sacrificial. That sort of thing.

I apologize for making you the dog. It’s the best I’ve got today. And truly? Dogs are awesome. We all know that.

 

And then, there’s this guy:Photo on 4-28-17 at 12.13 PM.jpg

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The More You Know.

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Here are the Things I Learned On Netflix:

  1. British television is superior to American, in every way. All the time. It’s the law.
  2. When I am tired I seem to want to watch cooking shows. They soothe me, somehow. All is right in the world when you watch someone whip up a maple creme filled zeppole. Also, I learned Italian right there! So double bonus!
  3. Nurse Jackie can be watched until 1 am and then the next morning you kind of feel hungover but NO REGRETS.
  4. THE PEREGRINE FALCON CAN DIVE AT A SPEED OF 143 MILES AN HOUR. FOR REALS. YOU HAVE TO WONDER IF THEY FREAK OUT WHEN THEY DO IT.

Ok, I’m not exactly sure on that last one, as a seven year old was the dispenser of the information there, but he would know. Why? Because the boys watch these cuties:

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They love the Brothers Kratt. And, did you know? Chris and Martin are ACTUALLY BROTHERS. And, Chris and Martin LIKE EACH OTHER, at the SAME TIME, WHILE BEING BROTHERS. Amazing.

And so, whenever we watch them, I tend to add my Mom Two Cents after each live-action segment with the Kratts with something like, “Oh look, Martin just let Chris fall and slip in the muddy gator pit but yet THEY ARE NOT FIGHTING ABOUT IT! AT ALL!. Instead, they are smiling and attempting to befriend a gator! And we know there won’t be any blood because children’s programming! Brotherly love!”

Now, Blonde and Red follow me around like a mini Kratts, spouting facts about animals, in a very endearing, if not slightly nutty Kratt-ian way. I’ll be making dinner and one will fly by, and spout at me, in all caps, because that’s their volume setting at all times:

MOM? MOM??? DID YOU KNOW THAT GORILLAS CAN CATCH COLDS?

Or later, in the bath:

ALSO. MOM? A LION ONLY KILLS ABOUT TWENTY TIMES A YEAR.

Or, while drifting off to sleep:

AND? DID YOU KNOW? RATS CAN LAUGH. THEY CAN! WE NEED TO GET ONE AND SEE.

Ok, it’s possible that last fact was not learned through the Kratts. I just always remember my college roommate’s creepy boyfriend who liked to carry his pet around on his shoulder telling me that. It stuck with me, somehow. Things like that do.

This summer on The Netflixes we are learning. All the time. Like, I just learned this from one of my beloved cooking shows, Cupcake Wars:

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I KNOW, RIGHT????

If for some reason, summer is starting to wear a little thin and you would like your children to USE THEIR NOGGINS FOR SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHACKING EACH OTHER WITH LIGHT SABERS AND FIGHTING OVER TEENY TINY LEGOS, then I suggest Wild Kratts.

Or, this option:

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This is also on the mighty Netflixes. AND the narrator? BRITISH. BOOM. DOUBLE BONUS!

Hey, did you know? Ring-tailed Lemurs actually purr when they are content.

YEP, I LEARNED IT FROM THAT SHOW.

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Thank you, Netflix, for all the learning!