Friday, August 15, 2008

A Murder of Crows - Volume 20

This is a repost of my writings from Itching For Coffee ... Where I often post writings with other talented writers ...

I probably should have stayed in bed. I don’t know what the hell was up with me while I tried to sleep today, but I kept waking up with the strangest dreams. Most of them involved my cat, which was a bit strange, but at the same time wasn’t completely unexpected. The stupid thing meowls like it’s in heat all the time, and refuses to keep a non nocturnal sleeping pattern, so it has been getting on everyone’s nerves around here pretty badly. Then there is the other problem where it is an eight year old cat, and my aunt’s three year old cat happens to be a bully. For those of you that have been reading my writings for a while, you can understand that my aunt’s brain turns to tapioca pudding when animals are involved so she doesn’t get the animal structure in the house through her rosey colored glasses.

Now does this mean that Duchess {my cat} gets beaten up by Lucy {her cat} all the time? Not in the least, and this is the part of it all that is so hard to explain unless you have one of those relatives that seems to have brain damage when pets are concerned. Her cat is a bully, and a con man just like most cats are, so she torments the dogs when nobody is looking, and runs the house with an iron fist. Duchess prefers to sleep all day, and is unimpressed with such Animal Farm style hierarchical structure, and allows Lucy to do whatever she does upstairs while she sleeps in the basement. Now of course my aunt {animal disfunctionate} will not listen to any one of the six other people in the house that try to explain to her that her cat terrorizes the house, just like the four dogs, and six cats that we have buried in the back yard that belonged to her {long story .. all buried there before she moved in .. I practically run the dysfunctional pet cemetery in town} and that will never change. Life in Tinsel Town goes on.

Duchess is the new cat in the house, much older, and subjected to a house full of cats before going to the Animal Shelter, full of cats, and then here to a house full of dogs and a cat. She knows how to play the game, and she appears to be an unusually gifted cat when it comes to getting what she wants. The obvious tone that she uses when she caterwauls all note either screams “feed me,” “play with me,” pay attention to me,” or in some cases “get up you lazy asses,” and gets what she wants when she wants it. Night time is also the time when she deals with certain “issues” that the dogs don’t seem to have the intelligence to take care of during the day. When Lucy comes downstairs to push Duchess around she usually encounters a surprise that befuddles her poor little bullying brain, which usually ends up in my aunt’s bedroom with Lucy hiding under the bed and Duchess trying to tear her apart. This in turn causes my aunt to ream the rest of us out for letting Duchess bully her poor defenseless cat, and the rest of us wanting to take her poor defenseless cat and put it where her last six poor defenseless cats ended up! It shows a certain level of cunning in her cat to end up in the one place where manipulation will create the sympathy required to keep her iron paw on the pulse of what is going on in the house, but again we are dealing with an unstable individual as it pertains to animals.

Needless to say after a night of nightmares that were along the lines of waking up to all the animals in the house being killed by Lucy the spawn of Satan and a stray cat that he had in a drunken night of indiscretion, I woke up late. It wouldn’t have been too bad except it pushes my schedule back an hour, which changes my usual daily activities just enough to make me a bit grumpy. The first of which is having to go to the gym when my usual cast of characters have gone home and a new cast of characters are there. This is both a good and a bad thing. The good part of it all is that all of the mentally handicapped people from the group home are in there after I leave. It’s good for the soul to walk into the place and be greeted by eight people that are genuinely happy to see you, very interested in how your day is going, and very happy to tell you about their own day. I don’t know all of their names but I get a smile when they are all around because they are very nice people. The fact that they are escorted in by a bunch of hotter than hell grad students who serve as their aides doesn’t hurt either, but they don’t seem as happy to see me.

The bad side is the “Jump Nazis” that now fill the gym usually after I leave, and are the reason I get up a bit early to make sure that I can get into the gym and out again before they get there. Most of these are college students, but they have been recruiting lately and walking into the joint was almost dangerous. These guys and girls usually take very heavy weights and stand in the middle of the walkways and jump up and down, or do very long sweeping motions with them making the place almost closed down the whole time they are in there. Today in particular they had just about every square inch of walkway covered by each of them holding Olympic size bars {seven feet, fifty five pounds} and jumping up and down blocking every machine in the joint. My mentally handicapped little buddies were all huddled in the corner practically watching them. After catching up with my little buddies I proceeded to walk through all the Jump Nazis to get to all the machines I needed. The trick is to not humor people like this in the least.

The icing on the cake was when my mentally handicapped little buddies left and the Jump Nazis decided to have a huddle and start talking loudly about all of them. I tried to do my preacher curls and ignore them all until one of them decided that it was important to talk about Jerry {the one that has to have a guide dog as he is also a severe stroke victim} and they all were whining like crybabies about how the dog was going to cause an accident. My years of going to this particular gym, that dog has been completely unassuming and usually lounged around behind the machines and completely out of the way. I wish the Jump Nazis would learn from his example, but I saw an opportunity to do something I like to do from time to time, and couldn’t help myself. This would be pissing off a large number of people, many of which are much bigger than me, in a fit of self righteous indignation. Its fun, you all should try it some time. I piped up from my preacher bench, “Unlike a bunch of two hundred pound people jumping around in every free space in the place with seven foot iron poles on their shoulders,” which elicited the type of response one would have expected. It just goes to show that steroids and animal fur make some people impossible to deal with ;8o)