On my computer's desktop is a picture of a cat. A beautiful snow leopard, poised gracefully on a mountain of rock, undoubtedly stalking a cute bunny - which makes me think of my own cats at home.
While admiring this feline that could eat me whole, I wonder, what exactly are my cats capable of?
Don't get me wrong - I love my cats. They are fat, happy and lazy - nothing of which I could get out of a feral cat.
But I also watch my back.
It all started when my mom and I caught them as kittens, holed up in an old chicken coop on our property.
It took what seemed a lifetime to catch Zena - that little ball of fur scurried to every corner of the building to avoid capture. And I'm pretty sure I lost about a quart of blood after catching Hercules.
Why I didn't think to wear full body armor throughout this endeavor, I have no idea. I shudder to remember the hissing, spatting and furious attempts to end my life.
Needless to say, they earned their names.
Even after several years of domesticated life, this brother-sister pair will leave the occasional half-eaten bunny in the garage, and there's always a mouse strewn about.
Mom even discovered Zena torturing a mouse one day, bouncing it between her delicate paws. I think she was a bit miffed that Mom distracted her, allowing the mouse to save its life in those precious few seconds.
And the birds know, despite the fact that those furry lions are lying flat on their backs in the yard, that they are being watched.
Most of their aggression seems to stem from food, as a matter of fact.
If the automatic kitty feeder ever becomes empty, Zena - in her obviously disgusted state - drags it across the floor, neatly (and conveniently) placing it at the bottom of the stairs.
I've witnessed her carry out this task just once - she seemed almost livid as she scooted it inch by inch across the room.
If you've ever owned an animal that steals and stashes, you've seen this reverse maneuver before. So of course, I had to stifle my laughter as I watched her paw her food bowl around.
I don't laugh anymore though. She almost ended my life last time she strategically placed it there.
We keep the food bowl full to the brim at all times now.
And recently, they've begun staring at me when I give the dog treats for the two tricks he knows - ignore me completely, and don't do anything I say.
I feel a cold sweat coming on when those orange and gray eyes beam at me, and the tongues lick ever so cunningly. All of a sudden, they seem a bit more like their wild cousins.
But honestly, I can't leave the house now without three animals traipsing after me for treats. It's like a ridiculous cookie parade, and I'm the grand marshal.
And if I don't give them treats? I get punished.
Zena won't let me have my computer time. Instead, she sits on the computer, lies on my keyboard, flips around on the desk.
The last time she tried that, I poked her nonchalantly with my pen. It was innocent enough at first, she gave the pen a little pat, and I poked her again.
Wrong.
All of a sudden, she turned into a viper, striking the pen repeatedly with fangs and claws, and then moved on to my hand.
She knew she got me good, too, because she bolted after three or four nips.
Her son, JR, who resides with my oldest sister, seems to have gotten a bit of her vengeful personality. He uses his paws of mass destruction to torment the family, tagging them as they walk down the hallway, or sticking a few claws in a toe late at night under the covers.
He got me once as I was walking to the bathroom, and I thought a ghost bludgeoned me, he fled the scene so fast.
My Hercules isn't a fighter though, just a lover. A lover that - when no other entertainment presents itself - smacks my hand if I stop petting him, chews on my fingers, and kneads dagger-like claws into any flesh he sees.
The only time I really feel safe to go about the house without armor is when I see them napping on their backs. That's the "I'm napping and you don't exist" stance.
And I always shut my door at night. If I don't, I'll wake up with Zena calmly perched on top of me, eyes gleaming in the dark.
What grinds my gears? I'm completely cowed by a combined 30 pounds of fur and fangs.
-------
Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor and can be reached at 367-0583 Ext. 210 or katyblair@npgco.com.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Vegetari-ain't
I'll never understand the world of vegetarians.
Heart and soul, I'm a Kansas girl. Although I'm not necessarily in tune with Gollum's palate for "wet and wriggling," I like me some crappie. Bass too - just not catfish.
And I like my steak medium rare.
Yes, precious - grill that steak for five minutes and it's ready to go, bloody and all.
So naturally, when I hear the word "vegetarian," I cringe inside, for two very sensible reasons - I don't get it, and I don't like it.
The court recognizes exhibit A - the dining out experience.
First and foremost, if you're a vegetarian and thus so repulsed by the omnivorous kind, why would you put yourself in the grievous situation of eating near them?
Like any other woman, I enjoy a nice meal at a restaurant. What I don't enjoy is being judged about my dietary decisions from the next table.
You know the look - nose crinkled, judgmental eyes upon your plate, and the disapproving slight shake of the head.
Even if it's not a noticeable reaction, you know what's playing in their head.
"How can she eat that?! Doesn't she know how that cow suffered? Doesn't she care?"
Truth of the matter is, I do know.
I know chickens are cooped together in deplorable conditions. I know cattle endure a less than euphoric end.
And those poor fish - death by brain bludgeoning. At least, that's how we did it when I was a kid.
So yes, I do know, and possibly the worst part, I'm not going to do a thing about it.
The court recognizes exhibit B - canines, otherwise known as "eye teeth."
I don't have those teeth for nothing; I was born to eat meat. And so were you. Match point.
And the granddaddy of all plot holes - vegetarianism reeks of hypocrisy.
Exhibit C - the "sort-of-vegetarian vegetarian."
Did you know that some of them eat fish, even chicken? How can they do that? Aren't vegetarians supposed to be staunchly against harming animals? A fish brain might not be much, but it's a living, breathing organism. And a chicken? Get outta here.
So if they are supposed to be deeply concerned about the welfare of animals, how can vegetarians drink milk? That poor cow suffered endlessly, standing in a stall for hours enduring a milking machine's icy touch, to provide gallons upon gallons of milk. That milk in your glass might as well have been tears.
And don't forget cheese, yogurt, ice cream - cows contributed tireless hours of slave labor to provide the base for all dairy products.
There can be no gray areas, as my father would say, so it's time to make a decision - either you like meat, or you don't. None of this wishy-washy, "No, I don't eat meat, yuck. But don't you just love my new Ralph Lauren thigh-high stiletto leather boots?"
In fact, there's a multitude of products that vegetarians shouldn't purchase at all - packaged cookies and crackers contain animal shortening, butter, lard or suet; candy, chewing gum, ice cream and liquor contain capric acid, another animal fat; marshmallows, yogurt and gelatin desserts contain gelatin, made from animal bones, cartilage, tendons and skin; processed foods, cosmetics, perfumes, lotions, inks and glues contain glycerides, made from animal fats; chocolate contains lecithin, an animal product used to preserve food; wax paper, margarine, crayons, candles and rubber contain tallow, solid fat of sheep and cattle, and the list goes on ... and on ... and on.
What's left? Well, you can have some lettuce, as long as you're not concerned about stealing Bugs Bunny's dinner. But you put down that Hershey bar. And the Twinkie? I think not.
As for me, I'm not buying it, so I'm going to ignore that you're breaking the rules and enjoy the fruits of God's green earth - not to mention this juicy steak on my plate.
-------
Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor and can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or katyblair@npgco.com.
Heart and soul, I'm a Kansas girl. Although I'm not necessarily in tune with Gollum's palate for "wet and wriggling," I like me some crappie. Bass too - just not catfish.
And I like my steak medium rare.
Yes, precious - grill that steak for five minutes and it's ready to go, bloody and all.
So naturally, when I hear the word "vegetarian," I cringe inside, for two very sensible reasons - I don't get it, and I don't like it.
The court recognizes exhibit A - the dining out experience.
First and foremost, if you're a vegetarian and thus so repulsed by the omnivorous kind, why would you put yourself in the grievous situation of eating near them?
Like any other woman, I enjoy a nice meal at a restaurant. What I don't enjoy is being judged about my dietary decisions from the next table.
You know the look - nose crinkled, judgmental eyes upon your plate, and the disapproving slight shake of the head.
Even if it's not a noticeable reaction, you know what's playing in their head.
"How can she eat that?! Doesn't she know how that cow suffered? Doesn't she care?"
Truth of the matter is, I do know.
I know chickens are cooped together in deplorable conditions. I know cattle endure a less than euphoric end.
And those poor fish - death by brain bludgeoning. At least, that's how we did it when I was a kid.
So yes, I do know, and possibly the worst part, I'm not going to do a thing about it.
The court recognizes exhibit B - canines, otherwise known as "eye teeth."
I don't have those teeth for nothing; I was born to eat meat. And so were you. Match point.
And the granddaddy of all plot holes - vegetarianism reeks of hypocrisy.
Exhibit C - the "sort-of-vegetarian vegetarian."
Did you know that some of them eat fish, even chicken? How can they do that? Aren't vegetarians supposed to be staunchly against harming animals? A fish brain might not be much, but it's a living, breathing organism. And a chicken? Get outta here.
So if they are supposed to be deeply concerned about the welfare of animals, how can vegetarians drink milk? That poor cow suffered endlessly, standing in a stall for hours enduring a milking machine's icy touch, to provide gallons upon gallons of milk. That milk in your glass might as well have been tears.
And don't forget cheese, yogurt, ice cream - cows contributed tireless hours of slave labor to provide the base for all dairy products.
There can be no gray areas, as my father would say, so it's time to make a decision - either you like meat, or you don't. None of this wishy-washy, "No, I don't eat meat, yuck. But don't you just love my new Ralph Lauren thigh-high stiletto leather boots?"
In fact, there's a multitude of products that vegetarians shouldn't purchase at all - packaged cookies and crackers contain animal shortening, butter, lard or suet; candy, chewing gum, ice cream and liquor contain capric acid, another animal fat; marshmallows, yogurt and gelatin desserts contain gelatin, made from animal bones, cartilage, tendons and skin; processed foods, cosmetics, perfumes, lotions, inks and glues contain glycerides, made from animal fats; chocolate contains lecithin, an animal product used to preserve food; wax paper, margarine, crayons, candles and rubber contain tallow, solid fat of sheep and cattle, and the list goes on ... and on ... and on.
What's left? Well, you can have some lettuce, as long as you're not concerned about stealing Bugs Bunny's dinner. But you put down that Hershey bar. And the Twinkie? I think not.
As for me, I'm not buying it, so I'm going to ignore that you're breaking the rules and enjoy the fruits of God's green earth - not to mention this juicy steak on my plate.
-------
Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor and can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or katyblair@npgco.com.
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