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No, I sold the waterbed years ago, and have regretted it ever since.
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If you want to find out how I got even with the damn dog, buy my book. If I’m going to confess to crimes against humanity, I jolly well better be getting paid for it…
Okay then, did you meet your wife because she broke up with her asshole boyfriend?
And how did you propose? Any funny stories about the wedding?
(Sorry, I’m just a bit hooked on Wang-Ka stories…)
Um… well, in a manner of speaking. She’d broken up with her asshole boyfriend about a month before we met. So… while this was not directly responsible for our meeting, it made our first date possible.
Although actually, I’d been avoiding her like the plague. My friend Bubbles was trying to set us up together, and experience had taught me that going out with Bubbles’ friends was a mistake. I think I went over it in slightly more detail in the “How Did You Meet Your SO” thread, around here somewhere.
…and there were no PARTICULARLY funny occurrences at the wedding. She was 45 minutes late, which had ME climbing the walls, wondering whatthehell was going on. Turned out Bubbles had torn her pantyhose, trying to get into them, and the two of them had to light out to the store, in full wedding regalia, to get a pair of pantyhose, while Bubbles’ husband (aka the Troll) and I were waiting… and wondering…
There IS a story behind how Bubbles and the Troll got together, but I can never, never, never tell that one. The Troll wouldn’t kill me, but Bubbles might.
And if you’re really all that interested in Wang-Ka stories…
My big Siamese called Pooh, because Mom didnt approve of shithead for a name, outlived my ex by almost 10 yrs. He had a long satisfying life of tormenting his humans.
The cats we have now just run whenever my hubby comes into the bedroom.
We used to have a maltese dog that would arbitrarily decide we had been “going at it” long enough… she would stick her face in and lick Daddy’s face until he moved.
Oh, and I sent an email… but no response yet.
It occurs to me that I’ve written more about Buffy than any other cat we have. Then again, his laid-back attitude and regal dignity also allow for more funny and weird moments, I suppose.
A while back, we got a goodie package from some friends of mine in Seattle. We’ve never actually met these folks, but we’ve been corresponding over the Internet for years, and for a laugh, I sent them some postcards and chintzy Texas souvenirs. Later, I would wind up shipping four copies of my book to this same couple… but at the time, they sent us BACK a box, with a variety of interesting things in it.
Naturally, my wife, Chaosia, and our daughter, Michiru Super Anime Girl, had to see what was in this odd package…
“You’re kidding,” Chaosia said.
“Nope,” I replied. To tell the truth, I had no idea if it was a genuine kangaroo scrotum or not, but I wasn’t about to admit that.
“But… but… you’re telling me they hunt kangaroos just to kill them and cut off their… their…”
“Hell, honey, I dunno,” I replied. “What do I know about Australia, except that the weather is a lot like South Texas, and the folks’ attitude is likewise? I hear they have a lot of ranches down there… but I never hear much about cattle. Maybe they ranch kangaroos, instead, and harvest them by the millions for their scrotums, or something. Make leather pouches from the outside, and Aussie McNuggets from the contents.”
She gave me that patented “you-asshole-y’r-messin’-with-my-mind,” look, and went back to examining the little leather pouch.
Michiru, on the other hand, riffled the postcards. Seattle! Distant, magical land! Michiru’s at the point in life where no matter where you actually grew up, it’s the armpit of the world. Only places regularly mentioned on MTV could possibly be at all cool…
I held the green test tube up to the light. Super Bubbles that stay, instead of popping? Never heard of such a thing, before. How do you get rid of them? Don’t they, kind of, stack up after awhile? I had a mental picture of having to collect them with a snow shovel and build a fire or something to dispose of them… I opened the tube and sniffed the greenish fluid.
“Don’t you dare blow bubbles in the house with that stuff,” said Chaosia, still intently peering into the pouch, as if she expected there still might be testicles in it… lurking in wait, or something… each stamped SOUVENIR OF AUSTRALIA. Why do women automatically assume you’re going to do something stupid, just because you’re male?
She was right, though. I walked out the front door onto the deck. The instructions had been simple, really – pretty much like ordinary bubbles, except they warn you not to waste the stuff, and to give the bubbles a minute to harden before you try playing badminton with them, or something. Trotting at my feet came Callie, one of five cats co-owning the premises. Callie likes to go for walks, and whenever a human leaves the house and DOESN’T get in a car, Callie will immediately accompany, on the off chance you’re going to walk to the convenience store or around the block or something.
Buffy was already on the deck, spread out along the deck railing like someone had smeared him there with a butter knife. Buffy is the sole tom in the house, and the most laid-back cat I have ever met, except when he wants outside; he has discovered that he can get outdoors by the simple artifice of finding another cat and biting her on the butt, thus making her squawk, thus causing a human to materialize, grab Buffy, and toss him out the door. Simple, no?
We toyed with the idea of teaching him how to use doorknobs, and then decided not to – we’d never be able to get him to close the damn door after himself.
I unscrewed the top again, withdrew the bubble wand, and blew briskly. The wand has two tiny rings on it, and a flurry of tiny bubbles erupted from both, seething in an iridescent cloud over the deck… drifting upwards… and, catching the wind, swirling away to the west.
Buffy glanced up with interest. What was this?
Callie eyed the railing near Buffy. Callie is a remarkably fat cat, and maintains her fatness no matter what we feed her or don’t, and her natural feline nature insists that she be on the railing when outdoors… but this can be a trick, if there’s no lawn furniture handy. She gauged the distance, and tensed her haunches.
I blew another flurry of bubbles. Buffy leaned forward, batted at a bubble, missed.
Callie launched herself at the railing. Predictably, she managed to get her front paws onto it, and hung there, frantically scrabbling at the lattice with her back paws, trying to get her fat butt up onto the railing. After a few minutes’ scrabbling, she succeeded. She then gave Buffy and I the usual, “I meant to do that” look, and began washing herself. Ever notice how cats always furiously wash themselves after doing something embarrassing?
I blew another cluster of bubbles. They swirled around us, spun and swooped with the light breeze. Buffy reared up on his hind legs and began swatting frantically at the evil bubbles, successfully destroying several. Callie stopped washing herself, and watched with some interest.
…and then, the trouble started. Buffy swatted a large bubble… and it didn’t break. Instead, it adhered to his paw. He didn’t notice right away, still frantically slapping at other bubbles… but when the bubbles either popped or skirled away on the breeze, he couldn’t help but notice the iridescent globe stuck to his pads. He sat there, upright, on the deck railing, and stared at it for a moment. He experimentally shook his paw, trying to get rid of it. No dice. He waved his paw around, and nearly overbalanced, caught his balance, looked at Callie and I (Meant to do that!), and then, in a fit of pique, brought the bubble to his face and bit it.
It popped, wetly, surprising him, and this time he DID overbalance, and fell off the deck into the yard. Callie ran over to where he had been, sniffed where his butt had rested, and then peered over the rail into the yard.
Over at the steps, Buffy, bristled and embarrassed, trotted back up onto the deck, just as I was blowing another cloud of bubbles. This did not make him happy. He made a low growling noise in his throat… and ATTACKED, flinging himself into the cloud, slapping bubbles right and left! This was PERSONAL, goddammit!
I blew another cloud of bubbles, and he slaughtered those, as well… but this time, I noticed that a few were stuck to his fur, here and there. He didn’t notice right away. I blew another cloud, and he killed many, but took yet more unintentional prisoners.
By the time he noticed, he had some twenty or thirty bubbles stuck hither, thither, and yon all over his yellow furry bod. He looked like some sort of cheaply made monster for a bad science fiction TV series… and when he saw that the bubbles were counterattacking, he FREAKED. He rolled over, madly slapping at his butt, striking out at the evil bubbles! Frantically, he struck, left, right, and buttward, popping bubbles as he found them!
Callie and I both paused to watch the cat, yowling, rolling, and slapping himself all over. You’d have thought he was on fire or something.
Finally, the enemy was vanquished, gone, no more. Buffy glanced up and saw Callie and I looking at him. He frowned, (I meant to do that,) and began washing himself.
…and stopped, immediately. He took another experimental lick… and began spitting. Apparently, bubble essence doesn’t taste too good. I blew another cloud of bubbles. Buffy yauped – he was NOT liking the turn of events.
…and, suddenly, the breeze caught the cloud of bubbles, and they seethed straight at him like a swarm of bees.
Buffy mewped, and ran like hell, leaping off the deck, and the bubbles struck the latticework, shattering and dying. THESE bubbles were DIFFERENT… and they were EVIL! What to do?
“Michiru,” I called to the front screen door. “Let Buffy in.”
Michiru opened the screen door. THIS got Buffy’s attention. He looked at me, waiting to see if I was going to unleash another carnivorous horde. I waited. He looked at me again, mistrustfully, and then RAN up the steps toward the front door – and stopped.
A fair number of the bubbles had had enough time to harden before finally drifting earthward. The deck between the cat and the front door shone with about a hundred bubbles, resting gently on the wood… like an iridescent minefield.
Buffy looked at me. I withdrew the wand again. I didn’t mean to blow more bubbles quite yet, but he misinterpreted the gesture.
“MRAWRP!” (Goddammit!)
And Buffy leaped into the bubble-studded section of deck and bounced around, left, right, and forward, trying to get at the door without touching any bubbles. It looked for all the world like he was trying to play hopscotch on tiptoes, and it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen a cat do…
He succeeded, though. He got in the door. Michiru closed the screen. He looked at me, triumphantly, and hissed.
I blew a cloud of bubbles at him.
He skedaddled…
…and you know what?
When the weather begins to get cold, cat density increases.
Multifold.
Not only do felines somehow become more dense, but they tend to congregate in areas with humans and other felines.
It’s gotten to the point where if we’re in bed, and my wife is still cold, she’ll ask me to put on two more cats…
Wang-Ka, you’ll enjoy the cartoon at the top of this page.
I’ve had a copy (of the original English strip) on my refrigerator for years. (Oh, and the units were Farenheit… sorry, couldn’t find the original… it’s not on the Mutts website. (9/23/94)
Yup, can’t move at night. I am pinned down by the offspring and a cat on one side and two to three of the beasts on the other side.If I sit up unexpectantly the fur literally flies!
Mm-hm. It’s getting cold again. My big giant bed is nice and warm.
Now if it weren’t for the periodic catfights erupting throughout the night…
Oooh. How and where does one order the book?
Email me.