Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works (via Mowser)

NOTICE: I will be gone for much of June, July and August, and will likely not be near a computer much to answer emails and process orders. Blogging will likely be light during this time. Please read more about it here. Thank you for your patience. You can follow the summer's activities here.

Adored by cats.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Jim is adored by cats.

Apparently, he doesn't like cats.*

Unforgivable.

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* And not completely true -- he "didn't mind" Brutus. "If I liked cats, I'd like Brutus," I think he said. Or something like that. Right?

Labels: brutus, friends

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Captain Kirk would be highly distressed,

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

The cat is going down.

He has discovered where I store my Bob-related props and sets, and has destroyed the space ship Captain's chair from the 2007 blogathon "Final Frontier Final" story.

The cat likes chewy, foamy things.

My mother's Dr. Scholl's shoe inserts have seen better days. We have a collection of pens with the grippers ripped to pieces. He eats my Old Navy flip flops with great regularity.

The foamy things do not keep him in "great regularity" however.

And now my Styrofoam-and-tape Captain's chair has teeth marks all over it. Captain Bob has nowhere to sit, should he decide to navigate the stars again.

I may have to end the cat.

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Labels: blogathon, brutus

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The St. Patrick's Day photo shoot.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

See the photo shoot that took the world by storm.

Or, at least, the cat by storm.

The video behind this festive post:

This page contained an embedded video. Click here to view it.

Labels: brutus, pets, video

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Happy St. Patrick's Day from Brutus and the Gang.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

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My cat hates me. His chew toys, however, don't.

The Holiday is upon us.
The cat will take part.
I insist.

Any back-talk,
And even 3M
Will cover you in green.
(Yellow-green counts.)

(The cat has shame.)

(But I don't!)

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Download your own poster from Brutus and the Gang here (PDF).

(This is the most obnoxious post I've assaulted your eyes with, I think.)

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Labels: brutus, my life, pets

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The arrival of Brutus.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

The arrival of a new little pet is always...something. A friend of mine got a new puppy which made me appreciate cats all the more.

My cat, Brutus, didn't arrive without incident, however.

My sister Janet, a veterinary technician, is always calling to try to cajole me into taking yet another dog or cat that needs a home. My guard must have been down back in July of 2004, because when she started in by saying how cute the little kitten was -- "Julie, he's really fuzzy!" -- I just couldn't say no. I can always say no; if I didn't, we'd be overrun. But for some reason...I couldn't say no. (He really was cute, by the way.)

Dad was, luckily, down visiting my sister and was able to bring the little critter back home.

The five-hour drive back may not have been a lot of fun for dad. Find out for yourself.

(Look how cute he was!!!)

(And he's still cute!!!)

(I think I've used up my allotment of the word "cute" for the day.)

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Labels: brutus, cartoons, family

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Flower power.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

A co-worker got flowers from her husband today. Delivered right to the store. As she walked by with her platoon of long-stemmed roses, I said something sweet and appropriate like "You jerk."

I think she said something like "you'll get flowers someday" to which my funeral immediately came to mind.

I'm like Charles Bronson. Death wish. I have planned and re-planned my funeral many times, while other chicks plan weddings. I completely understand Tim Burton's movies, which has always annoyed me.

Death wish, but with flowers!

I love flowers. I do. We have lots of flowers in flower beds around the house. A relative was up visiting a few years back, and we got to talking about the flowers.

::Tip: Deer love to eat tulips. Just be forewarned; spring may bring momentary delight and subsequent squelching disappointment.::

"I love flowers," I said as we walked around the yard, planning to continue on with the comment by talking about flower bouquets. However, she interrupted and said that she, too, loved flowers but that they shouldn't be cut because they belonged outside where they were growing. That could be an interesting philosophy for life, if carried to its ultimate end: things should remain in their natural state from whence they originate.

Being spineless, I said, in the moment, that I agreed.

Heck no, I don't agree. I love cutting flowers and arranging them in vases and bowls.

::Tip: Remember to dip the peonies in water or your table will soon be covered in ants.::

I've gotten flowers twice. Actually, I think my mom got me flowers once. I can't remember the details... anyway, I got a bunch of roses from a woman who ran an non-profit organization I had done some art and design work for. It was a thank you gift, and I was thrilled. There were pink and peach and yellow roses -- really beautiful. I also got flowers from my friend Becky in college, the evening of the opening of my B.F.A. senior art show. Tulips, red and yellow, in a glass vase. I still have the vase. I remember being aghast when she handed them to me and said they were for me; those were the first flowers I'd gotten. It was the perfect topper for a hellish semester of stress and drama to get the art show up.

::Tip: Do NOT plant white yarrow in your flower bed. It is the nastiest weed-like plant that you'll never be able to get rid of.::

Come to think of it, I think I've gotten a few carnations at church when they used to give away flowers to all the women in church at the Mother's Day service. They always throw me a little awkward pity and just say something like "you can have a flower even if you're not a mother" and I take one because carnations are fun to mess around with if you have a bowl full of colored water and patience.

::Tip: Cut the stems of roses diagonally with a knife. A scissor damages the stem in such a way that they will not last as long.::

Flowers are just beautiful. Even the cheap bouquets from the grocery store, even the flowers dyed a garish color. I've purchased a few of those cheap bunches now and then, just for us to enjoy here at home. The cat, however, enjoys fresh plant material a little too much and so maybe it's all for the best that we don't have lots of flowers in vases in the house. It's a little disheartening to see him bitting the flower heads off of the stems.

::Tip: Lilacs are always the right flower for making your house smell wonderful. Mmm...lovely.::

I do, however, expect my nieces and nephews -- for whom I've devoted many countless hours of my life babysitting, reading to, taking on trips, making burned grilled cheese sandwiches for, buying fundraising items from, changing diapers, making bottles, helping with homework, taking to movies, playing Legos with, making scavenger hunts complete with prizes for, talking to, and buying presents for -- to buy a ginormous, over-done, pink, totally occasion-inappropriate pile of flowers for on top of my casket, in remembrance of crazy old auntie Julie.

I'm leaning toward pink for my funeral colors. The pall bearers will have matching dresses.

::Confession: I admit to taking a flower from a funeral bouquet when no one was looking. Lilies are beautiful creations. I'm sure it said 'take me from this place' and so I did.::

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Labels: brutus, family, my life, work

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The weekend was great, unless you heard it from the cat.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

I had a great weekend.

The cat...maybe not so much.

First, there was a meeting with members of the groups who recently traveled to Nicaragua. We talked, ate, and watched videos that will be, from this point on, possible blackmail material. It was a blast to be around everyone again.

And then. AND THEN.

My friends came for a visit to my very house. Let me repeat: they came all the way up here for a visit!

It was so nice not to have to drive somewhere to do the visiting. An anomaly!

I didn't even mind their dog, despite their dog falling in the category of "other people's dogs."

Can you believe that?

We had a great meal (my mother is fabulous and a maker of culinary masterpieces), watched a horribly bad and hilarious movie (Eight Legged Freaks), went to church together the next day, and even though I can't say that no animals were harmed in the making of the weekend*, it really was a high point. I really miss getting together with musicians and just making music, so having extra people (and we even practiced, which is a change!) participate in the music for church was really a treat. I forget what it's like to play with other people -- both the challenges and the rewards -- when I'm just sitting at the piano by myself all the time.

Then, after church, there was a flat tire on our vehicle which sounds very un-good except for the help from dad (of course), Wayne, Michael, Gaylon, and Lew. It ended up being a fine moment of good people with a few jokes and laughs thrown in.

Though this is not a stellar blog post, it is, essentially, an update and a thank you. Also, since I am petty, I have slight expectations of making all of you readers who weren't here insanely jealous.

That is always my ultimate goal, as you may have come to realize.

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*If you'd like the cat's version of the weekend, click here. He has a slightly different take on the festivities.

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Labels: brutus, cartoons, friends, nicaragua 2008

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The purpose is to stain.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 7 comments link this post

The clothes I bring home from Nicaragua tend to have an all-over gray/brown appearance. The whites and light colored clothes never come back as they left home, and often have odd brown stains.

I should know never to bring anything down that isn't darker colored, brown, gray, or that I care about.

As it is, I had two shirts -- a white, spaghetti strap tank and a pale blue T-shirt -- that came home fairly grungy. I decided that I would dye the tank in tea to give it a kind of aged look and also make the brown splotches look liked they belonged.

The light blue shirt, however, would require the serious dye: Rit Royal Blue.

I boiled the water. I carefully trudged into the bathroom where I had a vat in the tub. I poured the hot water in, and carefully added the dye powder, ready to stir. I sensed someone looking at me.

Turning, I saw The Fluffy White Cat* staring at me.

A fluffy white cat is not useful during a dye bath. Fluffy white cats have limited functionality in general, and none when it comes to permanent dyes or laundry services.

"You can be of no help," I told The Fluffy White Cat. "Go away."

I pushed him out the door, the resumed the stirring of the dye. I readied the shirt and was about to put it in when I sensed it again.

The Fluffy White Cat was exactly where he had been, quietly sitting, staring at me with half-opened eyes.

I seriously contemplated dipping just one paw in the dye to see what would happen, but though better of it in the final moments.

I remembered, back when I was a counselor at 4-H camp up at Lake Metigoshe, helping with the tie dye project. I had a young boy in my group who was badly behaved, and I was pretty sure I knew how the day would end.

"Do not throw your shirt in the dye," I admonished him, when it was his turn for the dye bath, "Do not."

So he threw his shirt in the dye and it splashed back on him and on the Chicago Bulls T-shirt he was wearing.

"Is this gonna stain?!" he said, obviously upset and angry, green droplets all over the front of his shirt.

Here was a child which logic had successfully escaped from.

"The purpose of dye is to stain," I said calmly. "So yes, it will. Perhaps you shouldn't have thrown your shirt in the dye."

I eyed The Fluffy White Cat before turning back to the dye and gently working the light blue shirt into the dark blue bath. Considering all things, I had to admit that The Fluffy White Cat would be more useful than that kid.

As it is, my hands are stained blue, and the bathtub is a decided mess.

The Fluffy White Cat remains white and fluffy. And functionally useless.

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*When my brother visited last October, I asked him if he liked my cat, Brutus. "Normally, I don't like fluffy, white cats. But I like Brutus." Hence, I often refer to Brutus as The Fluffy White Cat.

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Labels: brutus, my life, pets

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The sad story of Baron Von Hanta.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

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The respectable Baron Von Hanta.

The Baron was meant for better things, of this he was certain.

Some Barons were hawking pizza, true, but Baron Von Hanta had intended for his life to reach beyond processed foodstuffs.

How he now found himself both as a kind of food as well as closely related to stuff(ing) was beyond his control.

He'd been born into a life of privilege, made of only the finest polyester and faux fur available on the cat toy market. His carefully embroidered nose and eyes, along with his solidly stitched-cleaved feet, ensured that he would be desirable for those looking for such a creature as he. His delicate pink ears and tail were of the finest low-grade, paper-thin suede.

No toy could compare!

How he could now find himself from the safety of a plastic package to being tossed to and fro about the floor, fully at the whims of a brutish cat, was beyond him.

And now, the insult had reached a fever pitch; he was splitting his seams. He was revealing his inmost secrets.

Like some cheap and tacky alien autopsy, his innards were beginning to leak out.

Was there no dignity left for him anywhere?!

Hours of delight he'd provided, his realistic rodent appearance causing more than one house guest to mildly start and then laugh. "That toy looks real!" they'd proclaim, his own inner shame at being considered a mere toy hidden beneath his stoic interior.

Had anyone any idea what it was liked to be pummeled, thrown, whipped, squashed, and repeatedly mauled by sharp little teeth every day? His only consolation, sometimes, was that he wasn't filled with catnip. He'd heard stories of such things...horrifying details of torn limbs and being drawn and quartered.

The latest indignity visited upon his ever-weakening will to live was being thrown willy-nilly into the plate glass window, where the cat, intently focused on the birds feeding just on the other side, would leap in a nervous state at the sound of his impact. Angry that the birds were not coming through the glass, the beast would pounce on him and nearly devour him.

"I am delicately stitched!" the Baron wanted to cry out. But he couldn't cry. He had no moisture inside. Just stuffing.

And he was starting to lose that. The rich inner life he had treasured for so long was seeping away...

Help save Baron Von Hanta. Spare him from further indignities.

Take Action!

Buy Brutus a new toy and spare the Baron. Donate to the cause of Baron Von Hanta. Get a T-shirt: Men's shirts | Women's shirts
Download your own poster here, and spread the word: Rally the troops. Save the Baron.

Labels: baron von hanta, brutus, free stuff, humor, promotion

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Bringing in the new year the Neidlinger way.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

11:35 PM: Julie sits at the sewing machine, hand-stitching a lining into a nearly-finished purse. Dad walks by the room into the kitchen.

11:45 PM: Dad still in the kitchen, fumbling about in front of the fridge. Julie picks up the cat, and drags it into the bedroom where mom sits in bed, eating an orange and reading a magazine. She leaves the cat.

11:50 PM: Dad and Julie make a cup of hot chocolate.

11:59 PM: Mom flips out the light, hollering "I don't care about that stuff" in response to Dad and Julie's constant cajoling to stay up to midnight.

12:02 AM: Dad bemoans missing the ball drop on TV. Julie says it doesn't matter, and that she doesn't care.

12:03 AM: Julie darts into the darkened bedroom, loudly whispers "Happy New Year!" to which Mom replies that the cat is in the room.

Oh, yeah. We do things up right here on the farm.

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Labels: brutus, family

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A poem about Sunday. A bad poem.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Sunday Yesterday
A celebration of four moments.
by Julie R. Neidlinger

Consternation befell the impatient white cat
Who pawed at the Venetian blinds
The birds didn't show for 45 minutes
Crunchy birds! Flappy birds!
He waited and watched, the chair cushion his prayer mat.

Michael roared in with a coffee, liquid brown
Setting it on the edge of the church piano
Sitting down, looking through the collection of music
Pick some hymns! Pick some choruses!
Like a fountain it splashed, tumbling across the ivory and down.

The parents enjoyed McDonalds salads, lettuce in dressing immersed
A kind of clean, kind of quiet noon
Following the drive from church
We had errands to run! Groceries needed!
Then mom walked into the men's bathroom and quickly left, clutching her purse.

The deposit box waited for mom's envelope at the bank
We pulled up in the hulking vehicle
Driver dad rolled down the window at the night deposit receptacle
*%#!@(&)$#!?+@! &$*$#@@^!!!
I exited the vehicle, walked around, and threw the cashola in with a clank.

Labels: brutus, church life, family, poetry

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A quiet Christmas Eve.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 5 comments link this post

We've always been a family of Christmas Eve celebrations. When my grandparents were still alive, we'd walk across the road to their farm and have Christmas morning (with grandma making pancakes on a huge griddle) and our noon meal with them. But we've always had our presents and main focus on Christmas Eve.

This year, it was just mom, dad and myself, a nice, quiet evening.

First, the food. I did the cooking, and here's what was on the menu (sort of -- with some substitutions, of course, since I can neither follow a recipe straight due to rebellion and ingredient shortages). We are all still on the South Beach Diet, but there's really very little deprivation at this point. Our meal was fully SBD sanctioned. (heh)

Main Meal:

Cheese and broccoli-stuffed chicken, with roasted garlic and a mustard-pepper sauce [see photo]
Cauliflower "mashed potatoes"
Steamed broccoli
Lemon cheesecake and ricotta tart with almond and oatmeal crust, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cocoa and lemon rind [see photo]

MIA:

We didn't have our usual birthday cake for Jesus -- I was pressed for time and didn't get it made. I might make it tomorrow, and if I do, it will be a flourless chocolate cake (here are a couple of other recipes for it, if you'd like to try: with coffe, French version) a delectable and rich dessert for chocolate lovers that mainly consists of chocolate and eggs -- no processed flour.

After our meal, we went into the living room, and mom read the Christmas story from the Bible. This year, we read it from Matthew; in the past years it has always been Luke. It was a nice change, to read from Matthew. I took a few photos of Brutus who had earlier caught a whiff of the catnip toy I'd sewed him this afternoon. I'd tucked it up in the tree but apparently he found it. He was was all over it, and was content to roll around and suck and chew on it while we proceeded to open our gifts.

Mom and dad got many nice things. Today I dumped out my wallet and other junk from a purse I had gotten a week or two ago from Amani Africa. Mom has repeatedly mentioned that she liked it, so I wrapped it up this afternoon and gave it to her. I think she really liked it. Mom got me a great selection of kitchen and cooking utensils ("For the little cook!" she said), as well as some things for cake decorating. I love to decorate cakes, and I've been wanting to start working in the fondant icing method; that's what she gave me -- stuff to do that.

We are now, after cleaning up the living room and kitchen, going to watch the movie I bought for us: Amazing Grace.

Tonight, after this extremely lovely and calm evening of rather simple and old-fashioned fun, I plan on going to my room, turning the lights low, and sitting on my bed with my cat and reading a book for a while before heading off to sleep. I will also finish working on a little Christmas gift for my readers, which I will make available to you tomorrow, after Santa* visits Lone Prairie.

This has been a nice, low-key Christmas season, and a fine way to tie of a rather hectic and tough year.

Photos: Brutus opening his gift | Brutus in front of the tree | Brutus with the Christmas stocking I got when I was a pre-schooler | Dad and Mom opening presents | Dad, mom and brutus

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*We were never raised believing in Santa, hence our Christmas Eve celebrations (before "Santa arrives"). We never had presents "from Santa" to open in the morning...I don't think I missed a thing. I always had to be careful when my cousins came, that I didn't say anything that would reveal that Santa didn't exist. I got into a fight on the playground once, trying to patiently explain to other kids why it was likely impossible and the many ways the Santa myth has changed across cultures. Fifth grade was a bad year.

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Labels: brutus, christmas, family, food

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The lone trivializer.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

My sister Jacqui and her family, along with the folks and I, had a little early Christmas at my niece's house today. It was so nice, so relaxed and low-key. Pumpkin pie. Chili. A really good time. Plus, there were presents and I didn't think there would be.

I only ended up saving three sheets of tissue paper, otherwise, we wastefully trashed the rest. In my family history I have the memory of my mother saving every sheet -- "don't tear that paper!!!!" -- and ironing it the next day before folding it into a box to reuse for the next eight years.

Moving past this....

My niece got me this: Trivial Pursuit Scratch and Play.

I love playing Trivial Pursuit, the original, navy-blue boxed, out-when-the-craze-struck, genius edition game. I know there's a million other varieties, but I'm talking the original game that came out -- I am a fanatic about playing it.

No one -- NO ONE AT ALL -- will play it with me.

"What game should we play?"
"Let's play Trivial Pursuit!"
"No. I'm not playing that with you."

There is a family legend of sorts that suggests that I'm so smart, I will always win at that game. Here is my secret: I don't know if I've ever won at that game. I know hardly any of the answers! I know nothing! I'm a complete blow-hard! And yet, somehow, I've fooled everyone.

No one will play the original Pictionary with me, either, which is my second favorite game. Life is full of disappointments.

Anyway, back to my gift. Essentially, I can now play Trivial Pursuit with myself! This is the perfect gift. I'm almost rabid over it, but I am determined to not use it until I go to Nicaragua and have flights and layovers with time to kill. We're talking tough questions that I'm going to sweat over. Fabulous!

My sister and niece also got me gift cards to the bookstore (woo hoo!) and Old Navy (annoying music, but comfy, cheap clothes! another woo hoo!), and a cookbook. My parents received some good South Beach Diet books, and a really cool book on the history of the west which I might sort of sneak away from my father when he's not looking.

My also brother-in-law gave me a little cat-themed frame ornament. As I looked at the ornament and thought how cute it was, I briefly noticed the filler photo inside and thought "That is one ugly-looking cat. Why in the world would they use that as the filler photo?"

As it turns out, it was Brutus, my cat, after we'd clipped all his hair off this past Thanksgiving.

The ornament is hung. The Trivial Pursuit book is calling me. And I'm off to bed. This was, in the scheme of things, a Trivial Post.

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Labels: brutus, christmas, family

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Conversation: Opposable thumbs.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

::In a recent conversation¹with my cat, the following transpired.::

Me: Brutus, you look unsettled and unhappy. Having some emotional difficulties today?

Brutus²: Yes.

Me: Perhaps you're considering furthering your education? Tired of life as it is for you now?

Brutus: Yes.

Me: That's all well and good, kitty, but how do you plan on paying for your education?

Brutus: I was thinking about a job.

Me: Hmm. I admire your determination, fuzzy-head, but I do question your skills and employment qualifications. Not to mention, you have no opposable thumbs, which makes it hard to hold onto anything, much less a job.

::I've become an idiot. I was thinking about subscribing Brutus to some random free newsletters so he could get mail.::

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¹The cat does not actually speak. Hence, you now have evidence of the sad point I've come to in my life. Oddly, the cat is capable of better return conversation than many people I know. Hence, you now have evidence of the sad point other people have come to in life.

²I either provide Brutus with a voice or I continue on with the conversation as if he'd replied.

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Labels: brutus, conversations

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The love of family.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 11 comments link this post

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While playing the game Cranium with family and friends up for Thanksgiving, my sister Janet body slammed me.

Luckily, there was a mattress on the floor.

We were both acting out (for our respective teams) the word "lightning." My nephew flipped the timer and yelled start and my sister promptly body slammed me and I went flying. She collapsed to the floor, laughing, the rest of her team yelling out things like "assault!" and "battery!" and "bulldozer!" thinking it was part of the game. I jumped back to my feet and proceeded to, like Zeus, shoot lightning to the ground. I'm a competitive game player and I'd deal with her after we wiped up the floor with them, since I was already so familiar with that floor.

We won.

My sister Jacqui caught the tail end of the incident -- the part where I'm 45 degrees in flight towards the ground -- on her small digital camera.

"That won't be going on YouTube," I threatened.

Sisters. No one ever wants to play Trivial Pursuit or Pictionary with me. Cranium is as close as we get. And I get body slammed. On tape.

The rest of the day went well. Janet suggested that if I held my cat up to her chihuahua, surely, they would become friends instead of the hissing, growling mess they'd been so far. The end result of this forced meet-and-greet is my left wrist, scratched. No further friendliness ensued. The cat, however, has lost his hair. As in keeping with tradition, the arrival of my sister means that Brutus will lose his hair to the clippers. He sits out in the room we call the "shanty", shamed and alone. Away from the dogs. Naked. Plotting my demise.

As is tradition, I threw together a quick "scavenger" hunt in which clue leads to clue throughout the house. However, after all these years of doing it, I'm fast running out of clever ways to point them to the refrigerator. This year, my clues included "Yo hablo Espanol. Woof" which directed the little people to Janet's by-now nervous wreck of a chihuahua. The final clue directed them to "the grump" which was a revealing litmus test of who they thought the grumpiest adult was. The only way to find the final prize was to begin asking "are you a grump?"

For those of you interested, no. The grump was not me.

My sister had me make a custom Neglectable Pet for a co-worker. I sewed off and on all day, slavishly devoted to bringing to life the true story that accompanies it. Slavishly slaving so she wouldn't somehow bring further bodily injury my way. I also sewed one for a friend who ordered one yesterday.

I, a truly devoted auntie, spent an hour chatting with an HP technician so that I could locate, download and install the correct codecs that would make the new HP computer with the monster screen play DVDs so my nephew could be enthralled with Napoleon Dynamite.

And I washed lots of dishes. But I didn't cook. So my family still remains alive and well.

I hope you had a great Thanksgiving. Got a funny story?

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Labels: brutus, family, kids, my life

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The Neidlinger catch and release program.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

The cat watched on, mildly curious, as the round mouse tried frantically to get beneath the stove in the kitchen. Its foot was caught in a mousetrap and so it found itself in the unfortunate position of both excruciating leg pain, sheer terror, and the inability to get away to safety because of the bulky trap.

The creature had dragged the mousetrap from across the dining room where it had set off the trap beneath the cupboard that held sheet music.

The trap bounced and clanged against the stove. Scritching and scratching, the mouse strained harder.

Mom brought me some gloves, not thrilled with the scene.

I'm not afraid of mice. Knowing from experience that they are horribly destructive critters, I don't fret much when I have to empty a dead one out of a trap. A live one, however, was different. I can't kill anything. Dad would probably have taken it outside and stomped on it or shot it with a pistol, but I just can't kill anything.

Cupping the trap in my hand, the mouse all but snapping its tiny leg off in abject panic as I picked it up, I released the catch on the trap and held the mouse in my hands. Its eyes were huge, seemingly taking up its whole head.

This was a seriously frightened critter. First the snapping trap, then the curious cat, then the pain of dragging the trap across the floor to escape only to find that impossible, then being picked up and held by a giant.

The mouse promptly bit at the glove. The glove was thick enough that it was nothing. Cupping my hands to form a solid, dark cage, I went to the door. At first, I swear I could feel the mouse's heart exploding through its tiny body. I walked outside, keeping my hands still. The mouse stopped fretting and moving about, and I could feel it settle down into a little ball.

Far across the yard and away from buildings, at the edge of where the mowed lawn turned to tall grass, I knelt down and opened up my hands. The mouse, still huddled in a little ball, paused for the briefest of moments before literally bouncing and hopping across the grass into the dark.

I've caught and picked up mice before, though I think everything I call a "mouse" really isn't a mouse. Some of these critters have long bodies, some are round, some are brown and some are soft gray. Some have short, thicker tails while others have long, whip-like tails. Some scurry low on the ground, some follow narrow paths, and some, like this one, seem to bounce and hop across the grass like a kind of miniature kangaroo. Some make a lot of chirping noises, while others are silent.

I joked later with dad that the mouse probably felt its freedom for about five minutes before some other animal out there had a little snack, but that's not my problem.

Later that evening, I scolded the cat, discussing various concepts of "being useful" and "far too over-fed." I gave him slightly less rations for supper, pointing out that instead of fresh mice steaks, he could have some nasty dry food.

Later, I found him batting around one of his stuffed mice. We're both pathetic. Neither of us can kill them.

[image]

Labels: brutus, family, my life

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Why I might have to kill my cat.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

He sits on the floor by the computer and just stares at me. For great lengths of time.

"Quit looking at me, Brutus."

I can't look at him, because he'll meow. I can't take the pitiful meow.

So I look to see if he's still staring at me.

"Meow."

"What do you want?! You've been fed. You have water. What could you possibly want?!"

"Meow."

I go back to working on the computer.

He's still staring. His eyes are drilling into the side of my head.

I slip up. I look at him.

"Meow."

"!@&*#!?@! -- I don't speak kitty language! Go away!"

"Meow."

I go back to work.

I peek, a few minutes later, to see if he's still watching and waiting.

"Meow."

(Repeat the above for the next 20 minutes.)

(And then start over.)

It's like Poe's "Tell Tale Heart" except it isn't. But it is.

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Labels: brutus, my life, pets

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Wind.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

It's yet another cold and windy "summer" day here in North Dakota. The sun is shining, at least. Nevertheless, the house is chilly and I have my sweatshirt zipped up to the chin.

The cat is sprawled out on the floor, basking in the warmth of a sunbeam through the window of the front door.

Space hog. I wish he'd move over and make room for me.

Usually the windiest days are the days when:

The flowering trees are at their best bloom, so that the wind blows all the flowers off and no one gets to enjoy them for more than two seconds. The poppies have all just exploded into bloom, so that the wind blows all the petals off across the yard, and no one gets to enjoy them for more than two seconds.

In regards to #1, yes, our white flowering tree is mainly just a tree. In regards to #2, it looks like next week will be windy. The poppies are about ready to bloom.

For this spring and summer it seems that the common denominator in all weather is going to

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Adored by cats.

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Captain Kirk would be highly distressed,

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The St. Patrick's Day photo shoot.

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Happy St. Patrick's Day from Brutus and the Gang.

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The arrival of Brutus.

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Flower power.

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The weekend was great, unless you heard it from the cat.

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The purpose is to stain.

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The sad story of Baron Von Hanta.

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Bringing in the new year the Neidlinger way.

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A poem about Sunday. A bad poem.

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A quiet Christmas Eve.

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The lone trivializer.

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Conversation: Opposable thumbs.

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The love of family.

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The Neidlinger catch and release program.

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Why I might have to kill my cat.

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Wind.