Friday, January 4, 2008

It Was Stinky..

    I work in the construction business as a painting contractor, new houses mostly but this morning I started a small home renovation. The carpenter had installed some fancy columns, door jambs, crown moldings and baseboards in the front entry. It was my first day on this job and after loading my tools in I started filling nail holes and caulking the gaps in the trim (not exactly rocket surgery but it takes a bit of a knack). I had been working for a while when a cute little tabby cat named Tiger (what are the odds) appeared. He was about five or six months old, full of the usual cat curiosity and wondering what the heck I was doing in his house. He started out sniffing around my tarps and tools so I tried to make friends by using the only cat language I know, "Pss, pss, pss".  His little ears perked up when he realized this human was trying to communicate with him and he sauntered over and rubbed himself around the base of my penis (step ladder actually, I just couldn't resist that one). At the time I was on my knees filling the baseboards so I extended my hand and gave him a little tickle under the chin and he proceeded to rub his cheeks on my hands and spackle knives, rolling around on the drop cloth. Instant friends. This play time continued for a few minutes until I decided I needed to get back to work, but of course I opened up a can of worms and he wasn't ready to quit yet. Eventually he gave up when he realized I didn't want to play anymore but while it was going on I was thinking," Aah, maybe I should get myself a little companion for home."
    Tiger wandered off and I continued with my work, still on my knees filling nail holes when he returned. Typical cat he had to be right in between me and what I was doing, slinking back and forth, when I smelled an horrific odor. Cute l'il kitty had farted. It reeked and being on my knees I was right at ground zero, nostrils filled with the acrid aroma. He walked on by and I kept spackling making my way around the entryway. A few minutes later he returned, lodging himself between me and my work again, and again he farted, worse than the original. My first thought was," You little bugger you did that on purpose."and the second one was,"This is why I don't have pets."(not that I have anything against the little critters, I quite like them).
     I've had a few cats over the years, one that could easily clear a room with one of his kitty farts, but never have I experienced such an act of premeditated cat gas attack in my life and the job is just started... good thing I have a respirator.          

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Second Hand Smoke...

    When I was a kid Sundays were often spent going for a "drive". Usually short trips to Sasamat Lake or into Vancouver to stare at the hippies and visit Stanley Park. We had a brown Ford Ranch Wagon station wagon, Sis and me in the back and Ma and Pa in the front. Both of my parents were smokers and I remember Mom telling us to keep the"windows rolled up back there" so we wouldn't catch cold. In the meantime we could barely see out of the windshield or breath from all the smoke. Dad would hold his cigarette between his fingers on the steering wheel an the nicotine would literally run down the windshield. My sister and I would have the windows rolled down just a crack, noses pressed against the glass sucking in the cool air. Some Sundays I would hear the dreaded words," We're going to Bellingham." This meant a two hour drive each way with a lengthy border crossing in between and the thought of breathing the even stinkier American cigarettes... yikes ! I howl to myself about this now with all the "second hand smoke" consciousness. I know my folks didn't mean any harm, they just didn't know any better and I turned out okay... I think.     
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