This Headline is Cancerous
I saw a news article today addressing a problem with a lake in Alberta containing carcinogens. Local residents are not going to bathe or drink using the water from said lake, until such time as they can figure out what is causing the water to become cancerous.
I think that the solution would be to remove the carp from the lake.
Sometimes, I wonder what isn’t cancerous these days. It seems like everything is.
Why, even this blog entry is causing someone cancer somewhere.
What a strange phenomenon cancer is. Cells go wrong and eventually kill us. A coup d’etat on our life from within our own bodies.
Don’t be fooled by my tone here. Cancer has affected folks in my life that I care about. Indeed, it’s not really all that funny. But at the same time, there is something cathartic about thinking of it as an entity and then making fun of it.
Cancer! Yo’ momma!
Cats Have My Tongue
Not everything today will be grim.
I get asked every once in a while about the cats that are in my photo album on my blog. Today I will tell you the story of these felines.
Anyone who owns pets knows how these furry (and sometimes not furry*) creatures can burrow their way into your heart (especially moles). Our own fuzz balls, Laila and Logan, were retrieved from an animal shelter near our place.
I realize that at this point, continuing would probably qualify the majority of you to revoke my man license and replace it with a blubbering baby license. However, I don’t care what you think, so the story goes on…
I have always had a soft spot for animals, ever since I was a kid. We did have pets…
- Fish – Always ended up floating upside down and not breathing
- Snails – Always managed to escape their escape-proof aquarium
- Turtle – Once brought in and kept for a few weeks, allowing him to regain health before we let him go
- Rabbits – One died of heat stroke, the other was let go and did quite well for himself (Forbes top 100 richest animals)
However, I always wanted a cat.
And so, at the beginning of the millennium, I was on my own.
I expressed this interest to some of the gals at work, who immediately tried to talk me out of it using all manner of convincing arguments…
You are always out.
You’ve never had one before. How do you know what to do?
One day you’ll run out of groceries and the stores will be closed, and when you look at your cats, all you’ll see is a steaming platter of meat!
Discouraged, I figured I would wait until I moved in with Mrs. J to get pets. She wanted pets, too, but was afraid of the responsibility.
Bummed out, one day I had to renew my parking pass for street parking, and so went to the place that did that sort of thing. I found out through casual conversation with the lady behind the counter that there was an animal shelter not more than fifty metres from where I was standing.
And so, I visited.
There was a marvellous black cat there who came right up and rubbed her face on my hands. One of the workers commented how this cat hated people, and how this was the first time she’d shown anyone affection (she was abused as a kitten).
I was hooked.
I would visit every so often, bringing old blankets and small toys for them to play with. The more time I spent there, the more I wanted cats. But I needed a strategy.
I began my relentless campaign shortly after Mrs. J and I moved in together. My relentless campaign involved…
- Me asking if we could get cats
- Meowing quietly when Mrs. J was around
- Purring and rubbing my face against her shoulder
Rather than put up with my crap, Mrs. J relented and we agreed to get two cats. She wanted to get older ones as they would already be comfortable with each other.
Unfortunately, when we arrived at the shelter, all of the adults cats that we saw were there were on their own. There were, however, a few pairs of kittens (One of these little fellas sounded like Edward G. Robinson. Meah! Meah! For those who don’t know who that is, think of Chief Wiggum from The Simpsons saying Where’s the messiah now, Flanders? Meah!).
Two of the kittens caught my eye right away. We were told that the pair of furry kittens were not related, but they seemed to get along. They were three months old.
The best thing about them was their personality. When Mrs. J and I would stand by their cage together, they would sit straight, looking at us like cute statues, tails swishing slightly back and forth.
However, when Mrs. J turned around to look at other cats they would start running around acting crazy, climbing the cage and just going nuts.
I knew these were the two for us.
We took them home and named them Fred and Wilma. They didn’t respond well to this, so we renamed them Laila and Logan.
Ever since we brought them home they have had some interesting adventures of their own. I will probably relate some of these stories to folks later on. They are freaking hilarious…
Quoth the Raven
Okay, well maybe not the raven, but me.
I wrote something today that sounded neat (in my opinion)…
Stress is the refuge of the fearful.
I searched on the internet and I couldn’t find it anywhere, so I must be the first one to use it!
I asked Dave about this quote, and whether he thinks it might catch on.
He said that he’s never heard it either, but that I can’t just promote my own quote. Someone actually has to quote me.
Balls to that.
Feel free to use this. Maybe I will become famous!
Here is the format which works best…
Stress is the refuge of the fearful.
– Jorge Figueiredo, 2005
Enjoy this new useful piece of information!
* – I am convinced that if you leave anything long enough it will grow fur**
** – And by fur I mean mould