Rue Chaton (Street Kitty)

If you live in Canada you must learn some french, cause it makes you sound way fucking smart.

I'm tired and stressed right now. Last Tuesday I took the garbage out to the Alley behind our house and we have these really big garbage cans. I could see 3 cans down the alley and as I drug my bag of garbage to my can, out of a all the cans popped a cat. They all scampered off except for the one in our garbage can. I love animals. I hate when people treat innocent creatures so cruelly. The combo makes me a soft touch. As well as Barb.



Here is the our rescued kitty the day after we rescued him, he looks much cleaner then he was and he was and is still skin and bones.

There is a massively cool organization called SCAT (Street Cats) made up of massively cool people. I called, they came over the next day to check the little guy out. I had to call and place ads in case anyone lost them. Which they didn't fucker, people have to leave apartments at the end of the month and dump cats all the time. Like to shove a box of clumping kitty litter up their asses.

So this organization paid to have him go to the vet and pay for tests and shots. He doesn't have any of the FVI or the other bad stuff. But he has a really hard time breathing. This makes me very nervous. I sit and stare and pray that he will feel better. The vet said he might have been kicked and injured but won't take x-rays for another 10 days. So we feed the little guy and fall in love and worry and fret. We didn't want another cat, but sometimes it isn't up to us you know?

What I worry about is I have no power over him healing. All I can do is love him and give it up to my higher power to take care of. But what is such a drag is I realize I don't trust that my higher power will fix him. And maybe I want a miracle and maybe that isn't what this is all about. Maybe it is just about loving the animal one day at a time and not worrying about the future. I don't know, all I do know that it isn't up to me but I want it to be.

That really is hard on my heart, I don't need more death. I want to do right by another. I really do.

Tomorrow I will give you a new picture and maybe he will look better to you.

Yep this is how I feel today

This is my salute to the mini blizzard we had in the middle of March up here. Three days before we had plus temps, melting snow, singing birds, the sun warm on my back, dog turds that had been left since October showing themselves. Yes I felt that spring was on the way. Then this shit.

It put me in a bit of a tailspin so to speak. Oh and the phone call from my mother. Love my mother really do, she misses me, I her. But even from the coast she is able to throw her umbilical cord at me with a lasso on it and pull me in. Fuck I hate that. My mother wants to know how my writing is going. I say some days better then others. She says, well you will have lots of time since it takes about 7 years in the States to become a citizen. I tell her it doesn't take that long up here and anyway I am just trying to become a landed immigrant. She says well you should do more writing why not write a story about some of the wonderful hiking experiences you had with your father. I said well I might mix up some the places we went hiking because when you start hiking when you are 3 years old, your ability to discern the difference from one hellish hike isn't easy. You are told to pack for a week, so you pack your backpack (don't forget your sleeping bag like I did one time, I never want to be that close to my mother again thank you). You are tossed into the volkswagen Micro-bus that goes 55 down hill with a tail wind. Can't open any windows so as soon as we hit the dusty dirt roads I was usually on the floor of the bus, trying not to puke along with with Sheltie Calin who was always able to puke 5 minutes before we reached our destination.

I tried to explain this to mother and she said, well there you go being negative before you even start. Also she continues on, it is too bad that none of the children (ours or our family friends) hike anymore. She said that is just sad. I said, well I love to river raft. She said that isn't the same thing. Duh, no it isn't. Think about (I didn't say this) we spent every summer from the time we were 5 let's say and there are 4 of us kids. Every summer was spent backpacking. Backpacking means you carry everything on your back. Sure great exercise. Beautiful mountains, great adventures. But it is the part of "carrying everything on your back". See maybe, just maybe it got old for us. So if I decide to raft down a fucking river and let nature do work, well what the fuck, I'm still out there aren't I? Hell Fucking Yes.

So NO my mother does not push any of my buttons, not at all. She does say things like, "I hope to see you some day" (what is implied is before she dies). I said, well as soon as the paper work comes through I will come out there, she says, well you can't afford it, I said yes I can. So we disagree on this, at this point I have taken one of the swords I own out and am checking to see if it is sharp enough to stab myself without too much pain.

I get off the phone feeling oh so chipper. Watching the fucking spring blizzard and wondering to myself, hell I don't even know what I wondered to myself other then eating a 1/2 bag of Easter M&M's doesn't make you feel anymore Christ like just because the colours of the candies are in a pastel colour.

Bette Davis Eyes to Andy Ronney Eyebrows

It creeped up on me, maybe I'm not as observant as I used to be, could be that I have reached a higher level of awareness and no longer care for these matters but I doubt it. Though I do meditate every morning, yesterday's meditation was on patience, I did it for about 1 minute. The attention span of a pollywog of late.



Back in the 80's where shoulder pads were king, Dynasty was the best trash we available to us and Cocaine was still considered psychologically addictive not physically addictive, I was living the life of a restless youth. My sister always stated that when her generation took drugs (she is 5 years older then me) it was for a reason, to reach a higher level of awareness, for us it was to just get high. I can't disagree with her on that point, but I must point out that I did on at least two different occasions go out on in field on Acid and try to get in become one with God. Unfortunately it took me over 2 hours to get over a fence, well in fact it took about an hour to find the fence then an hour to climb over it. See when I was on Acid I was spacially fucked. So I kept climbing over the fence only to realize that the fence was about 200 feet in front of me.



What does this have to do with the title of the post? As the old proverb says; a watched pot never boils and I might add neither does a 4 foot snow drift ever melt. See it is spring time here up north. This means when it snows it is a lighter, more liquid kind of snow. You know cabin fever has set in when I am running round about ready to pee my pants because I have found dog shit that was shat before the first big snow. That my friends is a sign that we only have a month of waiting for this brown mucky shit called snow melt to disappear and then watch as the grass struggles to recover from having it's head shoved between its roots for the past 6 months.



I am coming to terms with aging. Not in the usual sense, sure I realize that I will never look as sexy clean shaven as Britney Spears or as brain dead and insipid (that is my favourite word) as Paris Hilton. But is it really fair that while my hair is losing it's bouncy youthful appearance that my eye brows have to start curling up in an alarming manner?



Becoming older is when you try and use spit to control unruly eye brows and find that they now are reaching for the sky. Mouse has no affect and neither would a moose. I pluck then realize what will I do if one morning I wake up and all my eye brow hairs have decided to turn into dreadlocks? What then? Do I pluck them all out and then have to paint on my eye brows every morning so I have that constantly surprised look for the next 3o years, or do I give up and let nature take it's course.


I do say I am grateful that I didn't live in the 1800's. This is what was suggested for hair removal back then:

There were many alternative methods of hair removal, ranging from pulverized egg shells to a mixture of cat's dung and vinegar. In the early 18th century (1700-1737) Lemery's Curiosa Arcana, published in 1711, gives a recipe for the complexion: To remove hair, one was instructed to 'Take the shells of 52 eggs, beat them small and distill them with a good fire.' Then, with the water, 'Anoint yourself where you would have the Hair off.' For ladies with more cats than chickens, Lemery recommended beating 'hard, dry Cats-dung...to a powder' and tempering it with strong vinegar for the same effect. Other homemade depilatories contained quick-lime.



So if anyone who reads this is too young to remember the song Bette Davis Eyes - well I would like to feel some sympathy, but that means you are way young and I might tend to snarl at you. Don't worry though I think the snarling comes with the bushy eyebrow thing.

F is for Farmer

So you are thinking to yourself, what does this crazed chick now think we are so dense that we need to be taught the alphabet? Come on people that is silly, other then you all not knowing how to say the letter "Z" correctly I know you know the alphabet.

No today's discussion is on driving in Saskatchewan on a weekend. Yesterday we were driving to a mall that had a Walmart in it. This is not unusual since every mall in either Regina or Saskatoon has a Walmart, the ones that don't have a Walmart are of no worth and people usually drive by these malls with utter contempt and spit on them while driving by. Or maybe they have too much chew in their mouths and their wife is tired of cleaning that slimy shit out travel mugs.

As I was saying we were driving to a mall on a Saturday and we were on Circle Drive. Suddenly out of no where Barb puts her hand on the dashboard to brace herself and says in a very tense tone, "watch out that mini van has an "F" on it. Being used to her bracing herself while I was driving I wasn't too concerned but I am still learning the vernacular of the language up here and I just couldn't figure out what in the hell was she talking about.

I looked around feeling somewhat frantic that I missed something and she said "F means Farmer up here" My brain beginning to hurt said but thinking this is some driving game said, "G is for Gnome?" "No she said, the F on his license plate means they are from the farm". I wanted argue that what was wrong with G for Gnome instead deciding this was neither the time nor the place to argue my point.

Then watching the road again I saw what she meant. Here traveling down the middle of the road, slamming on their brakes suddenly, turning quickly in front of another car to get in the correct lane (ok part of that I did but I refuse to tell you which part ) was a blue mini van full of a family of farmers trying to get to their destination of the weekend, a day at Walmart.

Now why would the province label these hard working people with a scarlet F so to speak for the world to see. I thought it seemed demeaning to them. Like watch out here comes those "F"ing Farmers. But there a method to their madness. I think that these salt of the earth people who are forced to drive mini vans get a discount on their insurance or something for being a farmer. In Alberta I know the driving age for a farm kid is something like 14, but I dislike discussing Alberta so I am sorry I even brought it up.

Now watching the driver of the van I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. They weren't driving their vehicle like it was a combine and taking up the entire highway. That I'm afraid was me, because damned if in the winter time I can figure out some times which is a lane and which is me driving like a total idiot.

I had hoped that this post was going to go somewhere quite witty. I fear it isn't because once I looked deep inside my driving patterns up here, I would have to admit that I need a designation of "F" on my license plate that would stand for Watch the fuck out it's a fucking foreigner.