don’t panic

&#%$*#!!….

We have a cat. A simple American shorthair, female… spayed. As with most of the pets I’ve been conned and cajoled into taking in over the years for our family, I am the one who ends up doing all of the real work in raising that animal. But I accepted that when I said “I do”. And we’ve had some real farms going on here at times. At one point we had three cats, a mouse and a dozen fish living with us in our two bedroom apartment. I’d wake up every morning and feel like Farmer Brown as I set out food for my flock of hungry, complaining animals.

So I’m a little used to felines waking me up at the first hint of light coming in the window (can’t wait for the DST clock change) asking for another few tablespoons of cat gruel… No, not that gruel, the other one today… and could you warm it please?

But it just really bursts your Folgers moment when you hop out of bed after determining that your loving pet just isn’t going to give you one more single minute of rest until it eats, only to step into a pile of barf in the hallway.

Cold barf. Cold barf that soaks into your socks so that you go hopping down the hall on one foot going, “oh… oh… oh…”

Yup. It’s a finely balanced scale between the cold barf and the cute purring on your lap, let me tell you. But I can handle that too. It’s just another part of being a dad.

What I can’t understand is why my cat chooses to eat plastic bags.

That’s right. Plastic. Mostly black garbage bags, but she’ll chow down on the white ones too if nothing else is available. She also enjoys grocery bags, ZipLocks, string, and most especially silver and gold wrapping ribbon. All of which cause her to unfailingly barf about an hour later.

My latest frustration was the black plastic I set under our Christmas tree (having learned my lesson from previous years that those tree stands DO leak, despite what the manufacturer says). I was careful to cover it all up with a red felt runner, but to no avail. Once she knew it was there it was like a giant buffet table set out just for her. I’d find rapidly widening holes and corners missing every morning, and no amount of scolding or water-bottle spraying would put her off.

The final straw came early before dawn when I woke to hear her munching down on the ribbon strings from a balloon bouquet my wife and I had brought home from a party for our daughter. There’s a distinctive noise made when you crinkle that stuff, and it brought me right out of a deep sleep. After shooing her from the room… twice, it was with no small frustration that I found that same ribbon in the the cold barf I would walk through later that morning… the primary ingredient being the remainder of the black plastic from under our pagan bush.

I’m doing much better now, having taken my frustration out on a cup of coffee before the rest of the family awoke. It’s amazing how a little joe will put you back into perspective. After all, it really is just part of being a dad.

I was reading a friend’s blog today when I got to wondering if the Christmas Tree is really a religious symbol anymore. Think about it. Aside from the use of the word “Christ” in Christmas, it’s not like there are a whole lot of biblical entries about said trees. Sure, we use it as a reference to the star that appeared in the sky and led the magi to Christ’s birthplace. But the modern depictions of the baby-in-the-manger story are so far from biblical accuracy as to be nearly complete works of fiction. And pine trees? Why pine trees? So far as I can tell, the tree itself was started as a pagan idea that the evergreen tree represents a celebration of the renewal of life.

So here we have a pagan bush that has been hijacked by modern Christianity and plundered to the point of extravagance by the machine that is seasonal consumerism. Is it religious? I don’t think so. It’s not like I worship in front of a blinking pine each year. Does it remind me of Christ’s birth? Sure, but so does a manger, a bright star, greeting cards, the bible, etc., etc. More than Christ, the tree reminds me that I haven’t finished my holiday shopping, and that I’m going to have to work extra hard in a couple of months to pay off the debt I’m going to accumulate giving out cheer.

The worst part is that it’s more than likely that Christ was born sometime in September, not the wintery December we love so much. It’s also likely that the three wise men showed up later (like a year) and at another location.

And nowhere does it mention a decorated pine tree.

It really makes you wonder about the people appointed to the San Diego Airport Authority when the final results from our November 7th election showed that every single district in the county voted down the proposition to try and make Miramar Marine Corps Air Station into a new public airport.

The Marines said “no.”

The public said “no.”

But they went ahead and cost the county millions to get the proposition on the ballot anyway. Was it to justify their jobs? I mean, they spent years and over forty million dollars researching a new location for an airport and they came up with… buckus. Nice. So to make the taxpayers (as well as a few wealthy individuals in Point Loma) feel better about that big fat nothing, they throw in a useless ballot measure.

I think I want my money back.