It’s Baxter!
[ 4 Comments ] Posted on 04.13.05 in animals, family
A few years ago, when my 17 year old cat named Sam died three days after my dog, the Peterson family was reduced to owning and caring for one cat. And at first, it was alright. It was nice to have an animal around the house filling my Miniature Chelty’s role as resident furry thing that poops.
Mind you, however, that I brought this cat, Lucky, home from preschool. That would make him 12. Sixty four in cat years. That’s old. And it’s showing.
Since about four years ago, Lucky’s had a very demanding nighttime schedule that, luckily, I am not responsible for maintaining. Each morning at about three, his high-pitched squeal that has devolved and can no longer be considered a meow rings throughout the house, waking my poor father, consistently and without fail. Then good ole Pop gets out of bed, letting the cat outside to do whatever cats do in the wee hours of the morning.
Then, I get up at five and ignore the mindless droning of feline desire so that I don’t have to deal with the morning feeding chores – particularly because I have no idea what to feed this thing. Enter my father, who’s been through the regiment morning after morning for years. My mother is very particular about her cat; she’s outlined a system concerning what food the cat eats at particular junctures that is more intricate and complex than most women. And, my friends, women are enigmas.
And so, upon allowing entrance to the most annoying animal God decided to put on this green earth, Dad has to feed it the food prescribed by the mandate of the matriarch of the household and wait until its next session of crying, whereupon someone lets the cat outside only to be forced to let it back inside again.
When everyone leaves the homestead to attend to their daily affairs, the cat sleeps the day away atop the back of our blue recliner, which is nice and peaceful. Until it has to poop. Then, it goes and squats in the same place every time. Every time. And I clean it up every time. Every time.
Unbeknownst to my mother, I’ve proposed that we kill the cat. However, by posting it here, the secret’s out. Therefore, I guess I can’t get away with it. On the other hand, it would be an absolute travesty Lucky accidentally disappeared. A real tearjerker, let me tell you.
I’m currently accepting bids on the job.
2020
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 04.12.05 in UF, college
Having officially proven my worth as a mediocre gifted student with my 2020 on the new SAT, I’ve decided that I’m not going to apply to, say, Harvard. Or Yale. Yale’s out, too.
It’s great to be a Florida Gator…
The most disgusting entry to date
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 04.02.05 in music
Last night, I didn’t want to deal with the daily hassles of teenagerdom, so I escaped all of that by vowing to high-tail it out of this town and to not answer my cell phone. So, if I ditched you last night, I’m sorry. The same goes for if I didn’t pick up your call. I needed it.
To escape from the perils of Pinellas, my brother and I trekked down to Sarasota, where we used our last minute concert tickets. The act? Art Garfunkel.
You know, the tall, quite one with froofy hair from Simon and Garfunkel. He’s lost a bit of his hair by now, seeing as how he’s like a billion years old and all. The show was pretty good; he has quite the pretty voice and can really belt out a love song.
But I think his career is really going downhill. He couldn’t even sell out a small performing arts venue. And we got front row tickets from a scalper for $45 for the pair. That isn’t very good when the tickets have a face value of over $40.
Maybe his lack of support is a product of the way he puts on a show. He’s very queer about every thing he does on stage. During the long instrumental bridges in the songs, he would pretend to play the instruments that were being played by the band. A little air guitar here, some imaginary drums there, and a whole heck of a lot of fake piano playing everywhere else.
Another thing I noticed, and pardon me for being the biggest hypocrite in the world after razzing Art for his gaity, was the fact that *Art Garfunkel is hung like a HORSE*. He wore the tightest pants he could find on the clearance rack at Ross and, I swear to you that it was two entities singing to us last night: man and beast.
It was like hitting two birds with one stone while at the same time getting more bang for your buck. That’s two acts for the price of one!