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10 December 2003 — A Wet Nose in My Ear (11)

Tammy's entry from yesterday is pretty damn good in a gross and amusing sort of way. Plus, it's got me wanting to deworm myself. I think.


Nemo has become too affectionate.

He's not a kitten any more; he's a cat. He likes to sleep with us, usually by our feet, but sometimes on the mountains we create while we sleep on our sides.

Over the past couple of days, he's decided that it's more fun to sleep near our heads. More than that, it's more fun to sleep near our heads if dad is awake. So, here's what he does:

  • He purrs.
  • He sticks his cold, wet nose into my ear.
  • Then he licks my ear, as if he were cleaning me. (What? Is my ear dirty?)
  • After I've sleepily brushed him away, he comes around to my face. There he licks my chin whiskers and — ugh — sometimes even my lips. (At least he doesn't have Toto's terrible cat food breath.)
  • After I've pushed him away a couple of times, he returns and gives me "family greeting" to my face. (A cat will give "family greeting" to those it has bonded with; this is done by rubbing against the family member with the top of the forehead. Fact.)
  • Start over from the beginning.
Nemo started this last night at around four. It continued until the alarm went off at 5:42. Why didn’t I get up and lock him away? Because Toto is already locked away in our cat isolation room because she's been hissing and growling and making herself generally unpleasant at night.

Three cats is double the work of two.


Jenn made an interesting observation about our Ayn Rand discussion the other day (and about Rand's beliefs in general): her moral philosophy doesn't work — in a literal sense — when children enter the picture.

Rand's central tenet is:

Man — every man — is an end in himself, not a means to the ends of others; he must live for his own sake, neither sacrificing himself to others nor sacrificing others to himself; he must work for his rational self-interest, with the achievement of his own happiness as the highest moral purpose of his life.

Jenn's argues that this is ludicrous when applied to parenting. A mother's first interest is not herself, but her children's welfare. She sacrifices herself for her children. This philosophy is something for people without children. (A google search on "Ayn Rand's son" returns only two matches, and those aren't actually about a song. "Ayn Rand's daughter" returns no matches.)

Though this conversation occurred at Monday Night Football, it illustrates why I love our book group discussions. I can read a book and get certain points from it, and another person can read it and get something else. It would never have occurred to me that Rand's philosophy of "rational self interest" ran counter to child-rearing, but once Jenn pointed it out, it was perfectly clear. This is another reason that it's nice not to have a homogenous book group, to have members from different backgrounds. There are a lot of women-only book groups out there; I've always felt that these groups limit their discussion through their uniformity.


I have probably twenty rolls of film, but I haven't made a single photograph since October. The cost of processing looms large. Still, I might get out and make some photos soon. But of what? It's cold and grey and rainy. Maybe that will force me to stretch my creativity.


Overheard yesterday (name and context changed to protect the guilty party): "George's and I's party is this weekend."

I's

Good grief.

There is never a circumstance in which I's is correct.


After months of busy-ness, box orders have fallen off. Must be time to goof around at work.

On this day at foldedspace.org

2004Stupid Thing   I have done many, many stupid things in my life. I am a stupid man. But by far the number one stupidest thing I have ever done is this...

2002The Orchid Thief   We both agree the book is rambling and pointless, without much of a story. It meanders from here to there and back to here again. Here is where we differ: Kris hates the book, I think that it is brilliant.

Comments
On 10 December 2003 (09:54 AM), dowingba said:

As for the worms: while the 80% is certainly probably accurate; the majority of those 80% live in countries where you wouldn't be surprised to find people with worms (ie: India).

As for photographs: did you never learn in your photography classes that overcast weather is better than sunshine for photographing?

As for the grammar: I'nt never heard such bad grammar in Ine life.


On 10 December 2003 (09:58 AM), Tammy said:

Glad I could be of some help JD. :) I too am thinking about the whole thing. Don't know if I can handle knowing I have worms though. Is ignorance bliss in this case? I don't know!


On 10 December 2003 (10:01 AM), J.D. said:

Dowingba, yes overcast weather is better for photography than sunny weather. For the photographs. But for the photographer, the cold and the wet are not fun to be in. Cold and wet is different than overcast. :)


On 10 December 2003 (01:53 PM), Tiffany said:

I would just like to say that all cats are that much work. My three adult cats take turns entertaining out kitten. They would live to sleep on the bed, but Rich insists that they sleep out of the bedroom at night. Maybe you need to give Toto an anti-depressant? I have heard that they have those for pets now!


On 10 December 2003 (02:52 PM), Lynn said:

My cat had to go on kitty-valium when I went through my divorce. I had to roll her up in a towel or blanket in order to feed her the pill so she wouldn't kick and scratch me. It was very traumatic. Then she was a zombie-cat and did nothing but sleep. She got rather chubby.


On 10 December 2003 (02:52 PM), Mom said:

I've been lucky and have found it pretty easy to have the three cats now that Silver has grown up and mostly dropped his habit of sharpening his claws on my new recliners. They get along well, although Stevie was lying on me while I was reclining in the recliner the other night and when Silver hopped up by my legs, she lunged slightly and hissed at him. He got down and not long afterwards, she did, too -- and the next thing I knew, Silver was attacking her. I'm sure it was a play-fight but I was quite surprised because they usually get along so well (or at least do a good job of ignoring each other).

My biggest cat-related problem is that Silver is very much keyed in to what I eat, and wants to share it, especially ice cream treats. Not long ago, I got out one of the Costco waffle cones topped with chocolate and nuts and stood up in the living room to eat it, thinking that was the safest place to down it unmolested by him. He was fortunate enough to find a couple of bits of chocolate that fell to the floor; however, this was not enough, so he kept climbing on chairs that gave him the height from which to launch himself at my back and hold on. Fortunately, due to my thick sweatshirt, it didn't hurt. I found that very irritating. Right now, however, he is feeling very cuddly in my arms as I type, and I'm loving it.

Life with cats is definitely a mixed bag. -G-


On 11 December 2003 (01:05 PM), Dagny said:

Hey - you want a non-fiction take on "rational self-interest"? Try Dark Nature: A Natural History of Evil by Lyall Watson. He explains how rational self-interest can coexist with sacrifice for progeny... it's quite an interesting book.

And I's? Oh Lord give me strength. =/


On 11 December 2003 (02:01 PM), Tammy said:

I just watched the much acclaimed wedding of Trista and Ryan on ABC. It was hearalded as the wedding of the decade. And there before all to hear and see Ryan says, "I just want to thank you all for being a part of Trista and I's wedding."

That's right you heard it hear first!


On 11 December 2003 (02:58 PM), Dana said:

Dagny: Two words. "Mearly Halfto"


On 11 December 2003 (03:31 PM), Scott Adams said:

Recent True Story:

Midnight, Danville California, heart pounding, sound of sneakers on pavement, sockless, sweating, adrenaline pumping. Two minutes ago I was climbing into bed. Now I'm running down a pitch-black street, full speed, fearing the worst.

Neighbor's sidewalk, dark, don't trip. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Doorbell too. DING-DONG-DING. C'mon, c'mon, wake up! There he is. Open the door. I blurt:

"THE HILL BEHIND YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE. I ALREADY CALLED 911!"

Two houses alerted. The next one is the hardest. It's around the corner, nearest the blaze. Full sprint. Hope the fire hasn't reached them yet. No sirens. How long has it been since I called 911? Damn moonless night. I can't see anything but the fire, now only a patch of dry grass from the house. No lights. The occupants are oblivious, probably in bed. Front walkway is an obstacle course. Jump, guess, steps maybe. Got lucky, no sprains.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"THE HILL BEHIND YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE. I ALREADY CALLED 911!"

He's fast with the garden hose. Does that ever work? One more house, then I'll load the car for evacuation. Legs pump harder, pick it up a notch, sprint now, rest later, make a mental list of what to take, what to leave. Cats first, then unfinished Dilbert strips and art supplies. Computers. Photos. How much can the car hold?

The firemen have my address. Have to meet them out front. Gotta hurry, but save some energy for the evacuation. Nah, forget saving energy. Full throttle. Adrenalin will compensate. Siren approaching. They're fast, maybe 5 minutes since I called. I wave my arms and point to the side street. The fire truck slows a beat, reads me and accelerates toward the fire.

One truck. ONE TRUCK???? The whole hill is on fire. I should have sounded more worried on the phone. It's my fault if the neighborhood burns up. Okay, the arsonist's too.

I fly up my stairs, three at a time. Quickly, survey belongings. Might not see any of this again. Pam already put two angry cats in the car; her arms are bleeding. I throw possessions in empty bins. Look out the window. I could hit the flames with a golf ball. Nothing but dry underbrush separates us. Stay calm. There's still some room in the car. Think, think. What will I miss most? What am I forgetting?

The car is only half full. It's surprising how little I "need" when it comes down to it. I sprint toward the fire to see who's winning. A second fire truck passes me. Now it's a fair fight.

The neighbors gather on the street, a ragtag theater of bed- hair, pajamas, and gym clothes, chatting, comparing stories. We watch, impressed, as the two fire crews beat down the fire one square foot at a time. They don't even seem worried. A dozen dark shapes on the hill make quick work of the perimeter and methodically mop up the smaller pockets. My pulse slowly returns to normal. I unload the car and apologize to the cats.

I often think about that fire, and about the many ghosts that visited the neighborhood that summer night. I'm sure I felt the ghosts of engineers who created a technical miracle called the phone network, that later spawned the 911 system, so I could report the fire within 15 seconds of seeing it. And I know I saw the ghosts of engineers who designed the fire equipment that allowed two small teams of firefighters to conquer a burning hill. And there were the ghosts of all the firefighters who have lived before, having bequeathed their skills and traditions to each new generation. Most notably, that night I was also visited by the ghosts of September 11th, my old friends. Almost every day they visit to remind me to be more alert, to investigate strange smells, strange sounds, as I did that night, until finding one window view that revealed the flames.

Philosophers have many views of the human soul. In the end, it's undefined, unfathomable. The only thing I know for sure is that no one really leaves.

Appreciate your ghosts, especially the ones you can still hug. Have a great holiday.


Scott Adams


On 11 December 2003 (07:12 PM), Andrew Parker said:

What was that -- a visit from the Dilbert Newsletter...?


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