Wednesday, October 27, 2010


You'd think this picture was taken outside of one of the local bars, but you'd be wrong.

Glen and I have many large issue opinions in common, but we differ on some of life's smaller, day-to-day dilemmas. For instance, if a cat pukes in our kitchen, and I discover it, I quietly curse the cat, if I'm lucky enough to know which one perpetrated the vileness, clean it up, wash my hands, and move on. Cats vomit. If Glen encounters the same problem, he calls out to me, "Hey babe, one of the fucking asshole cats puked on the fucking floor. Fucking idiots. I fucking hate those fucking ungrateful assholes. Fuck." I call back to him, "I'll clean it up." And he responds, "No, I got it." And then there's another string of expletives, infused with rage, and it does not dissipate for at least 20 minutes.

We keep the cats out of the bedroom mostly because they don't understand that humans are usually diurnal creatures; they're wired to be active at other times of the day. We're the dummies who choose to keep them anyway. Occasionally one will slip in, and it's usually crafty Angus, our nice black cat who came with the house. If allowed, he will sleep on my shoulder all night and not bug anyone. Despite Angus's compatible desire to sleep when we sleep, when he gets in, Glen will often throw the lights on, since it's hard to see Angus with his black fur in the dark; he'll begin swearing, and will crawl around on the floor until he's red with anger and exhaustion, at which time Angus will just head to the door to leave. We've been talking about the possibility that some of his cat-directed anger over the more mundane issues is slightly unwarranted, and Glen agreed. So last night, as Angus got in, and then made his nearly invisible approach to the bed, Glen was silent. Nonetheless, I could practically hear the gears spinning in Glen's overthinking head as he waited for Angus to jump on the bed. Angus settled down on my shoulder, and Glen, feeling victorious, plucked him from me, and removed the cat from the bedroom.

Recently, some jerk dumped hundreds — yes, hundreds — of beer bottles in the alley behind our house, which is a problem because the county handles the recycling here in Trenton, and they pick-up in front of the house; the city handles trash, and they pick up behind the house, in the alley. While this is not an every day occurrence, irritations like this happen several times a month here in Trenton. Well, dumping happens constantly, with pretty much anything that's not wanted: construction debris, rabbits, cats, beer bottles...whatever. But we only encounter it a few times a month, so we're lucky, I suppose. Anyway, Glen handled the "clean up and move on" part reasonably well, and I give him credit because the bottles were funky with old, stinky beer, and it didn't stay in the bottles, so he stank when he came back into the house. Just prior to his clean up, we called the county to get another recycling bucket, and Glen headed over to the office on S. Broad, to get the bucket. He explained the situation to the woman there, and he was able to get 2 new buckets into which he was able to put the stinky Corona and Heineken bottles.

There were so many bottles, though, that he actually filled all three buckets: the two new ones, plus our old one, AND two cat litter buckets. And we weren't able to get our own recycling out this week because of the vast quantity of dumped bottles.

Bright, shiny recycling buckets are nice, and according to Glen, highly coveted. He asked me to mark our new ones with our address quickly before someone stole them. I didn't get to it right away, and he asked again, and again mentioned that he was worried someone might make off with our bright yellow buckets (even though, at the time, they were filled with scores of bottles). I marked them with our address earlier this week, which brought relief to Glen. As he was putting the buckets out late last night, he asked me to keep an eye on them, especially after the county came, so that no one steals them. I suggested that maybe he was overthinking the recycling bucket issue, and that there was a really good chance that no one will ever lift our buckets, because they are just yellow buckets, and if in the off-chance they did get stolen, we could easily get a couple more. He agreed it might be better to not worry about this unlikely scenario, unless it actually comes to pass.

Just to be on the safe side, I kept an ear out for the trucks, which came early today, and I promptly removed the buckets from our curb and brought them up to our porch, where they are empty, and so much more vulnerable.


BuddyBob said...

Ha! The fucking cats. I have very sweet cats but they need to move the fuck out. We get up, check for turds, feed them but if Jen doesn't hang around with them for a few minutes in the morning they (it's Simon le Douche) just take a dump way outside the box.

Cats are awesome.

I taught my kids a song (you have to sing it some to make it work):

Everybody should have c-a-tees
(Then someone sings): No you shouldn't cause they're full of disease. They're dirty and they're nasty and they'll eat you when you're dead. Cats. Don't get 'em.

I have yet to officially teach them to call Mr. Peterson by his new name: Shitbagerson.

Mistër Cleän said...

Those were mine. Sorry about that. My already embarrassingly prolific consumption of alcohol has skyrockted since Tony Fuckin' Mack took office.