Cats & Fun-Filled Variety

I'm looking at the platic container that holds the seafood-flavored Pounce snacks our cat Lucy is so fond of. (The kitten, Olivia, could give a rip. She eats what's in her bowl and that's that.)

The Pounce cat treats come in--as advertisted--"A Medly of Fun Shapes!" And indeed, there is a clam shell, a star, and a fish. Yup, fun stuff, as promised.

Here's my question. Why, exactly, do my cats need a "medly of fun shapes?" It's not like they're toddlers I'm trying to con into eating their broccoli. They're cats. They can't read. And I'm damn sure Lucy, who is a good 8 pounds overweight, doesn't stay up nights debating whether the clam shell or the star is her favorite shape. That kibble is history in her stomach before it has a chance to bounce twice on the floor.

Here's another quote direct from the bottle: "A Great Tasting Seafood Flavor Mix of 3 Shape Varieties That Will Keep Your Cat Pouncing!"

Yeah, um, my cats pounce on lint? I'm thinking the Pounce company is losing serious money taking the time to stamp out these shapes.

One more quote. "Feed All 3 Shapes As A Snack For A Happy Cat!"

Implying what? That your cat will go into a deep depression if denied the fish-shaped kibble? Are we not under enough pressure to be responsible pet owners as it is? Speaking I think for all of us, I say back off Pounce people! We are doing the best we can.

Squirrel Nabbers - Update

Caught yet another squirrel. That makes three. You would think this would make me happy. But I fear we've crossed the zone from "ridding pesky rodents from our home" to "randomly nabbing wild creatures who have the misfortune to cross our roof."

We haven't heard scratching (or growling) in days, but we also haven't been home that much. I was home all day today though, and didn't hear a thing, so I think it's time to board the holes up and assume Rocky the Squirrel and Co. have left the building.

Getting rid of squirrels is expensive. The next time I hear moaning and growling and scampering I'm going to chalk it up to ghosts and leave it at that.

Oprah Schmopra

This Monday (Valentines Day...could she be more cruel?) Oprah profiled her 12-week bootcamp to get Americans to shape up and lose weight. Like most viewers, I watched the show from my couch where I ate chips and took mental notes on what I needed to do to lose weight.

Miss O's bootcamp is not for the faint of heart. For the first month there are NO grains. Not even the good whole-grain stuff we're supposed to be allowed in moderation. Nada. Nothing.

You know what? That's just not going to happen for me.

There are also 8 workouts a week. I'm all in favor of good health, but if God saw fit to only make seven days, far be it from me to usurp Her judgment and throw an extra workout day in there. Wouldn't want to tick her off now, would we?

And then there is the no eating 2-3 hours before your bedtime rule. I perked up and potato chips crumbs rolled to the floor. "Do only this," Oprah said, "and you will lose weight."

Now we're talking! I can do that. I go to bed at 10, so my cutoff time is between 7-8 pm. I don't need to be eating dinner any later than that, so this would work out perfect. The pounds, I was sure, would just melt away.

I was perfect on Monday. Had some decaf herbal tea at 8pm and went to bed a little hungry, but very much in control.

But yesterday I taught class and was hungry when I got in my car at 8:50. I ate half an apple, thinking, "It's fruit. Fruit is good for you." But I knew I'd cheated. So there was only one thing left to do.

Stay up until midnight.

So technically, I didn't eat anything 3 hours before bed. I just hope I don't make this a habit. Otherwise I can see my bedtime creeping around the clock until I'm going to bed at 8am because I just had to have a bowl of cereal at 3.

I don't think diet bootcamp is intended for people like me.

No kids for me

I don't like kids. I don't. And I'm not happy making that admission. I treat suspect any person who tells me they don't like animals. What does it say about me that I don't even like the young version of my own species?

You know those women in movies who the audience laughs at because they're extremely prissy and follow their kids around with a dustbuster in case a crumb spills on the floor and they have heart attacks if there are fingerprints on the fridge? How distressing to learn I am that fussy, prissy, dustbuster touting woman.

My 3-year old nephew was here for less than 24 hours with his mom and I spent most of those hours trying not to scream. And it's not him. He was very good. He just had the energy and disposition of...a 3 year old.

I tried not to cringe when he ate potato chips on my oriental rug. Or when he flung his fork on the unscratched surface of my dining room table. Or when he liked the whap sound his belt buckle made on my hardwood floor. Or when told to eat his green beans he shouted "No!"

What's really interesting is I don't have kids, I have no plans to have kids, I don't enjoy spending time with kids, yet I'm confident I know just what each of you need to do to raise your own kids.

I'm not backing down on this. I don't need Dr. Phil to tell me not to give kids sugar past 5 pm at night. Both my niece and one of my nephews have been allowed to indulge in candy, cookies, sweet cereal, and Mountain Dew only minutes before their supposed bedtime. The best part is their parents then don't give a thought turning to us and sighing, "We have such a hard time getting her to go to bed at night."

Are you people insane?

I'm sort of shocked to discover that if I had kids that I would be a bit of a hard-ass. Food would be eaten at the table and you're going to eat what I serve you and you're not going to get up from the table and roam around and bother those of us who are still eating and I will wipe that smirky pout off your face faster than you can say "early bedtime."

Whew. It needed to be said.

The sort of sad thing though, is that I admire homes where kids can be kids. If you're more worried about your sofa remaining unstained than your kid having a happy childhood, something's out of whack. Which is why I should not have kids, because I really, really like my sofa.

I love visiting kid friendly houses where 18 children who may or may not belong to said parents are running in and out, the dog is barking, the cat is stalking, and a bird or two may be flying about. There's a jovial sense of barely controlled chaos.

I admire these people.

I am not one of these people.

I like everything in it's place. I like no yelling. I like order. I like clean floors. I like being able to sit down and read a book whenever I feel like it. I like not having to keep someone else entertained. I like not having to answer the question "why" ever 5 seconds. (I started to get creative toward the end. "I'm doing laundry." "Why?" "Because hippos are orange.")

I've always said, "I love kids. I just love other people's kids." Now I'm not so sure. Apparently I only love kids if they are drugged or in a drugged-like state.

There is some hope. I read my nephew several stories and he laughed at the funny voices I did, and kept asking me to read more. That made me feel good.

But I still can't wait to vacuum my rug.