I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts, but this glass of beer did make me wonder if I was being visited by the spirit of my long-gone springer spaniel, Casey, who left paw prints on the brownies of my childhood.
Archive for animal friends
There’s a great interview with George Saunders over at Lit Reactor.
“And if there’s anything a person likes about his current mode of production, then he has to be grateful for all of that earlier inefficiency and his current limitations–which aren’t separable from what he likes about his work, if you see what I mean. As the Steve Martin characters says in The Jerk, “I’m just happy to be in there somewhere.”
Here’s a picture of George Saunders with a dog, which makes me like him even more.
Anthropomorphizing animals over the years has been done to great comedic affect. Those dogs playing poker, for instance, and probably my favorite, the old Little Cesear’s ad from the 90s where some guy said he taught his dog to say “I love you.” These are all well and funny, but what about a comparison to Don Corleone in The Godfather, who severed a horse head and delivered it between the sheets of his enemy? “It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.” Well, I bet that guy who got the horse head thought it was pretty personal.
Here’s what I came home to the other day, and keep in mind I’ve had other books sitting on the same table from where she grabbed this for most of her life.
I guess this is what I get for not putting her in the acknowledgments.
Next time it will say, “To Mavis, the fucknutty of them all.”
“Don’t be a fucknut” has become a regular saying in my house. It’s almost always directed at Mavis, because, lordy, can that dog be a fucknut. Knocking over the water bowl, eating out of the litter box, wrapping her tether so she has four inches to gallop, gagging on the leash, chasing the cats, barking at anyone who happens to walk within a thousand feet of the house. And all this before she’s been up six minutes for the day.
While I’d like my puppy to outgrow this stage, for my characters, it’s just what I want. Please, I think, be a fucknut. Call your ex-wife, forget to pick up your kids, attend your high school reunion, mouth off to your boss, say inappropriate things at parties, hit on the parking attendant, carry a knife through security, ride a horse to impress someone, fake a pregnancy, fake a death, start singing at a meeting, and above all, confront what you don’t want to confront.
The bigger the fucknutery, the better, because then it’s that much easier for the story to move along.
Mohandas is one of the cats that moved in recently, making the house feel like it’s suffering an infestation of hair, cuteness, and indifference. Mohandas is a very loving and adventurous cat but can be somewhat of a bruiser. He and Mickey are having it out for alpha cat right now, and with his claws, Mohandas is winning. The essence of Mohandas is this: in the morning, he comes right on your lap, puts his front paws on your shoulder and gives you a hug with an accompanying purr like a motorboat. All is great until he digs in the claws, still affectionate, still purring, but now looking you in the face like, how about that?
Here he is as I try to work this morning, reading over the corner of my laptop, a disapproving look on his face.
Everyone’s a critic.
Since I posted a picture recently of Mavis, I thought for fairness’s sake I’d better include one of Mickey and Belle. Mickey’s the black cat and Belle is the gray.
The office manager in my department is one of the greatest women I know. She’s funny, smart, an avid animal lover, and someone I’ve always wanted to know better. When she told me she’d found two infant strays living in a flowerpot near her house, I told her I might be interested in adopting them. It’s embarrassing to think I took on a sixteen-year commitment because I wanted Leanne to like me and have something to talk to her about, but there you go.
They ended up being a great addition to the family. An avid dog person, I’m shocked how much personality they have, something I mean as a compliment but that incenses my cat-person friends. Mickey’s all cool and bruiser-like (and will guard the shit out of an Ann Taylor return, as you see above) while Belle is a small, neurotic mess (although looks very calm in the pic above. I wonder if she found my klonopin).
More cats are moving into this house soon so expect more pics, or at least outtakes of the turf war.