Thursday, May 12, 2011

The Tale of the Teenage Boy Cats or The Dangerous Allure of Slurpees

Once upon a time, there lived in nice house on a nice street in a nice town, two teenage boy cats. Their names were Damon and Clooney, and they were very difficult teenage boy cats. Every day before they left for school, they went through their middle-aged mother’s wallet and took money that didn’t belong to them so that they could go to 7-Eleven during their lunch break and buy Slurpees. It should be noted that by engaging in this activity, they broke not one, but two rules, as not only is stealing wrong, but leaving the grounds of their high school was a privilege given only to seniors.
When their middle-aged mother would confront them after school, they would both deny having taken the money and would point their paws (claws retracted) at each other. One morning, Damon and Clooney went about their usual morning routine of eating Captain Crunch cereal and washing it down with lemon lime club soda. Just prior to leaving, they indulged themselves in routing through their mother’s purse, from which they pocketed her cash. When lunchtime came, they scampered off to the local 7-Eleven and purchased the unholy concoction of Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew and Orange Gatorade mixed Slurpees. They exited the store, and proceeded to suck the drink as they walked back to school, fat and happy little teenage boy cats.
While Damon and Clooney were engaging in their illicit behavior, their mother was at the mall searching for new bras, which happened to be on sale at Macy’s. This was a chore that she would do once every two years – stretching it out as long as possible (quite literally) as the task was a tiresome one. Approximately two hours later, having exhausted herself by trying on a dozen Maidenform, Warner’s, Bali and Playtex medium to full –figured models, she selected four (two white, one black and one ivory) and made her purchase, paying for her new undergarments with her Macy’s card. She made her way to the parking garage and proceeded to exit the mall. At least that was the middle-aged mother cats’ intentions. Unfortunately, after handing the parking attendant her parking ticket and opening her wallet to extract her cash, she discovered much to her annoyance, that her two teenage boy cats had once again . . . cleaned her out. The middle-aged mother cat of two teenage boy cats projected a doleful expression toward the attendant and apologized for having to use a credit card to exit the garage, in turn causing a loud and irritating honking of horns and inconvenient backing up of vehicles. It was at that moment, that deep in her heart, she experienced a mixture of middle-aged mother cat rage, resentment, disappointment and hopelessness directed toward her teenage boy cats. These teenage boy cats have pilfered from me for the last time, she thought to herself. Had she known that at that very moment, Damon and Clooney were leaning back in their chairs in the middle of Chemistry I and Major Women Writers of the 19th Century respectfully, belching loudly and creating a commotion of their own, she may have gone straight to the school , instead of going home.
Upon their arrival home that afternoon, Damon and Clooney were informed of the consequences of their selfish act, and were told that they would be grounded for the next two weeks. The two cats looked at one another and sniggered. Their mother cat told them to go upstairs and do their homework and not to bother her until supper time. Supper was a dismal affair, as the mother cat has spent the afternoon stewing over her teenage boy cats’ misdeeds and did not feel like preparing a nice dinner. Instead they were given bowls of cereal with no milk, and sadly, no lemon lime club soda to wash the dry mess down with. Shortly after they retired for the night, and certain that their mother was asleep, Damon and Clooney decided to sneak out of the house, go to 7-eleven and use their own money (they did after all have part-time jobs) to purchase a more satisfying dinner. Once out the window, the cats were on their way and celebrated by singing an insipid little ditty about a less than virtuous young lady cat and her personal attributes. Just as they were finishing up the chorus, they were shocked to discover that bags had been placed over their heads, their paws had been tied behind their backs, and they were being goose-stepped away. Judging from the absence of the aroma of 99 cent big bites, it was clear that they were not headed in the direction of 7-eleven.
After a quick car ride, Damon and Clooney found themselves in a room full of comfy chairs, large feathers and numerous squeaky toys. For a moment they thought they’d died and gone to cat heaven. That was until they heard a deep growl coming from behind them. They turned to see a large grey Mastiff dog wearing a blue and green Pasha’s hat.
“What the . . .” started Damon.
“Silence!” roared the large grey Mastiff dog. The large dog stood up on all four legs, towering over the two teenage boy cats. Damon and Clooney sank as close to the floor as they could go and put their ears back. Clooney tried desperately to stifle the hair that was quickly rising along his back, but was unsuccessful.
The large dog walked slowly around the two cats, sniffing and nudging them occasionally with his nose. As he walked, the cats became aware of a clacking sound coming from his blue and green Pasha’s hat. Upon closer attention, the sound was revealed to be caused by a fringe of cat teeth hanging from the hats layers, which would bang together as the large dog moved about.
“What do you want from us?” asked Damon nervously, resisting the urge to wash his face with his paws.
“We have some money for 99 cent Big Bites,” said Clooney, hopefully.
The large dog leaned in close to the cats’ faces and scoffed, “I have my own money for 99 cent Big Bites.” His voice became a growl “I choose not to indulge in them.” He sat down again, inspected his toe nails for a moment and then crossed his paws. “Besides,” he said in a matter of fact tone, “they’re bad for you, you know?”
The two cats looked around the room, eyeing the many cat toys just inches away from them. Clooney, sensing a caring side to the beast, sat up and asked “Where’d you get that squirrel on a string over there?”
The large dog looked at the squirrel on a string, and yawned. Clooney took a step toward the toy, but thought better of it, when he heard a low growl emanating from the large grey dog.
“Are you going to tell us what you want from us?” asked and impatient Damon, his ADHD clearly getting the best of him and cancelling out any common sense that may have been lurking in his small teenage boy cat brain.
The large dog swung his large head toward the cat, letting loose a long strand of thick drool which slapped Damon across the face. Damon flattened himself against the floor again.
“What I want from you two, is to watch you play.”
The two teenage cats looked at one another and shrugged. “Mmm ok,” said Clooney, who again set forth toward the squirrel on a string.
“Not with that!” snapped the large dog. The two cats looked at each other again. Damon asked “What do you want us to play with?”
The large dog sat up taller, glared at the two cats and said “I want you to play . . . Patty Cake.”
“Seriously?” asked Clooney, tearing his head away from the treasure that lay before him.
“Seriously,” answered the dog.
And so the two teenage boy cats were placed upon a desk where there sat two computer monitors depicting the images of boy cats whom Damon and Clooney could only presume were previous victims of the large grey Mastiff dog.
“Commence play” growled the large dog, and so the two cats took deep breaths and proceeded to play Patty Cake. When they had finished, the dog said “Again!” The cats looked at one another, sighed and continued their game. Somewhere into the sixth hour, they began to tire of the activity. With sore paws and back muscles at their breaking point, they even forgot the pattern. At this, they became short tempered, frequently called one another “Dude,” and eventually resorted to fisticuffs. They did however manage to pull themselves together and resumed their play. This went on for nine and one quarter hours, until there was a rap on the door.
“Enter!” bellowed the dog. The door opened to reveal the middle-aged mother cat, holding her car keys and wallet protectively.
“Thank you,” she said to the large grey mastiff dog. The large dog bowed and replied “Certainly. I haven’t fed them, but I have kept them busy.”
And so the middle-aged mother cat left the home of the large grey Mastiff dog Pasha, with her two errant teenage boy cats in tow. When they returned to their home, they were grateful for having not been eaten by the large dog, and they vowed to their middle-aged mother cat to never take money from her again.

Below is a video confiscated from the home of the large grey Mastiff dog’s Room of Penance for Wayward Teenage Cats. WARNING – this video may be painful to watch.

Written by Lisa Emig, May 12, 2011
Not to be reprinted without permission of the author.

Friday, May 6, 2011

The Demon Sheep A Cautionary Tale

Once upon a time, on a small farm in Greenwich, Connecticut, there lived a group of teenage sheep. Chelsea, Kelsey, Courtney, Amanda, Brittany, Morgan, Lauren, Campbell and Sally liked to hang out together after sheep high school, and talk about things that mattered to teenage girl sheep. The prettiest of the teenage sheep was named Morgan. All of the other girl sheep liked to sit next to her in hopes of becoming her best friend, and always made certain that their hooves and bottoms were clean of sheep dip before approaching her. The sheep had been together since they were born and some of them even shared the same mother (their paternal lineage was never discussed).

As the sheep grew up, they looked very much the same, and the farmer needed to mark them with a tag in order to tell one from the other. Morgan on the other hand seemed to stand out from the other sheep, as her fleece was just a bit whiter and softer. Whenever the sheep were put out to pasture for their sheep exercise, they would jump around and pose seductively for the herd of teenage boy sheep that lived on the other side of the fence. Lauren and Amanda even smoked the occasional sheep cigarette.

One day while out exercising, the teenage boy sheep began to take notice of Sally. Sally was a little fuller in the hips than Morgan, and her fleece had more of wheat color to it. It was however, very fluffy and soft. One teenage boy sheep named Dylan approached the fence and called out “Hey, tan sheep! You want to go bowling on Friday?” To which Morgan responded, “Who are you calling tan sheep? My fleece is as white as snow!” Dylan wrinkled his nose finished chewing a blade of grass, coughed up some of the grass and said “Yeah, you’re fleece is white, so you should have figured out that I wasn’t talking to you Snowy.” Morgan looked taken aback; in fact she took a few steps back, and passed a small amount of wind. She shook her head and said “Well then who are you speaking to?” The other teenage girl sheep looked around the herd nervously, inspecting the shade of their own fleece. Dylan, whose mouth was once again full of grass, took his time chewing, and when he was done, pointed with his nose in the direction of Sally, who was trying desperately to lose the attentions of a determined fly buzzing around her ears. The other sheep in the herd looked at Sally and then at Morgan and then at Dylan and then at the grass in front of them. Some of them even pawed the ground embarrassed.

“Tan sheep! I asked if you want to go bowling Friday night.” Dylan managed to get out while repeatedly hacking up balls of wet grass.

Sally looked at Dylan and then at Morgan, and then at the grass in front of her. “Um . . . “she began but before she could get out a proper sheep answer, she looked back at Morgan who was flaring her sheep nostrils in a furious fashion. “Uh, no thank you. I’m not allowed to go bowling with teenage boy sheep yet.”

Dylan looked up from his regurgitated ball of grass and responded “Meh!”

This proved to be a very bad turn of events for Sally, as Morgan became irrationally jealous of her fellow sheep whose fleece was wheat colored. That night after the teenage girl sheep had had their dinner and were finished watching The Vampire Diaries, Morgan began to send text messages to her fellow herd sisters. “Sally’s a hoe,” said one message sent to Courtney. “Don’t talk to Sally; she’ll steel everyone’s’ teenage sheep boyfriends,” she sent to Chelsea. “Sally’s a devil sheep” read Campbell read on her cell phone. And so it transpired, that over the next few days, Sally was omitted from the group. She felt terrible about this, but mostly just felt lonely. The farmer noticed that the other sheep wouldn’t go near Sally and he worried that she was inflicted with some kind of dangerous teenage girl sheep disease. He called the vet out to his farm and showed him how the other sheep were treating Sally. “What do you think it is Doc?” He asked nervously. The vet climbed over the fence and approached Sally. Sally was so happy to have someone pay attention to her, that she gladly ambled over to the vet and allowed him to pat her. He looked in her ears, he checked her eyes, opened her mouth and inspected her teeth, ran his hands down her legs. When he was finished with the inspection, he looked at the farmer and said “Nothing wrong with this sheep, in fact, she’s the most beautiful sheep I’ve ever seen. Problem is the other sheep know it. These teenage girl sheep are tricky. I imagine that there is one in the herd who is intimidating the others into shunning this one. The sheep until now had been moving slowly together toward the vet, the farmer and Sally. When they heard this, they stopped immediately and began to wander aimlessly in different directions, with Morgan running the farthest away. The vet watched the sheep for a moment and said to the Farmer “There’s your leader, that one out under the tree. If it were my sheep, I’d give her a taste of her own medicine.” The farmer thanked the vet profusely for his advice and set about thinking of an appropriate punishment for Morgan.

The next day when the farmer called the sheep for their breakfast, they all appeared except for Morgan. The girl sheep were halfway through their breakfast of Eggo Waffles and Sunny Delight, when the door to the pen opened and in walked what appeared to be a demon of sorts. “Damn!” said Brittany scooting as far away from the demon sheep as she could get. The other sheep followed suit. The demon sheep seemed to have a bit of difficulty maneuvering the pen, but clearly had set a path for the other sheep. As soon as it would get within a few feet of the herd, they would shift to another corner of the pen. This went on for most of the morning, until the demon sheep gave up, found a corner and laid down. The other sheep found a corner in the opposite side of the pen and laid down in a heap together. They didn’t close their eyes however; instead they lay watching the demon sheep. A little while later the farmer came into the pen and approached the demon sheep. He bent down and removed what appeared to be the face of the demon. The rest of the herd gasped as they recognized the familiar fluffy white face of Morgan. “Now, let that be a lesson to you! No more ostracizing the pretty sheep. You have to play with everyone, or I’ll make you wear the mask and I’ll take away your Starbucks gift card. And that goes for the rest of you!”

Eventually the herd gathered enough courage to approach Morgan to see if in fact it was her. By the end of the day, Morgan had apologized to Sally for excluding her and starting hurtful and unimaginative rumors about her character. The teenage sheep eventually grew into adult female sheep, married, produced lambs of their own and proceeded to bully their lamb’s teachers and more gifted friends.

And that is the legend of the demon sheep.

If you'd like to see Morgan in her demon sheep mask, by all means, click on the link below - I must warn you though, it is not a pretty and may not be appropriate for teenage girl sheep).

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Time to Paint the Toenails

Ah May Day! A day where we say goodbye to winter, welcome spring, and more importantly, paint our toe nails. I have an acquaintance who celebrates May Day by shaving her legs (sorry about that, and no, I won't divulge her name). I'm pretty sure that my son, who is a freshman in college, celebrated May Day last night, by going to a party and drinking beverages that he shouldn't. My 16 year old daughter is still sleeping, so I'm not certain as to what her May Day celebration will be comprised of. I'm going to guess that it will involve taking notes for her AP History class and pleading to go to the mall. My husband ironically, has to work today, so he will not be celebrating at all.

As for me, I've already done my part by painting my toenails. Having rifled through my daughter's selection of nail polish, I settled on n.y.c. brand's Fuschia Shock Creme (this isn't as bad as it sounds, and if you wear it with, a fuschia-colored Lacoste shirt and jeans, it will do).