To some degree...

every single one of my animals is retarded.

I have a parrot, a red, yellow and orange Conure, whose greatest joy exists in a bag of popcorn... digging through it, slinging it everywhere, muttering to himself the entire time until all you can see of him is the tips of his tail feathers.
Then, if there's any kind of sudden noise, he comes flying out, backwards, and looks around, bitching, til he's satisfied that it was nothing, then, in he goes again.
When he has deemed a bag "finished", he will nag you unto death until you pop him another bag.
We use "Natural" popcorn. No butter, no salt.

Then, there's the blue, black and white parakeet who spends 90% of her time pecking her mirrors.

The black, longhaired hamster with the white front feet is halfway normal.

Tyler, the Jack Russell (mostly white with big black and small tan markings), is just plain goofy.
He loves his tennis balls.
Then, I finally broke out that soccer ball I got a long time ago.
(Had to do with that Pennsylvania Miner's story...)
Anyway...
Tyler gets pissed if you squeak that thing on or near him when he's eatin', or otherwise occupied.
It took him weeks to get to where he'd pick it up in his mouth.
Then, I really messed with his mind by buying him a bigger and furry soccerball.
He's still not too sure about it, yet.
Sometimes, when he's laying on his side in a chair, I start by, stop, put both hands on him and bounce him into the cushions for a while. He just lays there, watchin' me, then, when I stop, he jumps up wagging his tail and stretches.
And, for some weird reason that I am not privy to, he's scared shitless of... silverware.
Yes, spoons, forks and knives... silverware.
You could put an entire ham on a plate on the floor.
Stick a fork in it and it'll be safe forever.
From Ty, anyway.
The cats could give a damn about a fork.

They could, but they don't.

But, wait!
We're not done with "dogs" or "other large and/or miscellaneous critters".
Can't get into the cats yet...

The outside dogs...

Jessie, George's dog (large, golden, medium length hair) is terrified of brushes and towels.
Giving her a bath is a fuckin' trip... to hell!
You can just forget trying to dry her.
And, if you so much as touch her with a brush, she will run right through a wall to get away.
We have no idea why she's like this.
Except that, she too, is insane.

Then there's April... "our dog", who is smaller, dark, long- and thick-haired.
One of our dogs...
This twat... God love 'er... she can be outside for 99 years and the instant you bring her in, she shits on the floor.
Every. frickin'. time.
But, she'll play with a laser light all night long.

Then, there's Ziggy Pigdog.
He's got that name for a reason.
He's also big, looks a LOT like a police dog. Mostly black with a little tan on his face.
You bring his ass in and he WILL eat everything not nailed down or outta reach.
After he'd consumed an entire bag of Cheetos, an entire big baggie of Christmas cookies, whole boxes of cereal and a whole HUGE tub of "I can't Believe it's not Butter" among other things, he became an "outside dog".
To this day, if he'd stand still, you could serve an entire Thanksgiving dinner offa his back, it's so wide.
That dog is a horse.

Speaking of "horse"...
yeah.
They're both goofy, too.

Action, the chestnut Quarter Horse, is just retarded.
He jumps every time I flick my lighter.
He's scared of his own farts.
Catching him in the dark, you'd better bring a fuckin' lunch, 'cause yer gonna be a while.

And, Bo... the black blanket App...
Don't NOT bring his carrots.
If you don't bring his carrots, you WILL see a horse have a temper tantrum.
And, from what I hear, I don't recommend trying to ride him bareback.
Although, nowdays, his back is also broad enough that his withers are no longer a safety issue if ya do ride him bareback.
Being bucked off may not be an issue, either, as fat as his ass has gotten over the summer.
He looks like a mare ready to foal within the week.

Then, there's the roosters.
Cogburn, the red one, will throw himself, feet first, against the screen door when he's been outside long enough in his opinion.
I've never seen a rooster wanna get inside a house, let alone "knock" to do it.
And, Foghorn, the white one... he likes to be held and petted.
He even likes being held upside down, along your arm, like a baby... or most of my cats.

The duck, also white... swims in the bathtub, lays eggs and makes nests for 'em, picks on the roosters and also likes being held. Flat up against your chest, with her legs flat down the front of ya and her beak over your shoulder.
Cute... but weird.

Then, there are the cats...

Ozzy, dark gray tabby... thinks riding on your shoulder, no matter what you're doing, is the coolest thing in the world.
Nevermind the fact that he weighs half a ton and always hasta have at least four claws stickin' in ya.... he loves it.

Erica, light gray tabby with white patches... a total stoner.
Will not allow anything "fun" to be burned without her presence. She also insisits on sitting downwind from the source of the smoke.
You can tell by her eyes that it's working.
And, I swear... she grins.
Likes being patted rapidly on butt.

Lamar, mixture of tabby and large spot markings, mostly white... she literally rears up on her hind legs to meet your hand when you reach to pet her.
She doesn't really like being held, though.
She enjoys beating the shit out of a rug I have on the carpet in the livingroom.
Also likes having behind patted quickly.

RC... RedCat, orange tabby... she simply MUST have each faucet in the house set to dribble so she can get drinks.
You can put 1400 gallons of fresh water down for her and she'll walk right past it to jump up on the sink and beg for the water to be turned on.
She will also, without warning, run right up the front of ya to be held.
Eric found her under the carousel in the parlor.

Clemmy, gray calico... will fight to the DEATH the shop vac.
Hates that thing with a passion, but she won't run from it.
She stands there swattin' the fuck outta the nozzle.
Has only recently decided that being petted is actually a good thing.
Still undecided about being held.

Her son, Tommy, mostly white with gray tabby markings...
Pretty much stays in the kitchen.
Acts like being petted is being assaulted.
Has been known to totally lose his shit if picked up at the wrong minute and only he and maybe God have any idea what minute may be the wrong one at any given time.

Gonzo, white with gray tabby spots and tail... hint: his name says a LOT.
This cat is just nuts.
His favorite place in the whole universe to be is on the handrail at the landing of the stairs where it's wide enough for him to sit or lay there and swat you as you walk by.
He also finds it highly amusing to get on the top of the back of this chair and just freak out.
Drives me right up the fuckin' wall and he knows it.
He just doesn't care.
He thinks it's funny.
Like the butt-smackin' thing, plus being knocked/layed over onto his side.

Then, there are the two huge black guys.
They're brothers.
They both are so dumb, they think it's fine to come up, rear up on your leg, sink their claws in and stretch down.
That is so not cool.
They also fight sometimes and I have to physically impose myself upon them to make 'em stop.
And, one of them thinks it's wonderful to jump Bubba when he's asleep, scaring the shit outta him.
Just now, one of them was laying on the dryer, with his head on the washer which was spinning and bouncing his head about 100 beats a minute.
He seemed to be enjoying it. Kept stretching out one arm and flexing his claws, like he was kneading with one hand.

Bubba, large gray and white tabby... just wants to sleep on the dryer and be scratched between his shoulderblades.
Huge bastid, but a bit timid, all the same.
Also likes having hiney patted really fast.

Squirrelly Shirley, long-haired mostly gray cat with white chest.... now this cat IS brain damaged and I know why. She's the one Erica had that time that she freaked out, bit me and jumped out the window while there was a kitten coming out. Said kitten fell out while Erica was enroute to the countertop to jump out the window and slid under the cabinets and bounced off the bottom of 'em.
So, that explains why she simply MUST throw herself onto her back exactly in the spot she knows your foot is gonna land next and insists on walking down the steps with you BETWEEN YOUR FEET and has a vacant, slightly retarded look on her face most of the time.
She also enjoys racing around, starting shit with the other cats, smacking them on the ass and chasing them and she sounds like an elephant wearing boots when she's flying up and down the stairs.
The last time I went to pee, she was upstairs in the bathroom, laying on this cabinet I have up there. She had her tail under the cat in the window sill, her ass in a basket on top of the cabinet and her body arched like a woman's shoe with her chest on the cabinet top.
Fuckin' weirdo.

Olson, dark brown and gray tabby ... she doesn't like anybody, cat-wise.
Her job is to growl at any cats within a two foot radius.
They all just ignore her these days.
She has a cute, round monkey face.
She takes things way too personally and once, she lost all the hair on her butt.

Then, there are the three kittens...
The orange tabby one. A sweetheart, but can't take a hint for shit.
I keep putting him on the floor and he keeps jumping right back up here.
The gray tabby female... she has only recently decided that being petted is cool. Like in the last coupla days, recently. Now that she likes it, she wants it all the time and if you don't pet her, she grabs your hand with her paw and bites it... ouch.
And, the newest one... a longhaired, black and white furball... such a sweetie. This one hasn't been subject to whatever it is that fries alla my other animals brains (me?) long enough yet, so she's still pretty normal.
So far...

Missy and Spot... sisters, both mostly white, one with big gray spots, the other with big black spots, like a cow. Outside cats, mostly. Ozzy, Bubba, the two black ones and another one I haven't gotten to yet all used to be outside cats. But, since they've all been fixed and the boys don't seem to feel a need to drown the house anymore like they used to, I've let 'em all back in. These two, Missy and Spot, mostly wanna be outside.
They'll come in for a while, but ultimately, always go back out.

And, there's the absolutely gorgeous black and white boy whose name I forget... he had one, but damned if I remember it right now.
He feels it is necessary to growl louder than a downshifting truck at any cat in a five-foot radius.
Nobody is even looking at him, but he feels a need to growl anyway.
Other than that, he's a total lovebug.

The gray and white cat who is Shirley's usual victim... again, no name that I can recall, but a cool cat. Sweet, wants to be petted, is always being chased around by Shirley.

Chyna, light gray calico... has a Siamese meow. Meows a lot. Races me up the stairs every time I go up them. Will only eat and drink in the bathroom. Thanks to her, I now have two feeding stations to maintain.

Bret, mostly black with white on neck and paws... again, probably actually brain damaged. Had a huge cast iron and ceramic thing that you put hot pots on fall off a table onto her head. Her pupils were two different sizes for a while and I called the vet and asked him what to do.
Nothing.
She was fine.
He said that pupil thing was "normal" with a conk on the head.
So's her behavior these days, I s'pose.
That, and naming her after Bret Hart....

Ah, and Princess, the longhaired calico... this cat is gonesville, too.
Growls at everybody, wants to be held then growls at YOU for holding her "wrong" whatever the fuck that is, INSISTS on dumping water bowls if at all possible and takes every move that every other cat makes as a personal threat, worthy of hissing at.
Twit.

I think that's all the furry and feathered critters, which brings us to the "bi-ped" ones... the guys.

George... known him the longest and yes, he's a goof. Very cool person, but, sometimes, he melts my brain, he's so strange about shit.
Just refuses to believe that it does TOO work turning a map so it's laid out in the direction you're going.
Knows exactly just how fucked up I am and likes me anyway.
A nice guy... maybe too nice, because his motto seems to be, "Fuck me? No, fuck me harder" because he'll go to great lengths for the wrong people and never completely be done with 'em no matter how shitheaded they are which leaves him open to getting screwed again.
I've been asked by everybody from mutual bosses to Eric at least three times a month, "Why is he like that?" about whatever, like I have any idea.
I don't even think he does.
He just is.
Cleans up his own messes and feeds all the dogs around here.

Then, there's Sr.
Damaged by the BC in Jersey, yes.
Mostly over it, but not completely.
Spoil rotten for real.
Used to help out with house shit, but not anymore unless I specifically ask him to.
In fact, there are three bags of trash all but blocking the front door and they've been there since last night.
While I'm tempted to leave 'em there to see just how got-damned long it'd take him to take 'em out, I won't because I don't wanna hafta live with 'em there for the next week at the very least.
It's insane.
My hand to God, he messes this house up almost as fast as I clean it.
I no sooner get the dirty clothes all upstairs to be washed than he's got a new pair of socks on the floor next to his chair, looking like two withered up snakes.
He drapes his dirty coveralls across the saddles, 'cause that's what they're there for.
Leaves dirty clothes and coffee cups in the barn.
Shoes DIRECTLY in the door- or walkway.
Puts EVERYTHING back in the fridge by placing it on the front six inches of the shelves, thereby making it all but impossible to reach anything in the back.
Couldn't close a cabinet door if his life depended on it.
Cannot EVER remember to plug his radio in to charge before he goes to bed.
He is, as I type, asleep in my lounge chair, completely dressed, up to and including his denim jacket and sneakers.
And... ya wanna know what?
All of this is great to see.
After knowing what his life used to be like, I still see the coolness of this now about him, the fact that he's finally comfortable enough to just be himself, to just be, that he knows he's allowed to be human, to act like a guy, leaving his shit scattered hither and yon and that he can rest assured it'll be taken care of... I like that.
Yeah, sometimes, it makes me kinda crazy and I start to wonder if I don't need to start trying to swing the pendulum back the other way some, but... fuck it.
He had 14 years of that domineering bitch's shit to eat.
Let him have at least 14 years of it being the polar opposite.

Then, there's Jr.
Again, kinda messed around by the BC, but much more able and willing to tell her to go fuck herself than Dad ever was.
Still, a really cool guy.
Has a few strange hobbies, like putting bloody-boomerangs-that-used-to-be-squirrels in my freezer and spending a lot of time in the pursuit of the deaths of several species of wild animals, but, he's still easy to talk to, gets over being pissed pretty easily, can see a mistake when he's made one and he tries not to do it again, he's generous especially with his money and his Dad and I'm glad he's finally here.
I'm glad we all survived long enough for it to happen.
Wish Rob had.

All in all, I'm surrounded.
Surrounded by mostly pretty cool creatures, all with their own idiosyncrasies.

And, me?
I'm fine, considering.
And, I'll stay that way, God willing.

Oh, and about the wide-spread brain damage present in most of these creatures?
The common denominator that they ALL share is... me.
Living with me.

Now the question is, is it me making them like they are, or them being like they are that's making me like I am?
*raised eyebrow*

A question for the ages, innit?

Posted by: Stevie at 04:12 PM

Comments

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