Showing posts with label triskit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label triskit. Show all posts

Friday, May 15, 2009

How Cotton Balls Are Made

Last weekend I went to Milwaukee to meet my girlfriend's parents and to see a Brewer's game. This meant my cat was by herself in my apartment all weekend--just her and her automatic feeder.

Apparently I had not closed the box of Q-tips tightly enough, because when I returned, there, on my floor, was a small collection of Q-tip middles. Next to the small collection was Triskit, gnawing on the cotton end of a Q-tip. She had eaten the cotton off approximately a dozen Q-tips.

She then crapped out a full cubic inch of cotton.

And that, my friends, is how cotton balls are made.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Ode and Plea to Cat

Dear Cat,

Cat, I love you. I truly adore you. How could I not? You writhe and jump about in bids for affection without equal. You gently prod with face and limb--not for food, but for affection. How could you not be loved? You bathe me, and at times I let you, because I know it comes from the love center of your brain the size of a walnut.

For years, I counted among your most adorable and lovable habits your interest in cellophane. If it was crinkly and clear, it was in your paws. It was killed as if it were a mouse. You would parade around your meager living space, head held high, mewing your triumph through your clinched, plastic-clutching jaw.

But, recently, you have taken on a new, not so adorable, not so lovable habit. Your infatuation with plastic has, shall we say, matured. Like a girl with boys, you have graduated from wanting to experience your object of desire purely with mouth and hands to wanting it inside you. And as your father (of sorts), I entirely disapprove.

This is not because I do not want you to be happy. I was brought no small amount of joy when it was simply a proud strutting and shouting, plastic in mouth. But your new level of interest has become a problem.

For you see, Cat, when you eat plastic, you do not digest it. You swallow large sections of wrapper and they are rejected by your digestive system. They are not, then, deposited in the designated plastic pan, but on my floor, among other stomach contents, which, as a mere animal layman, I am only able to identify as "nasty stuff."

Dear Cat, I implore you: stop ingesting prophylactic wrappers. Stop eating the wrappers of DVDs and other things in wrappers. If I could take you to an obedience school to teach you that the trash can is not a place to fish for toys, I would. Alas, your brain is large enough to lovingly bathe me, but it's not large enough for much else. So, dear Cat, I will write you a letter on the Internet, in the (futile) hope that you will stop eating the plastic from my garbage and throwing it up on my floor.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

That Which I Love

There are two things in this world that I absolutely refuse to live without:

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Love

Love is when you feed your cat enough days in a row that she sleeps right next to you for the entirety of your four-hour nap.