The kids

It's time for some light reflection, something to put a layer of perspective on the tarnished silver that is life. It's time to take a good look at these three:

Hera, the Goddess of the Home

Venus, the Goddess of Love

and Miss Kitty, the Court Jester

Hera, she's so cute, has finally managed to shift her "meow" into the word "now," which she uses relentlessly and maniacally to get in or out or served some Friskies. Hera has been with me the longest, pushing her ninth year as mine, and together, we've been through the most. She once almost lost her toe from some freak accident (she did lose her meow from said freak accident) and had to have drainage tubes put through her tail from some neanderthal bite infection. Hera is most admired for her promiscuity; when I lived on S. Upper St. with Ruble, Hera was known for her parties. Oh, we'd go to work, come home around five, and watch as three or four cats jumped out of our window and fled the scene. We never did find out where she hid the kegs.

Venus, she's such a breath of fresh air, is the most feeling of all the pets. She has expressions to share her mood, most of which have a corresponding tail level, and loves to have her belly rubbed... unless you are a stranger, in which case she will bite your nose or some other facial feature. Let's see... Venus has dined on Chris Ramsdale, Sarah Rzasa, Bob Niki's Boyfriend, Aunt Becky's Co-Worker, and some other blonds I'm not remembering (anyone??). She even tried to sample Shannon on one Thanksgiving not too long ago, but Shan's cat-like reflexes saved her. Venus, some of you may not know, has an endless collection of fur creatures. They accumulate in the corners, around the chair legs, behind the desk, on the couch cushions, under the bed, and beside the cabinets, probably holding meetings on how to recruit other members into their club. I think they secretly inject Venus with an offensive odor that is intoxicatingly delicious that then makes the V chew on herself until she is a chunk of raw meat with two fatty globules and counting. That's when she's at her best... that and when it's cold and rainy and her back legs won't separate from her crippliosis. She's pushing eight this year, and while she came to me later than Hera, she nuzzled her way far deeper into my heart. When I go away, Hera fends for herself... Venus, she gets someone to watch her.

Miss Kitty, she really hates me, likes to pet people. She sleeps about 22 hours a day and hates to jump. She hates to jump so much that she will walk around the kitchen into the living room to hop onto the coffee table, take a long step to the comfy chair, climb to its back, step onto the stool around the island, and then step onto the counter. If she does jump ever, she usually slides six inches farther than she meant to because of the little hairs that grow from between her toes. Miss Kitty is Mack's cat; they met when Mack was a kid and she came, uninvited, to his camping adventure with his brother. Since then, she won't let anything come between them... having a litter while sleeping on Mack's chest, don't worry, just have the litter right there... Mack's girlfriend trying to snuggle him in the middle of the night, no problem, just stick your furry butt in her face and wedge yourself between them. Miss Kitty only has eyes for one, they're situated on both sides of her perpetually dirty nose, which is fine by me as long as that one cleans up her pee when her preciousness keeps her from going outside.

These are my things. They don't have jobs, they demand to be fed, and they have not been inoculated in years. Luckily, the toilet always has water in it or else I don't know how I'd keep them alive.