BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

This blog post originally ran in July 2007. Since Jasper AKA Meatlump left for the great yarn basket in the sky this past Monday, after 19 years of hacking up furballs and purring his way through life with us, I thought it only fitting to re-run this bit about him.

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Cat Hemorrhoids…

No, not that pain in the a** you get from having too many cats. Although, having too many cats is a definite pain in the a**.

As many of you know, my wife and I have rescued cats for years. They usually come to us as abandoned, abused, special needs, what have you. We take them in and try to find homes for them. We aren’t as active in this as we once were, especially now that I travel so much. However, over the years we have ended up with some of the special needs felines living with us, simply because they weren’t easy to place.

Now, this is not to say that we didn’t get attached to them. We did. But, the reality is, we have a whole raft of cats who need special care. For instance, one is highly allergic to everything. She manifests her allergies in an odd way, however. Most cats get a skin irritation or some such. But not this one. She ends up with chronic sinusitis and sneezes constantly.

Two others are insulin dependent diabetics. And, regular old humulin, which is what they used to take, has been discontinued. Sooooo, instead of 30 bucks a month for two vials of insulin, we now spend about 200 bucks per month for the vet insulin. This does NOT include the cost of syringes.

There are others, but Jasper (aka MeatLump) is the subject of this blog. You see, MeatLump has bowel issues. As in chronic constipation. Lovely, I know. Ever tried giving a cat an enema? Not a pleasant task, believe me. Anyhow, because of this, MeatLump got himself a case of the ‘roids. Now, I can sympathize. Having been there I know it ain’t fun. But, you can’t really get one of those donuts for cats to sit on.

Well, MeatLump got out of the house. Escaped. Went over the wall. Beat feet. Zipped out. Generally, got away from his horrible captors. Us. At any rate, it has been hot in STL, and he went and hid. The ‘roids got worse. A gland ruptured. It remained hot. He remained hidden. Flies did their thing. Soooo, when we finally caught up with him it was not good.

He spent a bit of time at the vet, and is doing well now. He will heal up just fine. However, because of the rupture, the ensuing larvae, etc, much shaving occured. While I sympathize with the little bastard, I can’t help but laugh. I think the picture below will show why (Trust me, not gross. Just funny.)

So, there you have MeatLump. Roid kitty sans fur.

More to come…

Murv

This classic holiday entry originally ran in 2006…

“Twas the Night Before Christmas, 21^st Century Edition”

Copyright © 2006, M. R. Sellars

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.

Her wet stockings were hung in the bathroom with care,

My razor was dull and full of her leg hair.

My wife was nestled all snug in our bed,

While visions of shoe sales danced in her head.

When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my keyboard to empty my bladder.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But some fat S.O.B. drinking my last beer.

His eyes were unfocused, and his cheeks were a-flush,

I could tell at a glance that Santa was a lush.

His knees how they wobbled as he finished with a slurp,

Then he got up from his chair and let out a burp!

“Hi there, young fella,” he said with a *hic*

“Best get outta my way, I think I’m gonna be sick!”

He rushed to the bathroom and I heard my wife scream,

Seems she was in there and didn’t think this too keen.

What was next to occur was kind of a shock,

I found her pummeling Santa with our new alarm clock!

“Hey honey, chill out!” I said with a start.

“Surely you don’t wanna kill the old fart!”

“Look lady,” Santa cried as he lurched and careened,

“I only got airsick ’cause I forgot my Dramamine!”

“So you’re NOT just some drunk?” I asked as he scratched his crotch.

“Of course not,” he replied, “But I WILL take a Scotch!”

“And to show there’re no hard feelings,” he chortled with glee,

“Tell me what is it you’d like to find under your tree.”

I took a sharp breath, and held it inside,

Santa you fool, you’d better run and hide.

You’ve asked the wrong question, instead of the right,

And now you’re gonna be here the rest of the night.

My wife’s eyes sparkled, teeth showing as she grinned,

And the next thing I knew she had the guy pinned!

Catalogs flew, and flyers they fluttered,

Creating immediately a large pile of clutter.

Santa couldn’t move and his eyes filled with fright,

Seeing her chance my redhead squealed with delight!

“Some diamonds and pearls, from this place and that!

Some pumps and some boots, and maybe a hat!”

She ran down her list in a voice filled with glee,

All I could think was “I’m glad it’s not me!”

Santa wriggled and squirmed as she sat on his chest,

Then he shouted and hollered, “Hey, give it a rest!”

But my wife wasn’t finished, that much I knew,

For she held that elf down and started anew.

“Sapphires and rubies, and rings of white gold,

I don’t even care if they’re new or they’re old!

A black leather jacket and a skirt that goes with it,

Matching gloves and a gift card that spends without limit!

A full length fur coat, synthetic of course,

Hey! Are you taking this down? Don’t make me use force!”

The old guy kept kicking, and somehow broke free,

How he managed to do so was way beyond me.

But my redhead was behind him as he sprang for the door,

While she screamed, “No, don’t leave now, for I want so much more!”

Santa ran through my yard as though he were scared,

And I can’t say I blamed him, for I doubted I’d be spared.

He hollered, as he raced, his words not too thrilling,

In fact I must say they were in all senses chilling.

With what he said, I had no choice but to agree,

For she was all wound up and he was leaving her with me.

Now here’s the last thing I heard, as he fled from this strife,

“I’d stay for that scotch, but I’m afraid of your wife!”

And now, a bit of explanation about this poem…

I feel compelled to give you all the history behind my version of “Twas the Night Before Xmas”…And, no, it isn’t because EK has me in a choke hold, or that she is standing over me with a flogger…

Anyhow, the posted version of “TwasXmas” is one that is slightly tweaked, with a couple of extra verses added. The “original” psycho-redheaded-material girl filk of this timeless poem was written by me back in December, 1995. Yes, pre Rowan Gant (but not by much, as I began writing the short stories upon which the RGI series are based in 1996.)

Some of you may be aware that I had a long career as a Senior Level Electronics Technician, and in July of ’95 I was stolen away from the service center I managed by a company that had landed a lucrative contract with none other than Western Union. They needed someone capable of doing component level repair on old Concord Payment Terminals. Now, while I had never even seen one of these blue beasts before going to work for this company, I was part of a dying breed of technician–meaning, not only could I work on computers, but I actually knew how to use an Oscilloscope, Logic Probe, Solder/Desolder Station, as well as being able to read schematics. This meant that I could take one of these little beggars apart, track down the offending components (logic IC’s, resistors, capacitors, crystals, what have you) and replace them. They offered me A BUNCH of money to come work for them, as well as some especially tidy bonuses if I could meet a particular quota of repairs. At the risk of blowing my own horn, I actually did 2.5 times the quota each year–so the bonuses were very nice.

So, there is the setup. I left a management position to become a bench tech for another company. While that seems a step down, the dollars made it quite a step up.

However, something I discovered after joining this company is that during the annual Xmas Party, the newest member of the staff was required to Sing, Dance, or in some fashion briefly entertain the rest of the staff. Having been hired on in July, I hoped that I would be spared by a more recent hire but alas, that was not to be. When the holiday party rolled around, I was still the newest kid on the block, and 2 minutes of silly entertainment was expected of me.

Since I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, even if I have help, (just ask the Barstool Prophets…I sat in with them during a party held in my honor at Violet Flame Gifts in Ohio and croaked through a song or two…in my defense I was rather inebriated, but I digress…) As I was saying, since my ear is apparently composed of a tin-aluminum alloy, I asked if it would be okay for me to recite a poem instead. (Yeah, I can’t dance either…think Elaine from Seinfeld)…They were all for that and so it was set. However, you know me. I couldn’t see my way clear to recite something serious, and “TwasXmas” was born.

I actually have the two fading yellow sheets of legal pad paper upon which the original version was written here on my desk. I dug them out of my files so that I could transcribe the bit of rhyme here, and of course, decided to tweak it a bit in the process…(One of those silly writer things)

But, this isn’t where the story ends…(Yeah, here comes the part about E K)…The poem was written all in fun. The absolute truth of the matter is that E K is one of the most practical individuals on the face of the earth. Were the scenario in the poem real, she would be more likely to offer the fat SOB a Scotch, then sit down and calmly talk to him about her list which would contain such items as warm socks, an electric blanket, or maybe some new towels for the linen closet. I kid you not.

Yes, “Virginia”, the only thing material about my redhead is the fact that I spoil her with material things whenever I can afford it. Oh, she’s still Evil, don’t misunderstand. She’s just not a material kind of Evil…

So, there you have it.

Have a very Merrie Axemas…

More to come…

Murv