Cage Cleaning Day

Yesterday was cage cleaning day.

We have five wonderful female rats who live in a large three level cage. Pumpkin, Sadie, Gilda, Daisy, and Piper. They have a plush hanging pirate ship, assorted chewing toys, bridges, hammocks and tons of newspaper to root around in and make a ruckus. Now when I say they make a ruckus I mean a mess. Rats have great personal hygiene. The living quarters suffer. A complete overhaul of the cage is required from time to time.

I prepared myself for a bit of hard work but not the following frustration.

About half way through the procedure, and believe me it is a procedure, Dawn began to mutter to herself. I was in the bathroom scrubbing some part of the cage or other when I heard, “Mike, I need your help.”

“Sure. Be right there. Let me dry my hands.” I turned off the water, grabbed a hand towel and walked to the spare room.

“What’s up?” I asked.

Dawn looked at me with “angry face” and said, “Mike, I’m sick of this vacuum cleaner cord. Look at this!” She held up her arms. Part of the cord was wrapped around her head, neck and chest. The remaining portion tangled itself around the leg of the couch, a box of stuff, and the vacuum cleaner.

“Oh, wow! How did you get it to do that?” I stood wide-eyed in the doorway.

She whipped the free part of the cord like a wild savage and exclaimed, “I’m not trying to rope a f*@ken steer! Why won’t this….gahhhhh! See how it’s all wound around the thing and it won’t….. Gaaaahhhhhh!”

She whipped the cord again. With each flick, it made a snapping sound as she muttered a single word, “I. Hate. This. Cord. Let. Go. Of. The. Box. You. Stupid. Cord!” The plug darted past my head and clipped the ceiling.

“Easy killer!” I shouted and jumped out of the room.  “All I need is one smack from the high-speed plug-end of that sumbitch and we’re getting a d-i-v-o-r-c-e!”

She huffed and stopped.

“Just let me take a look.” I peeked in the room and located the problem. “I can fix it but not if you’re gonna start whipping around like a poop-throwin’ monkey. Be still and let me get it.”

“Just fix it!” She shouted.

With far more effort than necessary, I untangled the cord from the furniture.

“Whew! That thing was a mess. I would have given up right away.” I leaned over, kissed her on the forehead, and unwrapped the remaining cord off her head, neck, and chest. She simply stood there giving me “frustrated annoyed” face.

“Why don’t you let me do the vacuuming, Honey?” I offered.

She dropped the rest of the cord and stepped past me. I scooted the vacuum cleaner out of her way and grabbed the cord. Somehow, during those few short movements, I lost sight of the plug end.

Dawn busied herself with the plush hanging pirate ship. “I think it’s time to clean this thing out. Was it done last week or this week?” She looked at me for an answer but I was not paying attention.

“Mike, look at me and leave the cord alone. When’s the last time the pirate ship was cleaned?”

I looked blankly at her and said, “Yes.” I still could not find the plug end to the damn cord.

“Yes what?”

“What? I don’t know. Who cares? What in blazes is with this thing?” I was marching in place now, with my hands over my head, trying to unscrew myself from the ever-tangling nightmare. Somehow, from the moment she dropped it until the time I bent over to pick it up the damn cord had wound itself around my leg, the vacuum cleaner, rat cage, past my elbow and into a knot.

“Mike quit horsing around! I asked if the pirate ship was cleaned out last week or this week.”

“Yes, I think so.” (Amount of attention paid? Zero.)

I shook my body like a Kodiak fresh out of an Alaskan river and as I did, the cord gently slid off me and into a neat pile around my feet.

“Honey, I think this cord is possessed.” I reached up to scratch my head but Dawn batted my hand down and made me jump. “What? I didn’t do anything I swear it just untangled itself.” I pointed at the coils on the floor and stepped clear of them. Vacuuming could wait until later.

I thought of Vincent, our wonderful 11-year-old son, whom I found wound in the same situation a few weeks ago. I asked him what happened to which he replied, “I was trying to vacuum. But let’s just say mistakes were made and be done with it, O.K., dad?” The poor kid had to battle the vacuum cleaner demon all by himself and survived. I made a mental note to praise him the next time we talked.

I looked at Dawn, “Honey, I think Pumpkin is still in the pirate ship. She thinks it’s playtime. She’s gonna hang on for all she’s worth. Don’t be surprised if you have to clean it with her still in there.” I turned and walked back to the bathroom and as I did, I could hear Dawn grunting, struggling to free Pumpkin from the pirate ship.

I was in the bathroom maybe 30 seconds when Dawn shouted, “Damn it! Mike these rats won’t get out of this pirate ship. It’s as if they are using van der Walls forces to hang on to it or something. Look at them. They’re like geckos.” Dawn teaches science and likes to spring big words and fancy terms on me from time to time.

“What-the-who’s what?” I asked as I returned to the spare room.

“Van der Walls force. Physical chemistry. Forget it. Just help me with this rat.” She jammed her hand in the pirate ship and a little rat head poked out the other end, wiggled its whiskers for a moment then retreated.

“Pumpkin is in the pirate ship raising hell. Oh god, now someone else hopped in because they think it’s play time.” Again, she jammed her hand into the ship and two heads, first Pumpkin, then Gilda, poked their heads out. They wiggled their whiskers, locked eyes with Dawn, made happy squeaks and ducked inside.

“I give up.” Dawn said and extricated herself from the cage. “I can’t get them out of that damn pirate ship. They love that thing!”

“Oh, I just cleaned it a couple days ago. You don’t have to mess with it Princess.” I said.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Go back in the bathroom before you get hurt, Mike. I already asked you that question.”

“Well, watch out for the cord. It’s wound around your ankle again. I’m gonna finish up in the bathroom and then grab some coffee. Just give me a holler if you need help with the vacuuming.”

New Neighborhood

Yep, we moved again. This time we moved into Dawn's parents upstairs apartment. Her father is very ill with late stage prostate cancer. It's nice to be close to him and be able to help when necessary.

My son, Vincent, is with me for the summer and loves the new place. We have campfires in the evening and there are lots of kids to play with in the neighborhood. In fact, its those kids who are going to be great material for this blog. The things they say just crack me up.

For example, Nathan looked at me today and said, "Mr. Go-la-zes, me and Vincent are gonna make a list of games to buy. And maybe we should get some more controllers for the Xbox so more kids can play at the same time. And maybe our moms can make lunches for us because you always make stuff like vegetables. Kids don't like that stuff all the time."

Meanwhile Vincent is trying to correct the child on the pronunciation of our name, Gonzalez, and when the kid gets to the part of kids not liking vegetables he plants a hand on his forehead and rolls his eyes. I just stand there taking it all in and watch as strange children I've never met before shake their heads in agreement with the 7 year old mastermind, Nathan.

Vincent breaks the silence. "Well my dads name is Gonzalez, and I love broccoli and if you walk away from the table hungry its your own darn fault. That's what my dad tells me and I eat everything."

It's my turn to slap a hand to my forehead and roll my eyes. "What Vincent means is it's polite to eat what is served when someone prepares food for you. If you don't care for something then the proper thing to do is thank them for making it and say 'no thank-you' when they offer it."

My words fall on deaf ears as I am interrupted by a child I've never met before asking me if we have Popsicles. A heart beat later even Vincent has moved on.

A few minutes later I hear a child shout, "Don't be a douche!" followed by ear splitting silence. Then like the soft voice of an angel I hear my son whisper, "Holy shit you are gonna be in trouble if my dad heard that."

"Alright! Game off and everyone in the kitchen." The silence from the front room roars and I can hear the Xbox power down. A few long moments more of silence and I say, "I'm not going to count to three. I said get in here."

In from the front room tumble four kids, Vincent age 11, Nathan age 7, Emily age 7, and the kid who doesn't talk. Estimated age 6-8 years old. Vincent stands directly in front of me and snaps to a smart military prade-rest position and says, "Yes Dad?" I never taught him to do that. He simply found it the best way to show me that he is listening when I'm preparing to deliver guidance.

"Who lost their minds and used foul language?" Emily and the kid who doesn't talk each take a step back from Vincent and Nathan. Vincent begins to squirm and Nathan is marching in place while wringing his hands.

Looking serious at the boys I ask in a firm but warm voice, "Who said what?" to which Vincent replies, "Oh God, dad, are we in a lot of trouble?"

"Da- (I almost choke on my back teeth as I try to censor myself.) darn it, Vincent, stop calling out to God. What have I told you about that?"

Nathan chimes in, "Is it O.K. if I pray to God because I'm scared?"

"Look kids, this has nothing to do with God! Just stop swearing and no more foul language or everyone is going home."  I point to the front room and all four kids scamper away.

A moment later the kid who doesn't talk peeks his head into the kitchen and whispers, "Mr. La-gon-ez I think you should make them eat broccoli for supper. We can stay for supper right?" then he disappears and runs to the front room.

Omar's Story

In my previous post, I mentioned getting another kitten. Well, we have happily added Omar to our family. How we got Omar still confuses me. There was a string of logic that I'm still not entirely sure about and some reasoning that I'm sure Dawn and I both found questionable. But he is ours and this is the story of how we got him.

"Mike, look at this kitten! Its half Norwegian Mountain Cat and half Bengal! We should get this kitten!"

I looked at the image of a crazy looking kitten that in no way resembled either of the aforementioned breeds. He was super cute. Most baby animals are. Dawn suggested that I call the number in the Craigslist ad. I did.

"Hello, this is Mike. I'm calling about the kitten you listed on Craigslist. Is he still available?"

Without excusing herself she muffled the phone and began talking to another woman about the cats.

"We still got one boy cat right? You ain't sold it?"

She shouted in my ear, "Yep, we got one boy left. I just trimmed his claws. You want him?"

I switched the phone to my other ear and winced as I tried to dig her voice out of my head with a finger.

"Well, we would certainly like to see him. Could we visit with him for a bit before we make the decision? Are the parents on site? We would like to see them as well."

The woman agreed and gave me the address. Dawn and I jumped in the car and made the short trip to the East Side. I was pretty happy when I noticed that all the houses looked like owner-occupied places. The East Side is nice but it has sketchy parts. As we got closer to the address I began to realize that we were driving to the only house with uncut grass and eleventy-billion faded and broken children's toys scattered about with garbage and what looked like a bag of forgotten groceries on the steps.

"Good lord Dawn, if I go in that house and someone tries to eat, rape, or enslave me then we are getting a divorce."

Dawn just looked at me with a blank stare and said, "Kitten, Mike. Kitten. We are here for a kitten."

I stopped and pointed at the house. "Well, that's how it starts! One moment you are going to look at a kitten and the next moment you come too in a dim basement with a ball gag in your mouth. Some dude is muttering about waking the gimp and you can't feel your hands because the ropes are too tight. I've seen that movie. That stuff happens. Jeffrey Dahmer was real."

"Shut up Mike."

We got to the top of the steps and crossed the small cluttered porch. I reached out my hand and was going to ring the doorbell but stopped. The button looked broken and the little orange light inside it was just begging to be touched so it could send a few volts up my arm. I made a gentle fist and knocked on the door.

We stood there in silence for a few moments looking at our reflections in the dirty storm door. We do make a cute couple. I leaned over and quietly said the following words.

"Honey, I love you more than I've ever loved someone. I know you really want this kitten. But if we go in there and I smell even the faintest whisper of terror or ass or hopelessness I'm gone. I swear to god if she says the kitten is in the basement I'm gone. If I hear or see chains or duct tape I'm gone......."

Dawn cut me off, "Shut up! Someones coming."

A heavyset young woman with a huge smile on her face and an even huger baby on her hip came to the door.

"Hi! Come in! You must be Mike and Dawn. I think the kitten just ran in the basement. I'll go get him. You can wait in the living room."

I looked at Dawn and whispered through my teeth, "Let's get the hell out of here. She said basement damn it and I'm not falling for it!"

Dawn just shushed me and stepped inside. I stood on the porch for a moment and weighed my options. Finally, I screwed up enough courage to take a few tentative steps into the foyer. I sniffed the air, Desitin and baby shampoo. Desitin was close to ass. I was nervous but at least they washed the baby.

Dawn rounded the corner into the living room and I could hear an older woman greet her and two little voices like cherubs saying hello to Dawn. Maybe we would be O.K. I thought. There were too many kids here for any foul play to jump off. I followed Dawn into the living room and greeted the grandmother and two small children and began to relax.

A few moments later the heavyset woman trotted up the basement stairs with an adorable kitten in one hand and the baby who ate Miller Park on her hip. The baby was trying to snatch at the kitten and the kitten was trying to get down. I stretched my hands out to take the kitten from her.

"Here let me help you."

"Oh thank you! He is so heavy! He's just like his dad. They never stop eating." she said with a smile as she dropped the kitten and handed the baby to me.

Dawn bent over and scooped up the kitten. I locked eyes with the baby who ate Miller Park. The grandmother started prattling on about how they just moved to Milwaukee from Florida and how they used to rescue cats. The mother grabbed the mom and dad cats and proudly held them up for us to see. Then, the baby who ate Miller Park, still looking me dead in the eyes, took a deep breath, grimaced and pushed and took a massive dump. A real diaper stretcher. Then he slowly turned his head, looked at his mom, then back at me and let out the best giggle I've heard in years.

I complimented the baby on his excellent form and determination and probably mentioned something about the size and frequency of his meals as I handed him back to his mother. She dropped the mom and dad cats and took back her giant poopy man baby. Then she held him up, sniffed his but and retreated to the bathroom.

I smiled and clapped my hands together and said, "So that's the mom and dad right?"

"Yep," said the grandmother.

"And you want 100 bucks for the kitten is that right?"

"Yep," said the grandmother.

"Well, I'm thinking three things right now. Maybe you will see where I'm going with this. First, the mom cat isn't a Bengal. She is a tabby and she has a lazy eye. Second, the dad is just a long-haired black and white mix of something or other. In fact, he might even be mildly retarded. It's obvious that he doesn't clean himself and I think he just ate a lego. Third, my wife is holding a kitten that I am doomed to pay for because I can hear her making kissy noises and calling herself momma."

We both looked at Dawn. She had the kitten pressed to her cheek and I could hear the purring from both of them all the way across the room. I looked back at the grandmother and smiled.

"What say I give you thirty bucks and we call it a deal. There's no way that kitten has had shots and I guarantee you don't know the direction to a vets office."

The grandmother smiled, said, "Deal" and held out her hand. I dropped a twenty and a ten into her open hand, shook the other one and said goodbye.

The drive home was cute. Omar purred so loud I thought he would rumble the pavement loose in the road and Dawn smiled non stop.

"That was pretty painless wasn't it Mike? Only a hundred bucks for a Bengal and Mountain Cat mix! I think we got a good deal."

I smiled, "Yeah! I still have 70 bucks in my pocket and all I had to do was risk my life, get pooped on, and haggle a bit. Not bad for 5 minutes of work and I got a cute kitten to show for it."

"What are you talking about? Did one of the cats poop? Oh my god I didn't even notice it! And I thought we paid a hundred dollars? Oh, this little guy is so cute. I can't believe they sold him! How much did you say you paid? Oh, his nails need to be trimmed! Look at how long they are! They look like needles. You paid a hundred I thought?"

"Don't worry about it, honey. Just give the kitty some loving and I'll tell you all about it when we get home."

And that, my friends, is Omar's story.

A Letter to Milton

Dear Milton,

I love you. You are the funniest and most social rabbit I've ever owned. You are a great pet. But we need to talk.

The last time we put you under anesthetic to repair your damaged ear your heart stopped. I remember. I was there. You flat lined on us. I pumped the air bag while the vet gave you chest compressions and the adrenaline shot. You do not do well under anesthetic. That is why we were advised to refrain from getting you fixed. You dogged that bullet. But now I'm having second thoughts.

Its times like this, when you are sleeping peacefully ON TOP of your cage, stretched out on your side like the king of the world that I think about what you do to this family. Your constant cat humping is placing a strain on my wife. She gets wound up if I even look at a cat wrong. Just imagine how she feels when she catches you hammering on a cat in the missionary position! You thought Mr. McGregor was unhappy with Peter Rabbit? Imagine how Mom gets when she sees you trying to set a land speed record up a cats backside.

You are really screwing up your Karma.

Personally, I just think you and the cats are big freaks. I mean Vorpal seems to tolerate and almost welcome your advances. Even Jasper doesn't mind a good shagging from time to time. He lets you do it while he's eating. Stanley is mostly fine with it unless you actually connect with his business and then it looks like it hurts him. But that's probably his fault for rolling onto his back and giving you an unobstructed path to his danger zone.

Mom doesn't see things the way I do. If it were up to me, and its never ever up to me, but if it was I would let you and the cats figure it out. They can get to the top of the cat tree. You can't. Problem solved. But things don't work that way in our house. You get amorous and I get yelled at because I do nothing to stop you. Do you see the connection? Your sex life is infringing on my peace and quiet.

Please put a leash on your libido and stop messing up your karma. The disturbances you cause in the force have rippling effects. Do your best to stay off the wave that lands you in the vets office.

Thank you.

Dad

P.S. Stop jumping the barrier to the guest bedroom. Mom set that up so the cats can have a rape free zone for nap time.

Pro Tip

Pro Tip: Olive oil in a warm bath will leave your skin soft and help to lock in moisture.

Pro Tip 2: Your feet will be slicker than eel shit on the bottom of the sea!
Be prepared to crawl out of the tub on all fours or run the risk of slipping and bashing nude parts of yourself into random porcelain items throughout the bathroom. DO NOT be fooled by the absorbancy of the bath mat. You gotta dry the bottom of your hoofs darn good or you're gonna dance like a naked crazy person the moment you step off the mat.