Tibbs is a Pervert

Mr. Tibbs is our favorite cat, but it’s come to our attention that he is a pervert: he loves to watch me shower.

Admittedly, I don’t often shower at home. This, despite Mike’s claims to the contrary, does not mean that I don’t shower regularly; I shower at the gym. When I do deign to use our home shower, I can count on Mr. Tibbs creeping into the bathroom to watch me. He slips under the decorative outer curtain and monitors me through the clear plastic inner curtain. Sometimes, he bats at the plastic, but mostly, he just sits quietly and gazes from within his striped tent.

What is his fascination with watching me shower? I thought that he may be enjoying the droplets running down the clear plastic, but, if that were the case, he would watch Mike shower, and he doesn’t. The only explanation I can think of is that he is puzzled by my momentary lack of fur (clothing). He often sees Mike naked, but I am not prone to prowling the house in the nude. I’m almost always clothed. Mr. Tibbs must find my pink skin a bizarre contrast to my usual multi-colored fur.

Or maybe he’s just a kitty voyeur and likes to look at naked ladies.

Grammar Rant

Despite high marks in 5th grade Language Arts, I’m no grammar whiz. I’ve grudgingly admitted that it is important to use words correctly in every day speech, as well as in the written word. Like it or not, people judge you based on your shoes and your grammar. Although I still can’t figure out why I shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition, I’ve made a conscious effort to observe the other grammar rules.

The problem is, with certain rules, the effort remains entirely conscious. For instance, I KNOW when one should say “him and me” vs. “him and I,” but it doesn’t come naturally to me when speaking. I invariably use the wrong pronoun and wince afterwards. I can barely refrain from smacking my forehead and chanting, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” However, I am no longer going to blame myself for this lapse, instead I BLAME THE WORLD. Specifically, I blame the media.

Let’s face it, we don’t learn grammar from textbooks, we pick it up as we hear the spoken word. Over and over again, on TV, radio, and in the movies, I hear two common mistakes: the “I - me” mix-up (e.g. “She’s smarter than me”) and using adjectives to modify verbs (e.g. “He runs quick”). In everyday speech, our words are not pre-scripted. Most of our remarks run dribble out our mouths with little thought. However, in the media, especially in commercials, the words are written, edited, proofread, and then handed to the speaker. I find it amazing that in the preparatory process, these errors aren’t caught. For example, listen to the “Skillets” Jimmy Dean radio commercial.

This is my plea to the copy and scriptwriters of the world: Take your responsibility as the prime educator of our youth seriously; have your work edited by a grammarian. I’d like to spare my children the anguish of misspeaking and then internally berating themselves. Or maybe I’m the only one that does that…

Turkey Wiener

Turkey necks look amusingly phallic-like (see photo). However, they smell like ASS if you try to fry them up on the stove to feed to the cats. It smelled so bad we had to throw it over the back fence for the raccoons to scavenge.

Sadly, this is the only photo I have to commemorate this year’s Turkey Day. Mike and I aren’t too sentimental. In fact, our mockery of tradition would probably offend most people. This is why we spend the holidays alone; we tend to horrify our hosts.

My coworkers were aghast that I cooked an entire Thanksgiving feast for two people, but you’d be amazed at how much damage 2 people and 4 cats can do to a 12-pound turkey. We have less than half of the bird left. Mike is busy devouring the cheesecake. The stuffing, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and rolls are gone. I should probably just throw away the leftover sweet potatoes. They came prepared in a $1.50 can, so no great loss there.

If you think our Thanksgiving photo is crude, just wait till Christmas. We have a home-grown tradition of sending thank-you cards with photos of the presents in use. We got a Bathroom Reader book last year. Imagine the possibilities…

Why Toy Mice Are Bright Pink

Yesterday morning, I entered the living room to see the usual idyllic scene: Mike parked in his La-Z-Boy with his laptop, Mimi lying on the coffee table, and Zoro curled up on the sofa table. Mr. Tibbs was sprawled on the floor at Mike’s feet, next to the scratching post and surrounded by toys - all the trappings of a spoiled kitty. Upon closer inspection, though, I saw that one of the “toy mice” was a real, dead mouse. I shrieked and pointed it out to Mike.

“No, no,” he said, “That’s a toy mouse.”

It was the same size as a toy mouse, so I understand how he could be mistaken. Its dead body was curved into the same gentle “C” as the toys. Even the proportions were the same. The give-away was its matted gray fur, yellowed fangs, and naked tail. The toy mice, for the most part, sport neon fur and bright yarn tails (and no teeth). Somehow, Mr. Tibbs had slipped inside with a real mouse and camouflaged it among the toys, like ET amidst the stuffed animals.

I was totally grossed out but had to dispose of the rodent. Mike advised me to pick it up by the tail, but there was no way my delicate flesh was going to come into contact with that mangy mouse. I picked it up with a wad of paper towels and flushed it (just to be sure it wouldn’t reappear in the house tomorrow).

Mr. T was sorry to see his toy go, but we have about 20 fake mice for him to play with instead. Now I know why the toy makers churn them out in those heart-stoppingly bright colors. It makes the aliens easier to spot.

We're Not the Only Collectors Out There

The cover of the latest People magazine (11/7/05) reads "Angelina - I want to adopt again." All I can think is that this woman has as little will power to resist babies as we have to resist kittens. However, I think impulse buying cats might be a little less disasterous than collecting babies.