Category Archives: Cats

Looking for Lizard Poop (and Coral Smith’s breasts)

What’s the affirmation for today?

I look for more ways to appreciate.

There’s a lizard in the house. At least I hope it’s a lizard. It could be something worse, like a snake or a frog. But something that shouldn’t be in the house is in the house.

How do I know? Because my cats keep sniffing around … under the dishwasher, under the sofa–all the places where a lizard can hide. And Dylan, my Maine coon, gets so excited when he sniffs around the sofa that I’m definitely suspicious. He jumps up on it, jumps down, rolls around, makes that funny sound that Maine coons make, and jumps back up. Then he takes off after Mini, his favorite wrestling partner when he’s excited. They are chasing each other around the family room as I write. Mini has the advantage. She’s small and can slip behind furniture to areas that Dylan will never see again.

Mini and Dylan when they were a year old

So, I should be looking for lizard poop. Not that finding the poop will necessarily help me find the lizard, but all information helps in the hunt. I like to find critters before my cats do so I can take them back outside.

Interestingly enough, I’m not the only one looking for lizard poop. A lot of the people who end up on my blog are looking for it–after Coral’s Smith’s breasts, that is. (BTW, Coral Smith’s breasts aren’t here, if that’s what you came for. In fact, they don’t seem to be anywhere, except, I assume, on Coral Smith. Yes, I went looking for them too. I can only withstand so much curiosity.)

This is where semantics technology would come in handy. I mentioned coral honeysuckle in one of my blogs, my name is Smith, and I wrote a blog called Naked, Naked, Naked, about my cousin who takes her clothes off in public places. Put those terms together and I guess it equals Coral Smith naked, Coral Smith’s naked breasts, naked Coral Smith, naked breasts on Coral Smith–according to my blog counter anyway, which lists the top 100 search phrases that led people here. The software solutions company I work for is a leader in the field of semantics technology, so I’m thinking about talking to our Chief Scientist about this Coral Smith’s breasts problem resulting from Google’s poor search technology. Or not.

Anyway, zillions of searches for naked breasts I understand. The lizard poop search, however, was a complete surprise. More surprising was the fact that my mother knew what was going on there. I say surprising because my mother doesn’t know what either a blog or a Google search is. But when I jokingly told her that my blog was a big hit and why, she told me that smoking lizard poop gets people high (she heard it on TV) and that it’s becoming a real problem. Mystery solved. (BTW, there are no instructions for finding and smoking lizard poop here, if that’s what you came for.)

Oh, well. I didn’t get up at 4 am to search for lizard poop–or to write in my blog. I got up to plug away at my current work-in-progress or WIP, which is a manuscript, for those of you who don’t write.

And I am appreciating the fact that I’m not one of those people who want to smoke lizard poop.

Posted in Cats, Humor, Life, Wildlife, Writing | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Raising Serial Killers

I guess I’m raising serial killers. Don’t they say serial killers start out by torturing small animals?

Okay, so I’m talking about my cats, and the small animals are lizards, snakes, butterflies and frogs. That doesn’t make it any less painful—for me anyway. I know it’s all part of nature—this hunting instinct—and I know my cats think they are doing not only a good thing, but something they should receive super kudos for. But I just can’t hand those out. Instead I scream, “Joey, NO! Back off!” and Joey (my orange tabby) backs off, looking confused.

I took the day off from work so I could clean the house, something that I hate more than anything else, and so, of course, I immediately went shopping. Not for clothes or shoes. (I evidently was not born with that gene.) I went shopping and bought tile grout sealer so I could seal the grout on my new, beautiful tile on my new, beautiful back porch, and I bought some weird rachet screwdriver that stores all the different types of attachments inside its see-through handle—which will only come in handy if I actually put them back into the see-through handle, which may or may not happen. And then I came home to clean the house.

I’ve been home 45 minutes and I’ve already rescued 3 lizards. Sometimes I hear the bell on the collar of one of my cats jingling away like mad and I hear the cat sliding across the floor, leaping into the air and landing with a thud, and other such noises that are unusual when a cat is alone. That alerts me to the fact that something is going on. Sometimes I just get to a room to clean, and find the lizard then.

I never liked lizards. Well, that’s not really true. I was always afraid of them, and of anything else that moves quickly, sometimes straight at me. But a strange thing has happened. The lizards are no longer afraid of me and when I put my hand down to pick them up, they actually come to me. Yesterday when I rescued one and tried to put him on a tree, he refused to go. He ran up my arm toward my neck, scaring the heck out of me. It took me a few minutes to convince him to leave. Meanwhile, the neighbors were watching me talk to him, most likely thinking I’m a nut.

I think I am a nut. I’m raising serial killers, after all, and rescuing all their victims. What could be nuttier than that?

 

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