rebness

There's a great series in The Guardian about a transgender woman's journey that I've been following. Unfortunately, this week's column devolved into a series of the most rage-worthy, prejudiced comments I've seen in a while. The good part, however, is how succinctly other users demolished their ill-informed diatribe. I think the UK has such a backward mentality when it comes to this issue, so I'm thankful that the paper continues backing this writer in the face of such alarmingly stupid opposition. I don't understand why there has to be opposition to what somebody else does with their body in the first place, but...

This was the situation with my cat last night. She's driving me up the wall lately. For some reason, despite her being 11, she's taken to sleeping outside of a night. I allowed this, but grew (sometimes physically) sick of the resulting carnage almost every morning: half a rabbit here, an eviscerated mouse there, an endangered vole on my doorstep. So I catch her and make her stay in as much as possible, locking her in my room with me of a night.

Except I feel she's punishing me for that, trying to suffocate me or running around the room - I dunno - in the early hours of each morning. Am so tired. :(

Carry on Dancing never did have a decent send-off as the players drifted aimlessly through space and time. Happily, the team has gathered for one final blowout to send it off properly, with a sparkle-free (apart from Lestat's pants) denouement at the end of the countdown at Moon. The plot was decided over tequilas one infamous night, so promises to be completely absurd. It's somehow appropriate.
 

Cooking Skillz

So, alsatians, right? They're very, very smart dogs. I swear, the other alsatian we had, Jade, was damned clever. She could tell sarcasm in a person's voice, was very perceptive and freakishly clever. Now Jack-- well, he's a learning experience. He has single-handedly set out to disprove everything Jade ever taught me. Jack is the polar opposite of Jade. He's very gentle, constantly amazed by things ("The freezer's cold", "If I annoy the cat, she'll what now?") and though assertive outside, is somehow bested by inanimate objects in the house.

And so it is that when I returned from work this week, my mother told me that he had nearly died. I was horrified-- we have lost a dog on the road outside our house; had he been injured by the barbed wire on our neighbours' property; was he all right?

This is Jack's tale of woe. By the end, I was crying with laughter, though I look back on it now and think about how embarrassing and generally awful it would be to lose something you love so much in such a way...

I am Jack's Near-Death Experience

Jack, being the size of a small horse but with the personality of an excitable puppy, is very clumsy. Ornaments aren't safe around him. Anyway, the Alsatian is checking out the kitchen, perhaps annoying the cat, when he backs up and smacks his head on the kitchen table. He causes a (thankfully empty) roasting dish that had been placed on it while my brother was cooking to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Jack startles, jumps up into the air and forces his head through a small gap in the back of a dining chair.

These chairs we have at the table are unwieldy and heavy, with iron legs. They're also high-backed, but Jack screams in terror and confusion and stands up, taking the heavy chair with him and crashes around the kitchen. My mother comes running to his aid, thinking something terrible has happened, that hot oil may have drenched him or something like that. My brother's desperately trying to calm him down so he'll stop smashing things in his wake and howling like a banshee.

Anyway, he charges past them and into the parlour, whereby he smashes more things for good measure. Eventually, my brother rugby-tackles him and tries to force him to stay still while they calm him down and extricate his head from the chair o' d00m. My mother starts to worry, because he's forcing his head further and further into the chair and he's actually starting to crush his windpipe in his panic. After a few minutes of Jack screaming in fear, they manage to turn the chair sideways and push his head back through.

Unfortunately, after all the chaos, he received a scolding for smashing things. My mother then tried to hug him out of concern and relief, but he glowered at her distrustfully from behind the couch, having convinced himself that it was somehow all their fault and they'd tried to do away with him, the dastards. He'd forgotten the entire ordeal within a few minutes, but I still made sure to buy him pig's ears, a huge bone and some Pedigree Chum chews when I went shopping today. I fear that I did it not out of kindness but rather in determination to give him as good a life as possible before he inevitably perishes in some completely stupid, random way. I mean, what on earth would have happened if nobody had been there to help him? I think we'd forever be puzzling over the Python-esque stupidity of the time we came home to find the house in a mess and a hulking great alsatian slain by a chair.