I like sushi. Sushi is pretty great. I don't eat sushi very often, but when I do I quite like it a lot. Sushi is tasty. Being a vegetarian, sushi choices are limited. It's either marinated tofu, or marinated tofu, or marinated tofu.
There is also the sushi with salad ingredients. Things like cucumber, or avocado, or sprouts, or lettuce. Or the kind with cucumber, avocado, sprouts and lettuce all together. But that's dull. And dull is boring. Who wants to eat salad and rice together? It's just not quite right. If I wanted a salad I would add other things. Things like mushrooms and carrots and tomatoes and beans. If I wanted a salad, rice would not be included.
Unless its a special rice salad. A rice salad can be pretty great. A rice salad is actually quite tasty. But a rice salad does not include cucumber or avocado or sprouts or lettuce.
This is what happened 3.27 months ago:
I thought I would treat myself and buy sushi for dinner. A truly fabulous idea. An idea so good that I thought I would indulge and buy 4 sushi rolls. So I bought marinated tofu, marinated tofu, marinated tofu, and marinated tofu. Marinated tofu is interesting, not dull. I was quite pleased with my choices.
When I got home Brown was excited. Brown is always excited. Brown sniffed my bag, wagged his tail then went pee. I went inside my house where Orange was resting peacefully all day. Upon going inside Orange sniffed my bag, turned up her nose and went outside.
This is when the Conspiracy Theory began.
Brown and Orange clearly met up in one of there secret meetings to conspire against me. You might recall that Orange tries to eat my food. Brown eats just about anything. But not tofu and not lettuce and not eggplant. I thought I was safe with Tofu.
I was wrong.....
The best way to eat sushi is out of the plastic carton it comes in. It tastes better that way. I was delightfully eating my sushi when I heard Orange at the door. She wanted back inside. Brown was nice and cozy on his bed fast asleep. At least I thought he was fast asleep. What I didn't know is that he secretly had one eye wide open.
With one sushi roll left in the carton I got up and put the carton on the ottoman. I like my ottoman. My ottoman is great. It can be a footrest, a table for my laptop, a coffee table, and my dinner table. All in one.
I proceeded to walk to the door and let Orange in. Thankfully she had no special gifts for me. But looking back, that was planned. Orange and Brown had their plan.
Since I was already up I thought it would be a good time to go to the bathroom. While doing what I needed to do I was anticipating that last very delicious sushi roll. I was gone exactly 48 seconds.
This is what happened in that 48 seconds:
Brown and Orange instigate their plan. Brown who was only pretending to sleep leaps out of his chair and sniffs the sushi roll. This takes exactly 13 seconds. Orange evaluates the situation and gives the all ok meow. This takes exactly 2 seconds. Brown grabs the sushi roll and devours it in only two gulps. This takes exactly 5 seconds. Brown deposits himself back on his bed and pretends to be fast asleep. This takes exactly 16 seconds. Orange jumps up on the ottoman and proceeds to start licking out the remains of my sushi roll. This takes longer than the 12 seconds that remain until I return. Caught in the act, busted!
Lesson learnt #1 Brown and Orange are clearly evil
Lesson learnt #2 Brown will eat anything, even tofu. Except lettuce and eggplant
Lesson learnt #3 Do not leave any food unattended for more than 12 seconds, because it will be gone when I get back
I went to bed disappointed..... But could only laugh!
Brown Dog
Big and Brown
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Conspiracy Theory #258 - Last Night
Every since that fateful day when Brown met Orange I had a sneaky feeling that something had happened between them. And I was right. They became Conspiracy Theorists. They would come together in secret meetings to conspire against me at any attempt they could. They work together well, always with one goal in mind..... how to get back at me in the worst way possible.
Why do they feel the need to get back at me at every possible moment in the worst possible way? I have no idea, but it always works.
This is what happened last night:
The goal: To totally freak me out when I'm at my weakest. The middle of the night. 3:42am to be exact.
Earlier that day: Brown and Orange plan their strategy. It involves the weather forecast.
The weather forecast for last night: Mostly fine, possible shower.
Zoom back a week and the weather forecast was this: Mostly fine, possible shower.
That night last week this happened: There was a crack of thunder. I thought I dreamt it. Brown escaped the yard. I heard a dog cry in the distance. I thought it was another dog. It wasn't. A while later I hear the familiar tap dance whine that only Brown can make. I get out of bed, call Brown.... nothing. Shit. I wrap a towel around me and put on my glasses. Sure enough Brown is on the outside of the fence impatiently waiting to get back into the yard. Brown is smart enough to escape, but not smart enough to get back in and hide all evidence.
Back to last night: Same weather forecast. If there is thunder at night Brown comes to the back door and cries to get inside. He does this for exactly 1.17 minutes. If I hear him it is plenty of time to drag myself out of a pleasant slumber, stagger to the back door and begrudgingly let him in to sleep inside. If I don't hear him he escapes and looks for someone else, anyone else to keep him company.
Last night I came up with a clever idea. One that would kill 2 birds with 1 stone. One that would keep Brown safe and happy, and one that would allow me to stay in bed the whole night.
You may recall that Orange wakes me up at exactly 3:34 each morning to go outside and poo. My clever idea would allow Orange to do that poo without me getting up to let her outside, plus let Brown in if there was thunder. Simple solution - leave the back door open a tad to allow both in or out. Very Clever! Why didn't I think of it years ago?
Because it wasn't very clever after all.....
At exactly 3:34 Orange jumped down from the bed. I woke up, but sighed with relief that I didn't have to endure the meows before I begrudgingly get up to let her out. I roll over with a smile and go back to sleep. At exactly 3:42 I hear the loud and proud Meorw, Meorw, Meorw of Orange. Inside, beside the bed. It takes me exactly 1.19 seconds to fully wake up and realise what this means.
Oh shit, she has brought me a present. You may recall what usually happens when Orange brings me presents. A whole bunch of not good.
I listen for exactly 27 seconds, hoping that it might be all good. It wasn't. I turn on the bedside lamp, clear my eyes in time to see Orange 'playing' with something. Seeing as I'm blind without my glasses, I really, really, Really hope that it's just a gecko, or a cockroach, or a moth, or anything apart from a mouse. I reach for my glasses, put them on, and swear and yelp. It's a bloody mouse.
My mind races.... oh shit, what do I do? I don't need this! I watch silently, oh so silent. The mouse appears dead, PHEW! Orange continues to play, throwing it into the air, batting it around the floor. Oh crap, what if it ends up under the bed where she can't reach it? Oh crap what if it starts stinking to high hell in the summer heat? Oh crap what if it is only playing dead and scurries across my face later on? Oh crap what if it hides in a corner and has a million baby mice? Shit!
Action time..... best plan is don't disturb Orange. Slowly I creep out of bed. Taking a quick glance I notice that the mouse, dead, or alive, or maimed, is in my shoe. Not just any shoe, my favourite shoe.
I can no longer watch. I feel like barfing. Instead I go to the kitchen and drink copious amounts of water. If I had vodka in the house I possibly would have drunk copious amounts of it. I sit on the couch and think.
There are two options. Sleep on the couch for the rest of the night and ignore the problem until the alarm goes off, in which I will also be faced with options. Or be brave and go back into the fighting zone. I decide to go back into the fighting zone.
Sneaking down the hallway verwy verwy quietly, I peak around the corner. All I want to do is go back to bed. I turn my head around the corner of the bedroom, open my eyes, and hear CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.... I can see the crunch with my eyes.
Completely grossed out I return to the couch holding in a barf. Exactly 3.49 minutes later Orange emerges licking her lips. I immediately think "if you have not eaten every morsel of that mouse and left me something to clean up, I will need to kill you".
Creeping back into the bedroom with eyes closed, I open them expecting to see half an eaten mouse. Much to my pleasure that is not the case. Everything is gone, even the tail and eyeballs.
Lessons learnt #1: Orange does not wake me up at 3:34 each morning to go outside to poop. She wakes me up to have a midnight snack.
Lesson leant #2: Do not leave the back door open for Orange. Endure her 3:34 meows until I train her not to.
Lesson learnt #3: Always be on the look out for more Conspiracy Theories from Brown and Orange.
Why do they feel the need to get back at me at every possible moment in the worst possible way? I have no idea, but it always works.
This is what happened last night:
The goal: To totally freak me out when I'm at my weakest. The middle of the night. 3:42am to be exact.
Earlier that day: Brown and Orange plan their strategy. It involves the weather forecast.
The weather forecast for last night: Mostly fine, possible shower.
Zoom back a week and the weather forecast was this: Mostly fine, possible shower.
That night last week this happened: There was a crack of thunder. I thought I dreamt it. Brown escaped the yard. I heard a dog cry in the distance. I thought it was another dog. It wasn't. A while later I hear the familiar tap dance whine that only Brown can make. I get out of bed, call Brown.... nothing. Shit. I wrap a towel around me and put on my glasses. Sure enough Brown is on the outside of the fence impatiently waiting to get back into the yard. Brown is smart enough to escape, but not smart enough to get back in and hide all evidence.
Back to last night: Same weather forecast. If there is thunder at night Brown comes to the back door and cries to get inside. He does this for exactly 1.17 minutes. If I hear him it is plenty of time to drag myself out of a pleasant slumber, stagger to the back door and begrudgingly let him in to sleep inside. If I don't hear him he escapes and looks for someone else, anyone else to keep him company.
Last night I came up with a clever idea. One that would kill 2 birds with 1 stone. One that would keep Brown safe and happy, and one that would allow me to stay in bed the whole night.
You may recall that Orange wakes me up at exactly 3:34 each morning to go outside and poo. My clever idea would allow Orange to do that poo without me getting up to let her outside, plus let Brown in if there was thunder. Simple solution - leave the back door open a tad to allow both in or out. Very Clever! Why didn't I think of it years ago?
Because it wasn't very clever after all.....
At exactly 3:34 Orange jumped down from the bed. I woke up, but sighed with relief that I didn't have to endure the meows before I begrudgingly get up to let her out. I roll over with a smile and go back to sleep. At exactly 3:42 I hear the loud and proud Meorw, Meorw, Meorw of Orange. Inside, beside the bed. It takes me exactly 1.19 seconds to fully wake up and realise what this means.
Oh shit, she has brought me a present. You may recall what usually happens when Orange brings me presents. A whole bunch of not good.
I listen for exactly 27 seconds, hoping that it might be all good. It wasn't. I turn on the bedside lamp, clear my eyes in time to see Orange 'playing' with something. Seeing as I'm blind without my glasses, I really, really, Really hope that it's just a gecko, or a cockroach, or a moth, or anything apart from a mouse. I reach for my glasses, put them on, and swear and yelp. It's a bloody mouse.
My mind races.... oh shit, what do I do? I don't need this! I watch silently, oh so silent. The mouse appears dead, PHEW! Orange continues to play, throwing it into the air, batting it around the floor. Oh crap, what if it ends up under the bed where she can't reach it? Oh crap what if it starts stinking to high hell in the summer heat? Oh crap what if it is only playing dead and scurries across my face later on? Oh crap what if it hides in a corner and has a million baby mice? Shit!
Action time..... best plan is don't disturb Orange. Slowly I creep out of bed. Taking a quick glance I notice that the mouse, dead, or alive, or maimed, is in my shoe. Not just any shoe, my favourite shoe.
I can no longer watch. I feel like barfing. Instead I go to the kitchen and drink copious amounts of water. If I had vodka in the house I possibly would have drunk copious amounts of it. I sit on the couch and think.
There are two options. Sleep on the couch for the rest of the night and ignore the problem until the alarm goes off, in which I will also be faced with options. Or be brave and go back into the fighting zone. I decide to go back into the fighting zone.
Sneaking down the hallway verwy verwy quietly, I peak around the corner. All I want to do is go back to bed. I turn my head around the corner of the bedroom, open my eyes, and hear CRUNCH, CRUNCH, CRUNCH.... I can see the crunch with my eyes.
Completely grossed out I return to the couch holding in a barf. Exactly 3.49 minutes later Orange emerges licking her lips. I immediately think "if you have not eaten every morsel of that mouse and left me something to clean up, I will need to kill you".
Creeping back into the bedroom with eyes closed, I open them expecting to see half an eaten mouse. Much to my pleasure that is not the case. Everything is gone, even the tail and eyeballs.
Lessons learnt #1: Orange does not wake me up at 3:34 each morning to go outside to poop. She wakes me up to have a midnight snack.
Lesson leant #2: Do not leave the back door open for Orange. Endure her 3:34 meows until I train her not to.
Lesson learnt #3: Always be on the look out for more Conspiracy Theories from Brown and Orange.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
When Brown Met Orange... Nothing at all like When Harry Met Sally
So where were we? Oh yes, just after the mammoth colossal storm of mass proportions caused by Brown farts on the way home.
At this stage Orange was quite set in her ways, after only one week she had total control of the house and me. She let me know when she wanted to be fed by climbing up my legs and back to perch on my shoulders while cooking. She let me know when she wanted to poop by running around the house sounding like a heard of elephants. She let me know when she wanted to play by biting my nose at 2:13am every morning. And she let me know that she owned the house by attacking everything in site like it was prey and leaving a huge mess everywhere. I quite liked it.
Then along came Brown.......
As a rule dogs hate cats, and cats hate dogs. But I had a plan, a really well thought out plan. One that I had concocted precisely 53 seconds before Brown met Orange. Of course it would work, they would fall in love with each other instantly. Why wouldn't they? Both born on the same day, both so cute, they had so much in common! They were practically brother & sister after all.
The plan was this: make sure Orange was sleeping on the couch, then quietly put Brown next to her. Voila, instant love.
The plan didn't work.
What should have happened: Orange wakes up and senses another furry animal. Brown senses another furry animal. They both have a good sniff of each other and become instant friends.
What really happened: Orange wakes up, senses another furry animal, arches her back, produces a deep throated noise that only a shit scared kitten can make and takes a swipe at Brown and me. It all happens so fast that Brown and I don't know what to do so Brown whimpers, and pees.... all over the couch. I make a remark similar to "oh shit".... and run away.
So now there is a Brown Dog and an Orange Cat at large in the house. And they apparently hate each other. No love.
Brown is easy to find, he's bigger. I find him investigating stuff. Stuff in the bathroom. Stuff in Oranges litter tray to be exact. There was once a poop there, and now it's magically gone. Brown is chomping his puppy lips. I scoop Brown up and put him in the bedroom, and close the door.
Orange is harder to find. Where could a little ball of fluff hide? After much searching, apparently on top of the curtain rail in another bedroom. I can see her glaring at me with those huge eyes, eyes full of hate. After much negotiating with furniture, and many scratches and bites, I manage to pull her down from her safe haven.
Initiate Plan B. At this stage I have no idea what Plan B is, but with a wrestling kitten I need to come up with one fast. About 1.8 seconds later I have it.
Plan B: Brown is already locked in the bedroom. Take Orange into the bedroom, sit on the floor holding Orange in my lap and hope that Brown will come and investigate. Even after the turmoil of their first meeting.
With the help of a piece of rope that is Oranges favourite play toy she started to play and became more relaxed. Brown came over to investigate. After a couple of arduous hours (and many bites and scratches of which I still have scares) later of sitting on the hardwood floor coaxing Brown and Orange closer together it finally worked. They were both playing together with the rope, a most delightful site! Best of friends, they had finally found the love.
Little did I know, that's when the Conspiracy Theory started......
At this stage Orange was quite set in her ways, after only one week she had total control of the house and me. She let me know when she wanted to be fed by climbing up my legs and back to perch on my shoulders while cooking. She let me know when she wanted to poop by running around the house sounding like a heard of elephants. She let me know when she wanted to play by biting my nose at 2:13am every morning. And she let me know that she owned the house by attacking everything in site like it was prey and leaving a huge mess everywhere. I quite liked it.
Then along came Brown.......
As a rule dogs hate cats, and cats hate dogs. But I had a plan, a really well thought out plan. One that I had concocted precisely 53 seconds before Brown met Orange. Of course it would work, they would fall in love with each other instantly. Why wouldn't they? Both born on the same day, both so cute, they had so much in common! They were practically brother & sister after all.
The plan was this: make sure Orange was sleeping on the couch, then quietly put Brown next to her. Voila, instant love.
The plan didn't work.
What should have happened: Orange wakes up and senses another furry animal. Brown senses another furry animal. They both have a good sniff of each other and become instant friends.
What really happened: Orange wakes up, senses another furry animal, arches her back, produces a deep throated noise that only a shit scared kitten can make and takes a swipe at Brown and me. It all happens so fast that Brown and I don't know what to do so Brown whimpers, and pees.... all over the couch. I make a remark similar to "oh shit".... and run away.
So now there is a Brown Dog and an Orange Cat at large in the house. And they apparently hate each other. No love.
Brown is easy to find, he's bigger. I find him investigating stuff. Stuff in the bathroom. Stuff in Oranges litter tray to be exact. There was once a poop there, and now it's magically gone. Brown is chomping his puppy lips. I scoop Brown up and put him in the bedroom, and close the door.
Orange is harder to find. Where could a little ball of fluff hide? After much searching, apparently on top of the curtain rail in another bedroom. I can see her glaring at me with those huge eyes, eyes full of hate. After much negotiating with furniture, and many scratches and bites, I manage to pull her down from her safe haven.
Initiate Plan B. At this stage I have no idea what Plan B is, but with a wrestling kitten I need to come up with one fast. About 1.8 seconds later I have it.
Plan B: Brown is already locked in the bedroom. Take Orange into the bedroom, sit on the floor holding Orange in my lap and hope that Brown will come and investigate. Even after the turmoil of their first meeting.
With the help of a piece of rope that is Oranges favourite play toy she started to play and became more relaxed. Brown came over to investigate. After a couple of arduous hours (and many bites and scratches of which I still have scares) later of sitting on the hardwood floor coaxing Brown and Orange closer together it finally worked. They were both playing together with the rope, a most delightful site! Best of friends, they had finally found the love.
Little did I know, that's when the Conspiracy Theory started......
Thursday, November 11, 2010
A Few Things About Me: Part 2
Some people might think I'm a little bit odd. Or strange or kooky or weird or just a little bit different. I don't know why, I'm just me after all. I like to think I'm just a little bit interesting.
There is nothing wrong with being interesting, I quite like it. I'd rather be interesting than dull. Interesting is fun, dull is boring. I was probably destined to be interesting from the very beginning. Here's why....
I was born in Inuvik at the very top of the Northwest Territories (NWT) in Canada. The kind of place that is cold all year round. The kind of place where in summer there is only daylight. The kind of place where in winter there is zero daylight. The kind of place where Eskimos live.
I was born in an igloo. That's interesting. I once entered a competition to win something fancy, I don't remember what that something fancy is anymore, it was about 11.2 years ago now. You had to write in 25 words or less what you would do with $10 000. Thinking about it, that something fancy was probably the $10 000 you had to write about. I wrote something similar to this:
'I was born in an igloo. I would get a piece of that igloo and bring it back to Australia to keep forever.'
I didn't win $10 000, instead I won a voucher for a free burger. They must have thought I was a bit odd rather than a bit interesting.
After Inuvik NWT I lived in Burstall Saskatchewan then Medicine Hat Alberta. All pretty interesting names.
Here's some other reasons why I'm a bit interesting (not odd):
I learnt to scuba dive in a lake that is frozen for ice skating half of the year
I backpacked around New Zealand by myself when I was 17
I moved to Australia when I was 19
I decided to make Australia home when I was 20
I dressed up as a giant golf ball for a job in Melbourne when I was 20
I flipped burgers and cleaned hotel rooms on the Gold Coast when I was 21
I cleaned rooms and waitressed on Hamilton Island when I was 21
I became a scuba diving instructor when I was 23
I worked on Lizard Island as a Diving Instructor when I was 24
I bought my house when I was 25
I decided to start my degree in when I was 26
I love to scuba dive with sharks
I love to jump out of airplanes
I love to ride my motorbike
I love to take risks
................
And basically, I'll try most things at least once.
Here's some things I won't try at least once:
I will never ever touch or step on a worm. They scare the shit out of me!
There is nothing wrong with being interesting, I quite like it. I'd rather be interesting than dull. Interesting is fun, dull is boring. I was probably destined to be interesting from the very beginning. Here's why....
I was born in Inuvik at the very top of the Northwest Territories (NWT) in Canada. The kind of place that is cold all year round. The kind of place where in summer there is only daylight. The kind of place where in winter there is zero daylight. The kind of place where Eskimos live.
I was born in an igloo. That's interesting. I once entered a competition to win something fancy, I don't remember what that something fancy is anymore, it was about 11.2 years ago now. You had to write in 25 words or less what you would do with $10 000. Thinking about it, that something fancy was probably the $10 000 you had to write about. I wrote something similar to this:
'I was born in an igloo. I would get a piece of that igloo and bring it back to Australia to keep forever.'
I didn't win $10 000, instead I won a voucher for a free burger. They must have thought I was a bit odd rather than a bit interesting.
After Inuvik NWT I lived in Burstall Saskatchewan then Medicine Hat Alberta. All pretty interesting names.
Here's some other reasons why I'm a bit interesting (not odd):
I learnt to scuba dive in a lake that is frozen for ice skating half of the year
I backpacked around New Zealand by myself when I was 17
I moved to Australia when I was 19
I decided to make Australia home when I was 20
I dressed up as a giant golf ball for a job in Melbourne when I was 20
I flipped burgers and cleaned hotel rooms on the Gold Coast when I was 21
I cleaned rooms and waitressed on Hamilton Island when I was 21
I became a scuba diving instructor when I was 23
I worked on Lizard Island as a Diving Instructor when I was 24
I bought my house when I was 25
I decided to start my degree in when I was 26
I love to scuba dive with sharks
I love to jump out of airplanes
I love to ride my motorbike
I love to take risks
................
And basically, I'll try most things at least once.
Here's some things I won't try at least once:
I will never ever touch or step on a worm. They scare the shit out of me!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Few Things About Me: Part 1
I love my life, it really is great..... except when it's not so great. Here's some good things about my life:
I have a Brown Dog
I have an Orange Cat
I'm Canadian
I'm also Australian
I have a family who love me, even though I don't get to see them very often
I have many great friends who are always ready to have fun (or be a shoulder to cry on)
I'm healthy, even with some bad habits
I ride motorbikes
I started my own motorbike group which is a huge success
I have a good job which I quite like a lot
I work with some great and interesting people
I have 13 weeks of long service leave to use whenever I want, to travel around the world
I own my own home by myself (well the bank owns most of it) but I own my own home
I have great neighbours who help me when I need it
I have a reliable car that I quite like a lot
I have a positive outlook on life.... except when I don't
I was an owner of a brewery which taught me a lot about everything
I lost a lot of money in the demise of the brewery, but I'm still happy
I survived a super long legal battle over the brewery, but I'm still super happy
I survived a tough separation after 10 years, but I'm still super duper happy
I have a Powderfinger ticket to their very last concert ever, and I'm super duper duper happy :)
..............
Here are some not so good things about my life (sometimes):
I have a Brown Dog
I have an Orange Cat
..............
The good outweigh the bad, so that's an awesome thing!
I have a Brown Dog
I have an Orange Cat
I'm Canadian
I'm also Australian
I have a family who love me, even though I don't get to see them very often
I have many great friends who are always ready to have fun (or be a shoulder to cry on)
I'm healthy, even with some bad habits
I ride motorbikes
I started my own motorbike group which is a huge success
I have a good job which I quite like a lot
I work with some great and interesting people
I have 13 weeks of long service leave to use whenever I want, to travel around the world
I own my own home by myself (well the bank owns most of it) but I own my own home
I have great neighbours who help me when I need it
I have a reliable car that I quite like a lot
I have a positive outlook on life.... except when I don't
I was an owner of a brewery which taught me a lot about everything
I lost a lot of money in the demise of the brewery, but I'm still happy
I survived a super long legal battle over the brewery, but I'm still super happy
I survived a tough separation after 10 years, but I'm still super duper happy
I have a Powderfinger ticket to their very last concert ever, and I'm super duper duper happy :)
..............
Here are some not so good things about my life (sometimes):
I have a Brown Dog
I have an Orange Cat
..............
The good outweigh the bad, so that's an awesome thing!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The very beginning.... 10.4 years ago
I remember the first time I ever saw Brown Dog. He was 6 weeks old and like a big sausage with 4 enormous paws. I picked him out of the litter because he had a fold in his ear and the breeder gave me a discount. And because he was super cute. And because there was something a little bit different about him than his brothers and sisters, he was a little bit more brown. At the time I figured that was a good thing.
I remember the first time I ever saw Orange Cat. She was 11 weeks old and like a tiny fur ball with enormous blue eyes. I picked her out of the litter because she was the only girl left. And because she was super cute. And because there was something a little bit different about her than her brothers, she was a little bit more orange. At the time I figured that was a good thing.
I brought Orange home one week before Brown. She did all those normal kitten things. Things like falling into the toilet with a splash and a god almighty sound only a kitten who has fallen into a toilet can make and emerging looking like a drowned rat. Other things like barfing on the bedspread then eating it, exploring the bbq and coming inside covered in ash which only meant giving her a bath which meant the drowned rat look again.
Orange used to sleep on my head at night, I thought this was super cute until one night I woke up with a mound of fur in my mouth and realised that she was actually sleeping on my face. Her Orange tendencies started to show then..... she was clearly evil and was trying to kill me.
I brought Brown home 6 weeks after I first saw him. Calculating using some sort of mathematical equation his growth rate in 6 weeks, I took a box with me. I must have used the pythagoras theorem when clearly I should have calculated with pi, because I was way off. There was no way in hell that he was going to fit into that box. So instead I held him on my lap while someone else drove. It was about an hour long drive, but it felt like a year.
The only thing I remember about that drive was the stench, a god awful rank stench. The kind of stench that made my eyes water. The kind of stench that made me want to barf. The kind of stench that made me want to turn around and say "um, sorry but I think you gave me a dead body disguised as a Brown Dog". I don't know what they were feeding Brown, but he was farting up a storm! Not just any storm, a mammoth colossal storm of mass proportions. It was a rather cold yucky rainy June day, but there was no choice.... all windows down head hanging out the window trying to catch a tiny bit of fresh air. It was all bad, really really bad. So bad that for a fleeting moment I wondered if picking Brown was going to be the worst decision I ever made.
It wasn't.....
I remember the first time I ever saw Orange Cat. She was 11 weeks old and like a tiny fur ball with enormous blue eyes. I picked her out of the litter because she was the only girl left. And because she was super cute. And because there was something a little bit different about her than her brothers, she was a little bit more orange. At the time I figured that was a good thing.
I brought Orange home one week before Brown. She did all those normal kitten things. Things like falling into the toilet with a splash and a god almighty sound only a kitten who has fallen into a toilet can make and emerging looking like a drowned rat. Other things like barfing on the bedspread then eating it, exploring the bbq and coming inside covered in ash which only meant giving her a bath which meant the drowned rat look again.
Orange used to sleep on my head at night, I thought this was super cute until one night I woke up with a mound of fur in my mouth and realised that she was actually sleeping on my face. Her Orange tendencies started to show then..... she was clearly evil and was trying to kill me.
I brought Brown home 6 weeks after I first saw him. Calculating using some sort of mathematical equation his growth rate in 6 weeks, I took a box with me. I must have used the pythagoras theorem when clearly I should have calculated with pi, because I was way off. There was no way in hell that he was going to fit into that box. So instead I held him on my lap while someone else drove. It was about an hour long drive, but it felt like a year.
The only thing I remember about that drive was the stench, a god awful rank stench. The kind of stench that made my eyes water. The kind of stench that made me want to barf. The kind of stench that made me want to turn around and say "um, sorry but I think you gave me a dead body disguised as a Brown Dog". I don't know what they were feeding Brown, but he was farting up a storm! Not just any storm, a mammoth colossal storm of mass proportions. It was a rather cold yucky rainy June day, but there was no choice.... all windows down head hanging out the window trying to catch a tiny bit of fresh air. It was all bad, really really bad. So bad that for a fleeting moment I wondered if picking Brown was going to be the worst decision I ever made.
It wasn't.....
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
About the Orange Cat
Apart from a Brown Dog, I also have an Orange Cat. Her name is Orange, even though she isn't really orange... she just has orange tendancies. What are orange tendancies? Some might say evil to the core, but I prefer to think just a little bit clever.
I love my Orange Cat, she really is great.... except when she's not so great. Here's some good things about Orange:
She's Big
She's Orange
She's a DSH (domestic shorthaired or dumb shithead, take your pick)
She's 10.6 years old
She's independant
She gets along well with Brown Dog
She likes to snuggle up and sleep with me at night
She comes home when it's dinner time
She likes pats, when she wants them (see below)
She hates other people
........
Here's some not so good things about Orange:
She likes to bring me presents of the mice and gecko kind and eat them at my feet
She often leaves parts of the above presents behind after losing interest
She makes me clean them up
She wakes me up at 3:34am every morning to go outside to poo
She wants back inside at 5:52am when I get up, to go to her litter box and poo
She hogs the bed
She tries to eat my food
She doesn't like going for walks
She hates going to the kennel for a holiday
She likes to sleep on my clean clothes, or on the lounge, or anywhere apart from her own cat bed
She only likes pats when she wants them, any other time it turns into being bitten or scratched
She uses anything and everything as a scratching post, except the scratching post
She hates other people
........
The not so good things outweigh the good things. Maybe she is evil to the core. Or actually very clever since she appears to have trained me well and seems to own me instead of the other way around! But I still love my Orange Cat no matter what.
Stay tuned for Brown Dog and Orange Cat Adventures.......
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