I opened the bag, my mind a whirl of “what if”s and “why didn’t I”s.... I think I knew what I was going to find. I don’t even really know why I hadn’t opened the bag right when the meowing stopped. I guess I wanted to keep things simple and release the kitten in it’s temporary home and I guess part of me kept maintaining that the bag was not airtight and even if the kitten was passed out, it would be ok for the less than a minute it took to get to the balcony from my Jeep.
The kitten was lying still in the bag...its mouth partially open, its gray tongue a bit large and dry. Its fur was matted in places with I don’t know what...saliva from it’s frantic panting? Urine? Sweat... do cats sweat? And it had defecated in the bag.
I knew it was dead....
...but I wanted to make sure. I laid the open bag down in the box my fiancé had prepared for it (I had called her on my cell phone) next to a little bowl of water and a plate of catfood. The pain of the situation hit me when I glanced at this little setting...forcefully illuminating the fact that this had been a little kitten wanting a home...and someone to be with.... and now my bungling had killed it. It would have been better off eating bugs and worms back at my workplace but instead it had died a horrible hot and stifling death at my hands.
It stayed completely still as I moved it...no reflex when I touched it’s ear. Then I noticed that its eyes were half-open and I had my proof. It was dead.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Why? 911, that's why.
Ok…ok… what’s with the kitten story? Well, I’ll tell ya.
Some of you already know that, except for the Eyes of Bast bit, I actually wrote it about 5 or 6 years ago. I posted it because instead of spending time writing up the blog, I’ve been putting my 911 journal account into PC form because we all know that if something is not in a computer, it never actually happened.
I started writing a journal when I made the drive with my sister to Newfoundland in June of 99. After the trip, I didn’t write in it until April 2000… it was more of a travel journal then rather than the life journal it’s become although even now, I usually only get time to write in it when I’m sitting on a plane or in some hotel. When Liam came into my life, I started a new journal just for recording details of Kerry’s pregnancy with him, his birth, and his life. Later on all the travel and Liam journalizing merged and now I’m on my 6th book.
I was just getting to the ½-way point of journal #1 when we visited Kerry’s aunt in Philadelphia in September of 2001 and I decided to visit the Kruel’s, two friends of mine who live in New York City.
Anyway, I was a few blocks away from the WTC when the 2nd plane hit. I wrote it all up in my journal, pages and pages of it… and have yet to put the whole story into a form that I could send to people.
So that’s what I’ve been doing and what I will be doing for about a week more. Or hopefully only a week more. I’m a lousy typist… hunting and pecking, huddling over the keyboard for sentences and sentences with only the occasional glance at the screen. I took a typing class back in junior high where the test every Friday was to see how fast you could type “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” on the typewriter. At one point, I could do it faster looking at my fingers than I could the correct way so moronically, I stuck with the cheating way. Listening to Little Steven’s Underground Garage on the Net helps pass the time some but it’s still a slow and painful process.
So bear with me a little if I keep the blog posts small and infrequent for the next week or so. I’ll post the gruesome and now anti-climactic kitten finale soon... for the good of the country.
Some of you already know that, except for the Eyes of Bast bit, I actually wrote it about 5 or 6 years ago. I posted it because instead of spending time writing up the blog, I’ve been putting my 911 journal account into PC form because we all know that if something is not in a computer, it never actually happened.
I started writing a journal when I made the drive with my sister to Newfoundland in June of 99. After the trip, I didn’t write in it until April 2000… it was more of a travel journal then rather than the life journal it’s become although even now, I usually only get time to write in it when I’m sitting on a plane or in some hotel. When Liam came into my life, I started a new journal just for recording details of Kerry’s pregnancy with him, his birth, and his life. Later on all the travel and Liam journalizing merged and now I’m on my 6th book.
I was just getting to the ½-way point of journal #1 when we visited Kerry’s aunt in Philadelphia in September of 2001 and I decided to visit the Kruel’s, two friends of mine who live in New York City.
Anyway, I was a few blocks away from the WTC when the 2nd plane hit. I wrote it all up in my journal, pages and pages of it… and have yet to put the whole story into a form that I could send to people.
So that’s what I’ve been doing and what I will be doing for about a week more. Or hopefully only a week more. I’m a lousy typist… hunting and pecking, huddling over the keyboard for sentences and sentences with only the occasional glance at the screen. I took a typing class back in junior high where the test every Friday was to see how fast you could type “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” on the typewriter. At one point, I could do it faster looking at my fingers than I could the correct way so moronically, I stuck with the cheating way. Listening to Little Steven’s Underground Garage on the Net helps pass the time some but it’s still a slow and painful process.
So bear with me a little if I keep the blog posts small and infrequent for the next week or so. I’ll post the gruesome and now anti-climactic kitten finale soon... for the good of the country.
Friday, August 25, 2006
You can't handle the truth!
Ok guys... I need to end this kitten thing. But should I just stop right now where I'm at or post what actually happened?
Thursday, August 24, 2006
It's almost over, folks...
Just a wee bit more...
Test Ending #3, Part 2 of 2
I was about 10 feet below the doorway when a chimp appeared in it. He made to bring his machine gun up then, smiling a ch-impish grin, he let it return to its position hanging from his shoulder and barked something towards the cockpit.
Suddenly the copter lurched in a descending arc towards the buildings below and it was all I could do to hang on while the chimp in the doorway casually watched me.
Damn dirty apes!
Using all the strength I could muster, I began struggling up the ladder, making most of my agonizingly slow progress in the brief respites between the copter’s screaming dives and wrenching turns. When I was five feet from the doorway, the chimp barked at me, pulled out a large knife, and began sawing at one of the two tethers securing the ladder to the copter.
In a matter of seconds he was through. He looked up at me as he brought the knife to the remaining tether. Suddenly, he lost his balance as the copter went through another rapid maneuver. He nearly fell from his perch but managed to grab a handrail mounted to the side of the doorway. He hissed at me and brought his arm back to slash at the tether.
I felt a small shove on my shoulder and saw a black furball attach itself to the ape’s face. In his surprise, the ape relinquished his grip on the rail to claw at the thing in his face. It was the kitten!
I managed to reach up, grab the front of the chimp’s flightsuit, and yank him out. I was planning on making a grab for the kitten but, as if it knew what I was going to do, it had leapt from the hurling ape into the inner recesses of the helicopter. I took a brief glance down to check that the chimp had not caught the end of the ladder – I’ve seen a lot of movies! – and pulled myself up into the copter.
Test Ending #3, Part 2 of 2
I was about 10 feet below the doorway when a chimp appeared in it. He made to bring his machine gun up then, smiling a ch-impish grin, he let it return to its position hanging from his shoulder and barked something towards the cockpit.
Suddenly the copter lurched in a descending arc towards the buildings below and it was all I could do to hang on while the chimp in the doorway casually watched me.
Damn dirty apes!
Using all the strength I could muster, I began struggling up the ladder, making most of my agonizingly slow progress in the brief respites between the copter’s screaming dives and wrenching turns. When I was five feet from the doorway, the chimp barked at me, pulled out a large knife, and began sawing at one of the two tethers securing the ladder to the copter.
In a matter of seconds he was through. He looked up at me as he brought the knife to the remaining tether. Suddenly, he lost his balance as the copter went through another rapid maneuver. He nearly fell from his perch but managed to grab a handrail mounted to the side of the doorway. He hissed at me and brought his arm back to slash at the tether.
I felt a small shove on my shoulder and saw a black furball attach itself to the ape’s face. In his surprise, the ape relinquished his grip on the rail to claw at the thing in his face. It was the kitten!
I managed to reach up, grab the front of the chimp’s flightsuit, and yank him out. I was planning on making a grab for the kitten but, as if it knew what I was going to do, it had leapt from the hurling ape into the inner recesses of the helicopter. I took a brief glance down to check that the chimp had not caught the end of the ladder – I’ve seen a lot of movies! – and pulled myself up into the copter.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Test Ending #3, Part 1 of 2
In the three seconds it took to get to the porch (the patio door was open), I realized things were awry in my life to a much greater extant than when I thought I had just a dying kitten to contend with. There were monkeys in my home!
Or more accurately, very large chimpanzees!
The situation: I am on the balcony. A giant chimp in Army-like clothing is sharing the small space with me. A flexible, roll-up ladder is rapidly ascending past the floor we are on and I can hear Kerry’s screams from above over the incredibly loud roar of a helicopter. I can see another soldier chimp in my apartment struggling with an apparently jammed machine gun.
I spring into action! With my right foot, I aim a kick to the jaw of the now leaping chimp in front of me. Simultaneously, I pull a short-fuse grenade from under my light jacket with my left hand and flip it into the apartment. My right hand shoots out to grab the ladder and I am pulled off the porch.
Immediately after my left hand swings around to affirm my grip the balcony below explodes in an eruption of glass, wood, and shards of that cheap plastic everything is made out of these days.... oh, and monkey guts, too. As I soar out over Freedom Parkway and the throngs of rush hour traffic, I begin working my way up the ladder to the sleek black copter above.
My mind races. This is it! The Chimp Council had finally put together the scattered bits of information gained from their spies and had tracked down the focus of Project Messiah to Kerry and I in Atlanta! Just 3 weeks before Liam would be the first human incarnation of magic in seven hundred years. With him as the vanguard, the human race could leave this dead universe as almost all the other civilizations had and enter a world where even the smallest child could fulfill it’s every need merely by thought!
Unfortunately, the Council of Thirteen for the chimpanzee species had been thwarting this goal for the last two decades. Why? No one knew but they. One would think the chimps would actually benefit from the absence of primarily the menace wreaked upon them in recent times by humanity. Perhaps they were the agents of forces out in Paradise that did not want humans entering...who knows?
“Anyway,” I thought as the shadowy doorway above loomed. “I have a job to do.”
Unnoticed by me, a kitten’s head poked from the lunch bang dangling from my shoulders.
To Be Continued
Or more accurately, very large chimpanzees!
The situation: I am on the balcony. A giant chimp in Army-like clothing is sharing the small space with me. A flexible, roll-up ladder is rapidly ascending past the floor we are on and I can hear Kerry’s screams from above over the incredibly loud roar of a helicopter. I can see another soldier chimp in my apartment struggling with an apparently jammed machine gun.
I spring into action! With my right foot, I aim a kick to the jaw of the now leaping chimp in front of me. Simultaneously, I pull a short-fuse grenade from under my light jacket with my left hand and flip it into the apartment. My right hand shoots out to grab the ladder and I am pulled off the porch.
Immediately after my left hand swings around to affirm my grip the balcony below explodes in an eruption of glass, wood, and shards of that cheap plastic everything is made out of these days.... oh, and monkey guts, too. As I soar out over Freedom Parkway and the throngs of rush hour traffic, I begin working my way up the ladder to the sleek black copter above.
My mind races. This is it! The Chimp Council had finally put together the scattered bits of information gained from their spies and had tracked down the focus of Project Messiah to Kerry and I in Atlanta! Just 3 weeks before Liam would be the first human incarnation of magic in seven hundred years. With him as the vanguard, the human race could leave this dead universe as almost all the other civilizations had and enter a world where even the smallest child could fulfill it’s every need merely by thought!
Unfortunately, the Council of Thirteen for the chimpanzee species had been thwarting this goal for the last two decades. Why? No one knew but they. One would think the chimps would actually benefit from the absence of primarily the menace wreaked upon them in recent times by humanity. Perhaps they were the agents of forces out in Paradise that did not want humans entering...who knows?
“Anyway,” I thought as the shadowy doorway above loomed. “I have a job to do.”
Unnoticed by me, a kitten’s head poked from the lunch bang dangling from my shoulders.
To Be Continued
Friday, August 18, 2006
Test Ending #2
Stepping out onto the patio from my living room, a leggy brunette held a gun at waist-level aimed at my chest.
“Give me the bag,” she said. Straight. All business.
I started to unzip it. “But – “
“Now!” The gun came up.
I handed her the bag. Slow and easy does it.
“All that’s in there is a cat,” I said. “A cat about to cash in on it’s ninth life.”
She glared, backed into my apartment, and picked up the phone.
Dialed. “I’ve got it.” She put the phone down.
I didn’t miss the smirk as she walked out the door.
Too bad.
Ten seconds passed. I heard a commotion on the landing below. A man’s yell of surprise. A shot.
I snaked down the steps and found Beautiful in a heap, blood streaming from her forehead. I checked it. No real damage. She’d be fine.
I looked up. The cat sat there looking at me. Calm and relaxed. Like it’s owner had just filled it’s dish and was getting the brush-off. Fucker.
Beautiful stirred.
“Honey, what happened?” I aped.
“I – I opened the bag… and it really WAS a cat… and then this guy with a backpack walked up and – “
The glare was back.
“You’re the cat guy.”
She stood up. A little shaky but like I said, fine.
“You’re the cat guy,” she repeated and walked down the steps.
I sat there. I watched the sun going down behind the city. I went back to my room and poured a drink.
I looked at my lunchbag on the table and finished my drink.
With my pocketknife, I cut the stones from inside the lining.
So these were the Eyes of Bast, the flame-orange sapphires stolen from an Egyptian museum two months ago and the cause of six deaths.
That I knew of.
“Give me the bag,” she said. Straight. All business.
I started to unzip it. “But – “
“Now!” The gun came up.
I handed her the bag. Slow and easy does it.
“All that’s in there is a cat,” I said. “A cat about to cash in on it’s ninth life.”
She glared, backed into my apartment, and picked up the phone.
Dialed. “I’ve got it.” She put the phone down.
I didn’t miss the smirk as she walked out the door.
Too bad.
Ten seconds passed. I heard a commotion on the landing below. A man’s yell of surprise. A shot.
I snaked down the steps and found Beautiful in a heap, blood streaming from her forehead. I checked it. No real damage. She’d be fine.
I looked up. The cat sat there looking at me. Calm and relaxed. Like it’s owner had just filled it’s dish and was getting the brush-off. Fucker.
Beautiful stirred.
“Honey, what happened?” I aped.
“I – I opened the bag… and it really WAS a cat… and then this guy with a backpack walked up and – “
The glare was back.
“You’re the cat guy.”
She stood up. A little shaky but like I said, fine.
“You’re the cat guy,” she repeated and walked down the steps.
I sat there. I watched the sun going down behind the city. I went back to my room and poured a drink.
I looked at my lunchbag on the table and finished my drink.
With my pocketknife, I cut the stones from inside the lining.
So these were the Eyes of Bast, the flame-orange sapphires stolen from an Egyptian museum two months ago and the cause of six deaths.
That I knew of.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Shows That Make Ya Go Wooh
My wife is addicted to the new big thing on network TV which is an endless barrage of talent shows... dance competitions, comedy laugh-off's, singing contests... and every night, every single pause between every single act and every single comment (save for the boo's following those of the token critic) is filled with the sounds of the crowd's WOOOOH's.
"I don't think I can handle
She goes channel to channel
Cold lookin' for that hero
She watch channel zero"
I'm about to throw a brick through the goddamn thing.
"I don't think I can handle
She goes channel to channel
Cold lookin' for that hero
She watch channel zero"
I'm about to throw a brick through the goddamn thing.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
By Popular Demand
Marky Mark: This story is not testing well with its target audience. You're going to have to change the ending if you want any hope at movie rights.
TEST ENDING #1
I opened the bag and the kitten leaped out with a hiss and immediately buried its teeth into my thumb. I yelled and accidentally kicked the bowl of food my fiancé had laid out (I had called her on my cell phone) scattering kibble all over the place. The kitten made a dive for the railing, three stories over the parking lot below. I clutched at it to prevent it from killing itself and it sunk all four claws (each with five happy daggers, mind you) into my arm, wrapping itself like a boa constrictor about my now bleeding forearm.
Continuing to scream with even more gusto then before when I had had a paltry thumb wound as my only concern...bah...a piffle when compared with the Death of a Thousand Pinpricks streaming with Sadaam Hussein's "rivers of blood” that my formerly satisfied and content limb had become.
Somehow... I guess some survival instinct kicked in... I managed to pick up the water bowl also placed by my fiancé who was now laughingly gleefully behind a half-inch of glass, safe from this feline torment...and dumped it’s contents over the kitten. Immediately, it dropped to the floor of the balcony and began casually licking itself as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
In my pain-fueled rage, I made to give it a little smack but then the kitten swished its tail and gave me a look as if to say “Don’t go there”!
INSERT LAUGH TRACK HERE
TEST ENDING #1
I opened the bag and the kitten leaped out with a hiss and immediately buried its teeth into my thumb. I yelled and accidentally kicked the bowl of food my fiancé had laid out (I had called her on my cell phone) scattering kibble all over the place. The kitten made a dive for the railing, three stories over the parking lot below. I clutched at it to prevent it from killing itself and it sunk all four claws (each with five happy daggers, mind you) into my arm, wrapping itself like a boa constrictor about my now bleeding forearm.
Continuing to scream with even more gusto then before when I had had a paltry thumb wound as my only concern...bah...a piffle when compared with the Death of a Thousand Pinpricks streaming with Sadaam Hussein's "rivers of blood” that my formerly satisfied and content limb had become.
Somehow... I guess some survival instinct kicked in... I managed to pick up the water bowl also placed by my fiancé who was now laughingly gleefully behind a half-inch of glass, safe from this feline torment...and dumped it’s contents over the kitten. Immediately, it dropped to the floor of the balcony and began casually licking itself as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
In my pain-fueled rage, I made to give it a little smack but then the kitten swished its tail and gave me a look as if to say “Don’t go there”!
INSERT LAUGH TRACK HERE
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Into the Lupins, Part Four: Dead By Dawn!
I am a little surprised at the huge amount of calls and e-mail’s requesting further episodes featuring my lawn equipment. Given the lackluster response from the kitten story, I’m amazed that the daily appeals of “How’s the mower doin’?”, “Bring back Strike Force Delta!”, and “More lawn stories please” have not abated.
Well, sorry dear readers, but you are going to have to wait a little longer for further yard adventures. My northern tale must be told.
The last time I had been on the ferry was almost exactly seven years ago when my sister and I drove my mother’s Geo Metro from her winter place in central Florida to Newfoundland. I reveled in the wind and spray then too but the only other thing I saw was the inside of the bar. I spent the first 10 hours of the trip buried in this dim, low-ceilinged cave of a place downing Keith’s Ales with the Canucks.
Half the time I was huddled over an array of twelve postcards in which I drew a giant mural glorifying some Posse party that was coming up. My confused and befuddled mind thought that the various recipients of these postcards would notice that other’s had received similar ones and, DaVinci Code-esque, the mural would eventually be pieced together.
Ha! What an idiot.
Well, sorry dear readers, but you are going to have to wait a little longer for further yard adventures. My northern tale must be told.
The last time I had been on the ferry was almost exactly seven years ago when my sister and I drove my mother’s Geo Metro from her winter place in central Florida to Newfoundland. I reveled in the wind and spray then too but the only other thing I saw was the inside of the bar. I spent the first 10 hours of the trip buried in this dim, low-ceilinged cave of a place downing Keith’s Ales with the Canucks.
Half the time I was huddled over an array of twelve postcards in which I drew a giant mural glorifying some Posse party that was coming up. My confused and befuddled mind thought that the various recipients of these postcards would notice that other’s had received similar ones and, DaVinci Code-esque, the mural would eventually be pieced together.
Ha! What an idiot.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Big man on campus
Liam started kindergarten today... first time in a full-time school scene. It was crazy sending him off on the bus this morning... kind of a line of demarcation in the little guy's life. East lies toddlerdom and the rest of a life completely dominated by the parents. West lies a new world with a huge part of life away from Mom and Dad.
"Wow... I'm a real kid now!"
Unfortunately, Sir Francis Drake got a time-out on his first day for talking.
"Wow... I'm a real kid now!"
Unfortunately, Sir Francis Drake got a time-out on his first day for talking.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Not today, Megatron!
Well, unlike I predicted, Transformers have indeed turned out to be Liam’s next obsession. He has seven or eight of them now… mostly from relatives, a few from us.
I’m assuming everyone reading this knows what Transformers are… a series of cartoons and toys from the 80’s in which robots that can change into cars, truck, and jets battle other robots than can change into cars, truck, and…
Well… jets.
I can just see the executives at the toy company that ended up with this absolutely incredible concept aka freakin’ goldmine.
“Ok, you say this toy is for boys.”
“Ummm. It’s a truck. Well, Mr. Gozhu, it’s been a pleas-“
“Wait a sec, what are you do- you're breaking it - it's.. it’s a truck that changes into a GIANT ROBOT WITH MISSILES AND A GUN??!!???!!”
“Can I get something for you, Mr. Gozhu? Some tea, a soda, perhaps my daughter’s phone number?”
Gads… sheer genius!
Anyway, I was a little too old when the Transformers came out and really knew nothing about them until now. I was into Speed Racer and Star Blazers (both super-cool) when I was pretty young plus Ultra-Man before I can even remember (apparently, I had some lung problem when I was a tyke and I was in some kind of chamber at the hospital and I called it my Ultra-Man tent) but that’s where my Japanimation exposure ends… after that it was all Battlestar Galactica and Buck Rogers for little Jimmy.
Now, of course, I know why the Autobots fled their homeworld of Cybertron and why Megatron needs energon cubes for his nefarious schemes, but mostly I’m the guy that can clip Prowl’s door back on and fit Ultra Magnus’ lower rear rack to his side panels.
Plus I’m psyched for the movie coming out next July 4th!
I’m assuming everyone reading this knows what Transformers are… a series of cartoons and toys from the 80’s in which robots that can change into cars, truck, and jets battle other robots than can change into cars, truck, and…
Well… jets.
I can just see the executives at the toy company that ended up with this absolutely incredible concept aka freakin’ goldmine.
“Ok, you say this toy is for boys.”
“Ummm. It’s a truck. Well, Mr. Gozhu, it’s been a pleas-“
“Wait a sec, what are you do- you're breaking it - it's.. it’s a truck that changes into a GIANT ROBOT WITH MISSILES AND A GUN??!!???!!”
“Can I get something for you, Mr. Gozhu? Some tea, a soda, perhaps my daughter’s phone number?”
Gads… sheer genius!
Anyway, I was a little too old when the Transformers came out and really knew nothing about them until now. I was into Speed Racer and Star Blazers (both super-cool) when I was pretty young plus Ultra-Man before I can even remember (apparently, I had some lung problem when I was a tyke and I was in some kind of chamber at the hospital and I called it my Ultra-Man tent) but that’s where my Japanimation exposure ends… after that it was all Battlestar Galactica and Buck Rogers for little Jimmy.
Now, of course, I know why the Autobots fled their homeworld of Cybertron and why Megatron needs energon cubes for his nefarious schemes, but mostly I’m the guy that can clip Prowl’s door back on and fit Ultra Magnus’ lower rear rack to his side panels.
Plus I’m psyched for the movie coming out next July 4th!
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Get On the Bus
To me, it's always nice to get back into the usual routine following a vacation. Unfortunately, my current one is about to be scrapped forever since Liam is heading off on the bus for kindergarten this Monday... the first time he's had an all-day school week.
This is truly a big deal in the fam. We're setting up charts, adjusting lights-out and wake-up times, and optimizing pre-bed drills. Quite the event. And no I'm not the Great Santini but without some normalizing of the usual screaming and pleading chaos in my household, that ol' bus will be arriving at the school Liamless more often than not.
This is truly a big deal in the fam. We're setting up charts, adjusting lights-out and wake-up times, and optimizing pre-bed drills. Quite the event. And no I'm not the Great Santini but without some normalizing of the usual screaming and pleading chaos in my household, that ol' bus will be arriving at the school Liamless more often than not.
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