On Strike!

Image: Small Black Cat
This is Pyewacket, looking cute.

(Warning – this story deals with the bodily functions of a cat.)

AS A PET OWNER, I feel a natural impulse to care for my pets. The well being of my animal friends is uppermost in my mind. I take pains to buy them good food; to provide them with a safe place to live. I even go so far as to buy treats and toys for their benefit.

However, one must balance the base desires of the pets against their best interests. The dog, Dojo, would be very happy to eat an entire jar of peanut butter, lid included. I do not permit this. The cat, Pyewacket, would love it if I would rub his back continuously when he ate his evening meal. What started as a pleasant moment or two proved to be tiresome at 5+ minutes, so I ceased. Pye then refused to eat for some time in protest. I knew he would resume eating eventually, since his fussiness was purely driven by his peevish nature. In this I was proven correct, after only two days of the hunger strike. In general, I am able to balance my chattels’ needs and wants well.

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Ow, Ow, Ow

My Poor Finger
My Poor Finger

(Note: This happened several years ago. Sorry Mur! Warning – this story contains quite a bit of graphic detail about an injury.)

WOODWORKING IS ONE of the great passions of my life. I discovered this at an early age, when my father would be carving animals out of deep, rich woods such as Mahogany. By the time I was a teenager, I began agitating for a band saw, and other tools to further my interest. Then as now, I was cautious to the utmost, as my love of woodworking coincided with my love of music. I was ever fretful about my fingers.

Adding to my concern was my Uncle Jack, who had lost a finger in a machine accident many years ago. As I observed his various difficulties with gloves, I resolved to be vigilant.

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Hot, Hot, Hot

Image: Cover art for The Feral Chicken of Clayton (and other essays)
Available on Lulu.com for a mere $9.95

(This essay is several years old and refers to my very patient and forgiving ex-wife. Enjoy.)

COUPLES ARE WONT to go through many pleasant infatuations after getting married. A gardening fad, a fancy for sewing, a board game craze – these are all well known. Sometimes these are long and involved, others are brief, like a shooting star. My conservative estimate is that my wife and I went through at least 5,237 different mania during the seven years we were married.

The majority were of a singular kind – I began woodworking, she began doing something called ‘tatting’. Notable were the obsessions that involved both my wife and myself, such as the ‘survivalist’ frenzy of 1999, or the disastrous ‘Atkins Diet’ event. For a time (an odd time), I even found myself saving dryer lint for a planned future mania (I was not informed what that might be). Few of these frenzied activities came and went as quickly as the Great Dehydration Passion of 1995.

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