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I held a brunch today and went through about 6 lbs of potatoes, 4 lbs of meat, a dozen eggs, and the equivalent of 4 sticks of butter for 6 people.  This is a bit of an exaggeration as I have sizeable leftovers.  Anyway, most of the butter went into dutch baby bunnies that quickly became called dutch baby butter bunnies as the recipe called for 1/2 a stick a piece.

The start of the recipe is to melt the stick in a skillet and then to dump the batter on top of it.  I think the recipe overstated the need for butter as the bunny wasn’t lifted from the skillet so much as slid from it with about a tablespoon or two of butter puddled in the middle like a confectionary kiddy pool being dropped from a drop deck trailer.  Based on the grunts and groans, everyone had their fill and I wasn’t too enthused about cleaning up so I left the butter soaked pan to rest until after nap time.  I returned and pan had been licked clean based on the tongue marks and the rest of the butter had been absorbed by the pan, nicely seasoning it.  Behold the power of butter.

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Whilst taking my garbage out yesterday I heard a rustling in the Blue Spruce next to the garbage cans.  My cat jumped about 8 feet to the group with a Blue Jay in his mouth.  Having killed a baby fox and fended of its parent I wasn’t terribly stunned that he killed it so much as caught it.  Blue Jays are the fire alarms of the forest and tend to call if a leaf falls.

This only furthers my hypothesis that we don’t have a cat so much as a geriatric dwarf mountain lion.

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I’ve been speaking with the Hispanic custodian around lunch every day, and most of our conversations center on trivial things as I really don’t know enough Spanish to ask him his opinions of Hegelian dialectics, but for about the last month, he’s brought up the same damn topic every day: Do I like the taste of cats.  I haven’t been able to switch the topic so every day we’ve talked about various cat sandwich toppings as I’m conversant in Spanish food.

Until today, where he pointed at the window at a woman walking past a car. And asked “So, what do you think of my (word I couldn’t identify)?”  I had no clue as to whether he was talking about the woman or the car.  Both were quite… well… warn “played” in the vernacular of card condition so I had to find impartial responses that could apply to both, how long have you known each other, is it better than your last one and are you having fun with it.  I hope we return to discussing eating cats shortly because I insult his girlfriend or more dangerously, his car.

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I don’t know why, but I really wanted to know how much the cat weighs.  Really wanted to know.  So, I asked  around:

Dad’s guess: 13 lbs
My guess: 15 lbs
Ryan’s guess: 11 lbs
Amanda’s guess: 1 dollar

So, I first tried dropping the cat on the bathroom scale and pushing down on it, depending on  the cat’s natural tendency to just lie down when you push down on it.  Fail.

I handed the cat to my dad.  To make a long story short, my dad bled a lot and we still didn’t know how much the cat weighed.

Amanda stepped up to the plate, weighed herself and then failed to get the cat to cooperate and after taking a claw to the boob, the cat was put down.  The golden opportunity occurred when the cat, hungry from fighting with us, wanted onto the countertop, Amanda grabbed him and soon the truth was illuminated: 15.4 lbs.

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I don’t know why, but I really wanted to know how much the cat weighs.  Really wanted to know.  So, I asked  around:

Dad’s guess: 13 lbs
My guess: 15 lbs
Ryan’s guess: 11 lbs
Amanda’s guess: 1 dollar

So, I first tried dropping the cat on the bathroom scale and pushing down on it, depending on  the cat’s natural tendency to just lie down when you push down on it.  Fail.

I handed the cat to my dad.  To make a long story short, my dad bled a lot and we still didn’t know how much the cat weighed.

Amanda stepped up to the plate, weighed herself and then failed to get the cat to cooperate and after taking a claw to the boob, the cat was put down.  The golden opportunity occurred when the cat, hungry from fighting with us, wanted onto the countertop, Amanda grabbed him and soon the truth was illuminated: 15.4 lbs.

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Cat is fine.  Wound is scabbing over nicely and he’s lazy and cranky again.  And yes, Joe, should my cat ever die (which seems pretty unlikely at this point considering how long he’ s already lived) you may mock his passing incessantly.  Should I feel insulted, I will do the manly thing and re-direct all my incoming voicemail to the program director’s mailbox.

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The cat came in today with a heck of a dent in its head.  Over the last few years scabs have been appearing from his frequent scrapes with owls, other cats, a small fox and in one case what looked like a wolverine.  The dent had no scab and was quite white and about the size of a dime, which is pretty big on a cat’s head.  My dad said it’d been there for a day or two and may not just be a scab and that it had a lump under it while at the same time the cat’s been far nicer than normal.  The cat had to go to the vet anyway but I started to envision the conversation with the doctor.

Me: What’s wrong?
Doctor: Your cat has one of the most adorably deadly diseases in the animal kingdom: kitty cancer.
Me: Well, what can we do?
Doctor: Well, sit by and watch him nuzzle against you as he descends a cute spiral of snuggly death.
Me: That’s terrible…
Doctor: Terribly soft and cuddly.

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Max has overcome the effects of the sedative triumphantly but is still adjusting to life with a lampshade on his head.  He’s mastered picking objects off the floor for the most part by simply hovering over them and pushing his head straight down.  The cone thus creates a dome of  privacy over whatever he has captured so the cat may not interfere.  I don’t think he quite knows what’s going on and I’m waiting for him to partially drown the cat by jamming his cone over his water bowl while the cat is drinking.

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Max has overcome the effects of the sedative triumphantly but is still adjusting to life with a lampshade on his head.  He’s mastered picking objects off the floor for the most part by simply hovering over them and pushing his head straight down.  The cone thus creates a dome of  privacy over whatever he has captured so the cat may not interfere.  I don’t think he quite knows what’s going on and I’m waiting for him to partially drown the cat by jamming his cone over his water bowl while the cat is drinking.