Intriguing title, eh?
I came across this poem today and it is a reminder to me – not about death, but about how to live.
Not how did he die, but how did he live?
Not how did he die, but how did he live?
Not what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.
Not, what was his church, nor what was his creed
But had he befriended those really in need?
Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away.
The poem also reminds me of The Man (who, after discovering this here blog, would like me to change his pseudonym to “My Love”… um…anyhoo) in a way; because he could be doing so much more for himself and I feel like his soul is conflicted. DO SOMETHING!
Anyhoo, I had the opportunity yesterday NOT to kill a kitten (after my kitten-killing engine experience last year). It was so weird – after my kitten dream. I took Desertdog to the Scientific Center yesterday evening for a walk and I parked next to a little family o’cats (mom, dad, and one little kitten who looked like a tiger – it was small and very very fluffy). We went about our walk and returned to the car. The cat family and some friends had decided to have a party under my Envoy, so I made some noise and most of them went away (no, Desertdog doesn’t give a snap about cats, so no use sic-ing her on them). The kitten climbed onto the tire and – you’ve got it – into the engine. The mother and father stood by, watching. I had to open up the engine and try to shoo it out. It wasn’t stuck, and damn that little cat reeked. I’ve smelled lion cubs up close and this kitty was only about 1/25 of the size of them, yet had equally powerful aroma. Eeeew. (Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?) The kitten dismounted my engine and they all ran away very playfully. Now, my entire frickin car engine smells like catpiss. I can smell it driving. Perhaps it is just my imagination (because I HATE cat smell and pretty much everything cat-related) but it seems like the whole car smells like ammonia.
Pigs: Pigs, I like. If you have ever seen free-range pigs up close, they are very clean animals. They like long walks in pastures and they are highly intelligent and can be taught tricks. One of my Kuwaiti friends visited me in Virginia one time and we were at a farm where they had pigs. I stopped to pet one and he had a hissy-fit, “If you TOUCH that thing, I won’t go near you.” I’m like, ‘Dude, you’d better start walking home now…’ Girly-man! Pigs are only smelly and dirty and roll in their own poop when they are kept in their own poop. If someone stuck you in a pen and you had nowhere else to poop, then you would be intimately involved in your own poop too. I don’t eat pork and I wouldn’t eat a human either. Doesn’t mean either gross me out (ok, some humans do, actually). Just my thoughts on pigs and poop. Poop scoop. Ha ha.
I’m bored again.
I like all animals, really. I don’t particularly care for reptiles. Bugs don’t count, but I still avoid killing them due to my total respect for karma (did you hear that, Universe?). I watch the Animal Planet’s Animal Cops episodes. I saw one the other night about 17 rescued dogs with horrific mange. I cried. They all looked like sharpei’s (those short-haired almost no-haired dogs with all the rolls), but they weren’t. Very sad.
I’m going to visit Fishgirl again in the hospital tonight. She was concerned because the doctor told her she had to go off birth control for 3 months; something about it conflicting with other meds. She was worried about getting pregnant. Bobarino was like, “Your pelvis is shattered! What kind of sex do you think we’re going to have?” Then, there was some mention of a swing… Ok… I don’t want the visuals on that. I hurt my L4 and L5 during circus sex (yes, it was worth it, even though I got no sympathy or back rubs); Fishgirl hurt hers being hit by a car. I don’t want to even think about how painful that would be.
The poem also reminds me of The Man (who, after discovering this here blog, would like me to change his pseudonym to “My Love”… um…anyhoo) in a way; because he could be doing so much more for himself and I feel like his soul is conflicted. DO SOMETHING!
Anyhoo, I had the opportunity yesterday NOT to kill a kitten (after my kitten-killing engine experience last year). It was so weird – after my kitten dream. I took Desertdog to the Scientific Center yesterday evening for a walk and I parked next to a little family o’cats (mom, dad, and one little kitten who looked like a tiger – it was small and very very fluffy). We went about our walk and returned to the car. The cat family and some friends had decided to have a party under my Envoy, so I made some noise and most of them went away (no, Desertdog doesn’t give a snap about cats, so no use sic-ing her on them). The kitten climbed onto the tire and – you’ve got it – into the engine. The mother and father stood by, watching. I had to open up the engine and try to shoo it out. It wasn’t stuck, and damn that little cat reeked. I’ve smelled lion cubs up close and this kitty was only about 1/25 of the size of them, yet had equally powerful aroma. Eeeew. (Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you?) The kitten dismounted my engine and they all ran away very playfully. Now, my entire frickin car engine smells like catpiss. I can smell it driving. Perhaps it is just my imagination (because I HATE cat smell and pretty much everything cat-related) but it seems like the whole car smells like ammonia.
Pigs: Pigs, I like. If you have ever seen free-range pigs up close, they are very clean animals. They like long walks in pastures and they are highly intelligent and can be taught tricks. One of my Kuwaiti friends visited me in Virginia one time and we were at a farm where they had pigs. I stopped to pet one and he had a hissy-fit, “If you TOUCH that thing, I won’t go near you.” I’m like, ‘Dude, you’d better start walking home now…’ Girly-man! Pigs are only smelly and dirty and roll in their own poop when they are kept in their own poop. If someone stuck you in a pen and you had nowhere else to poop, then you would be intimately involved in your own poop too. I don’t eat pork and I wouldn’t eat a human either. Doesn’t mean either gross me out (ok, some humans do, actually). Just my thoughts on pigs and poop. Poop scoop. Ha ha.
I’m bored again.
I like all animals, really. I don’t particularly care for reptiles. Bugs don’t count, but I still avoid killing them due to my total respect for karma (did you hear that, Universe?). I watch the Animal Planet’s Animal Cops episodes. I saw one the other night about 17 rescued dogs with horrific mange. I cried. They all looked like sharpei’s (those short-haired almost no-haired dogs with all the rolls), but they weren’t. Very sad.
I’m going to visit Fishgirl again in the hospital tonight. She was concerned because the doctor told her she had to go off birth control for 3 months; something about it conflicting with other meds. She was worried about getting pregnant. Bobarino was like, “Your pelvis is shattered! What kind of sex do you think we’re going to have?” Then, there was some mention of a swing… Ok… I don’t want the visuals on that. I hurt my L4 and L5 during circus sex (yes, it was worth it, even though I got no sympathy or back rubs); Fishgirl hurt hers being hit by a car. I don’t want to even think about how painful that would be.
1 comment:
i love kitties they're so cute & silly
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