really really funny stuff · Uncategorized

Dear Lizard – Don’t fight it

lizard on rock
This is not a picture of the actual lizard. I was too worried I would fail and he would die, so I didn’t take a picture of him because I didn’t want a reminder of him and his demise… Photo by Francesco Ungaro on

I’m terrified of spiders. Not shocking news, especially for anyone who reads this blog or knows me in real life.

What I’m not terrified of is lizards.

I love lizards.

I love them so, so, so much.

I love them so much that whenever I find their little desiccated corpses which means that one of them was brutally kitty-murdered, I’m super sad as I toss it into the trash. (Which doesn’t sound like I’m that sad, but, honestly, what else can you do with a little lizard corpse?)

So when the blinds in the living rooms shifted, I almost freaked out and ran away. Then I spotted a green tail sticking out. A second later, a green head popped out.

A lizard!

A lizard in the house…with the murdering kitties. And, to be fair, puppies. The puppies don’t catch them as often, but I do know that a certain puppy quite enjoys the hunt and is happy when she manages a kill.

I had to rescue it before it began kitty – or puppy – chow.

The problem with the lizards we have around are that they are fast, and they don’t like to be captured. If you foolishly try to grab them, they drop their tail and make a break for it while you have that completely natural reaction of “oh my god, there’s a part of a lizard in my hand!”

This time, though, I had a cunning plan.

Waiting to get put back up above the cabinets was a Halloween candy container that had a lid.

I could totally catch this lizard and save him.

The only problem was that he didn’t want me to.

I don’t think that it was because he enjoyed hiding the slats of the blinds – although, since I’m not a lizard, perhaps that’s actually some sort of spa-like experience for them, and he thought I was ruining his perfectly enjoyable afternoon.

I made a few ill-advised attempts to get him to jump into the container.

Hint: lizards do jump, but not into clear containers.

Instead, he jumped down to the window ledge or jumped back up into the blinds.

I knew I only had a few more chances before he would drop to the floor, hide under some furniture, and become kibble for one of the animals in the house.

“Get in the bucket! It will save you!” I told him.

“You’ll die! You’ll die!” Which, if he understood English, he might have taken as a threat.

I don’t think I suddenly convinced him with my yelling. I think he probably just ran out of options since I had been forcing him downward until the container was between him and the floor.

He jumped into the container.

“I have saved you, lizard!” I yelled at him as I rested the lid on top. I didn’t want to push it down – if he had been too close, I might have killed him, which would have made the entire ten minutes I’d spent on saving him into a wasted ten minutes instead of ten minutes that made me a hero.

I brought him outside onto the back porch, which meant the dogs wanted to come along, too. To try to keep him saved, I put the container down on a chair, above the dogs’ easy reach, and opened it.

He looked up at me.

“You’re free!”

He looked up at me.

“Get out of the bucket!”

He looked up at me.

“Let me rescue you!”

He still hadn’t gotten out of the bucket. I began to suspect that perhaps we had bonded, and now he didn’t want to leave me. I couldn’t blame him. I mean, who would want to leave me, especially after I saved their life?

But I knew it was best for him to rejoin nature.

I grabbed the bucket and tried to slide him out.

I guess lizards have super amazing pads on their feet because he didn’t slide. He stuck to the plastic side of the container. He didn’t budge.

“Don’t make me hurt you!” I said.

“Don’t fight it!”


Even as I slid the lizard to his outdoor fate, I couldn’t help but think of a particular episode of “Better Off Ted.” I couldn’t make the lizard watch it – he wouldn’t understand it, plus, having been forced from the container, he’d made a break for it, and I’d already lost him.

So here it is – for you – part of “The Great Repression”


Meme’ories to lose

Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil by clarita at morguefile.comHave you ever seen a meme that reminded you of something that you’d rather forget?

First, we need to flash back more years than I’d like to admit.

I was out of high school and had a job, but couldn’t afford an apartment. I was living at home, and our house was small. My bedroom shared a wall with my parents’ room.

I woke up, and from the room right next to mine, I heard my father moaning.

It was about 6 a.m.  I really, really needed to pee. The bathroom was right there – if I walked into the hallway that both bedrooms went out into. And it didn’t sound like their door was closed.

I stayed quiet, and I stayed in bed.

Now we need to flash back even further.

When I was a teenager I had an awesome cat, but he had asthma. The poor kitty would get all not-breathing-so-good and we’d bring him to the vet to get a shot, and then he’d be better.

Of course, this not-breathing-so-good normally happened on evenings, holidays, and weekends. You know, when the normal vet office was closed, so we’d have to go to the emergency clinic.

That’s where we were. Waiting. I’d brought a book (probably science fiction or horror at that age), and my father had brought a programming book.

He shifted the book, and a piece of paper fell out and hit the floor. I grabbed it, being the oh so awesome and nice person that I am. But then I looked at it because I’m not really that awesome and nice.

It was a checklist of symptoms for depression. Clearly, my mother had filled it out and given it to him.

I don’t remember all the things that were checked off, but one of them was quite noticeable.

It had been checked off, circled, starred, and highlighted.

Which one?

Lack of sexual desire.

Continuing with my lack of niceness and awesomeness, I laughed.

“That’s so funny!” I said.

My father looked at me, as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

“No,” he said. “No. It’s not.”

That just made me laugh harder.

Now flash back to the moment when I woke up and heard noise from my parents’ room.

I didn’t want to interrupt anything. Sure, it was super gross to think of my parents having sex, but I wasn’t dumb enough to think that they weren’t human beings with needs.

I thought I’d be quiet. Just hum to myself, cover my ears, pretend that nothing was going on. Ignore my bladder.

More moaning. Sounds of the bed moving.

I pretended more. Ignored more.

Then I heard it.

My mother.

“Should I wake up Kate?”

“Goddamn it!” I yelled. “He has another kidney stone, doesn’t he?!”

And that’s all I could think of when I saw this meme.







Hasbro has been bought out by crazy old cat ladies…

It's Watching You! It Knows How You Voted! (Cat image by EmmiP at MorgueFile)
It’s Watching You! It Knows How You Voted! (Cat image by EmmiP at MorgueFile,

Seriously, the cat won?  The cat?

So for those not in the know, Hasbro decided to retire a piece from Monopoly and replace it with a new piece.  Kind of an out with the old, in with the new.  And the one voted out sort of made sense – the iron.  Because, honestly, in this day and age, who does their own ironing?   It’s outdated.  It’s outmoded.  Simply put, it’s out.

But then, because this is the world of voting, when shows like American Idol and other brilliantly conceived shows that mimic it like The Voice or whatever those things are called (I don’t watch them so I’m admittedly out of my depth – or shallowness – here), the voters also picked the new piece.

And it’s a cat.

C’mon, public!  You could have done better than that!  I mean, Archie McPhee already sells a Crazy Cat Lady Board Game!  Cats don’t need to be in Monopoly!  You could have had a robot.  A robot!  Now that says forward movement! That says the future!  That says we could all be replaced by robots, and just how pissed off do you think they’re going to be when they see that we picked a cat over a robot?

All I’m saying is that when the robot overlords show up, don’t come crying to me.  You made your cat-infested Monopoly game.  Now play with it!

All hail our robot overlords! (image by Middlewick at MorgueFile,
All hail our robot overlords! (image by Middlewick at MorgueFile,



The Dead Cat on the Mantle

Peanut being Peanut and very much alive...
Peanut being Peanut and very much alive…

Chekhov (no, not the guy from Star Trek!) once said that if there is a loaded gun on the mantle in the first act of the play, then it should be fired in a later act.  But I’m not sure the same is true about cat’s ashes.

I know – I’ve started this out (trying to be) funny, but this isn’t really that funny a topic, unless you define funny as awkward and sad instead of humorous.

I’m not new to the world of pets.  As long as I can remember, we’ve had pets.  Goldfish.  Koi.  Hermit crabs.  A short-lived gerbil.  Cats.  Dogs.  And as long as I’ve had pets, I’ve had pets that died.  Often, we’d go to extraordinary measures to save them and keep them alive as long as possible, like our goldfish Melody, named after the character from Josie and the Pussycats, which, looking back on it, it does seem a bit ironic to name a fish after a pussycat, but I was only six or seven.  Anyway.  Melody the goldfish had surgery performed on her by my father.  We netted her and removed something from her side – and she lived!  At least, as long as goldfish ever live.  Then there have been unexpected deaths, like my dog Scrungy who went to the vet for routine surgery for kidney stones, a surgery she’d had at least half a dozen times, and she died during recovery while we were on the way to pick her up.  (Want to feel bad for someone?  Feel bad for the vet who had two little girls in hysterics in his waiting room when they found out their dog was dead.)

I don’t know what happened to my pets when they died when I was a child.  Sure, we flushed the fish.  And, yeah, we buried the gerbil in the backyard.  But the cats and dogs just disappeared after they died.

Since I’ve been an adult and on my own, though, we’ve only had two other animals die – our dogs Teddy and Cecily.  With Teddy, we got his ashes in a plain plastic box and scattered them at a little place we’d know he’d have liked to run, and it just seemed right and appropriate.  (And it taught us to not be downwind when we opened a box of ashes…)  With Cecily, it was far more of a shock because she began having seizures and couldn’t stop.  In that case, we let the body go for mass cremation because I don’t think we were able to think of anything else.

But this time, it was our cat Peanut.  We knew he had problems because a few years ago he’d suffered a stroke and came back from it.  But since then, he’d had at least one other one that we knew about, but possibly more.  It was still an unpleasant surprise when he had another one right before Christmas and didn’t recover.  He kept getting worse until he couldn’t stand or move properly, and by the time we got him to the emergency clinic, his temperature had fallen and he had no control of or feeling in his hind legs.  Whatever it was that had been causing the strokes and other problems had obviously been progressing, and no one had been able to figure it out or stop it.

Peanut in a box on the mantle...
Peanut in a box on the mantle…

A few weeks later, we picked up his ashes.  Unlike Teddy’s ashes, though, Peanut’s were in a very nice wooden box, engraved and, well, pretty.  And I realized – what were we going to do with his ashes?

Peanut never really left the house.  His favorite place was on top of the couch, and I can’t think that’s a good place to scatter his ashes.  And the box is nice and seems almost strangely appropriate for keeping his ashes in.  It’s orange-ish.  And it just kind of hangs out.  Very cat-like things to do and be.

So what do we do?  Is it wrong to keep his ashes in the box?  Do we keep the cat on the mantle?  Because we have a few other cats, and I’m afraid it might get both crowded and creepy if we keep this up.