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| "Can anybody find me, some cavy to looooooooove?" |
I have a friend, a Facebook friend, someone I know to see, can comment on her posts, but more or less have never really had any contact with. Don't get me wrong, she's lovely, and I'm enjoying getting to know her, but this wee detail will become important in just a minute.
After a month of convincing Husband that we do, indeed, need more pets, I was able to message my Facebook Friend and adopt her guinea pig. During that month, of course, I did all sorts of Pinterest research on guinea pigs (including that they prefer to be called Cavys) and realized that we needed to get a second guinea pig for the new addition so he would not be lonely.
Gosh. I think I've forgotten how to blog.
I'm sitting here rubbing my face trying to remember how to string together words to tell you this hilariously awful story that ends with me having to call my Facebook Friend to tell her that not 12 hours after we adopted her guinea pig, Skillet, our Jack Russell Terror Terrier may have pushed the cage over and effectively murdered Skillet and I only figured this out after she came upstairs with a beautiful guinea pig puppet. That we didn't actually own.
Yeah.
Only I can't quite make the words come out in a way that isn't contrived or ... labour-rich.
So I'm gonna tell this other story, about how I am working at an elementary school that, like, you see on TV. You know, the one where the kids listen, and are excited about learning, and there are no behaviours, and everyone raises their hands? Yeah, those perfect, not-actually-real schools that they make Ministry of Education videos about.
I've been there for the past two weeks, and it's been quite glorious. So glorious, in fact, that I ask the kids if they want to do some yoga and meditation on my second day. They are STOKED. I whip out some yoga moves, we do a quick 30 minutes and then head into a nice 10 minute meditation. We are whisked away to space and while meditating, we see a beautiful white light and that white light is warm and inviting and it reminds you of someone you haven't seen in a while and it feels wonderful and happy and comforting and when we "return" to earth, we know we have that white light of happiness in our hearts forever.
See, I'm stuck again. The next part is where the kids beg me to do meditation again because it was so awesome, and this time, we get to the white light and all of a sudden, two boys begin bawling. No, not bawling, but sobbing and wailing and snotty, red-faced, dripping-on-their-shirts moaning, and for the next TWO hours these boys are inconsolable. Oh, and because the class is so wonderful and kind and big-hearted, you know a domino effect began and in seconds SECONDS, I was the only one in the room NOT crying.
Blubbering in such a way that I can't discern what they're saying, like Will Ferrell in Anchorman after his dog is punted off the bridge, these boys have completely lost control of themselves. I send them outside to cry (and possibly distract themselves with a walk around the soccer field) only their crying is so loud that other teachers are sending students out to see if my boys are ok, and were they locked out of the school or something?
Excellent. Excelllllllent. I broke the whole damn class.
Later, when I called home to apologize to the parents for destroying the souls of their boys, one parent let me know that her son is ok now, and that he was actually crying about his cat who died. Before he was born.
When I called the second boy's parents, it turns out he was crying because he'd never met his great, great, great, great grandfather, and that was a real shame.
Honestly, if the boys hadn't been in grades 3 and 4, I would assume this whole thing is being edited for Youtube.
And yesterday, I was headed home when I saw a beautiful red cat on the side of the road in the middle of ... somewhere where it's mega rural and the streets don't have pavement.
I saw that cat and I said out loud, Oh shit. I'm gonna hit that cat. And the cat never moved, and I swerved to get away from it, and since it was still sitting on the side of the road, and I was swerving away from it, I thought maybe I might not... damn it. I ran out. FRICK it clanged against the bottom of my car. OOOH FRICK!
I understand how people might hit and run because it took me a country block before I could stop screaming and turn around. I pulled into the nearest house and parked the car. I walked to the front door, which said "other door" on it. I knocked, and no one answered. There were 50 cars parked around the lot, but everything seemed ... quiet.
In the distance some dogs barked. And a wee kitten mewed.
Oh FRICK! I picked up the adorable 10 week old baby, who looked exactly like the cat lying in the road, It started purring like an engine and I walked around the yard wondering what I should do now that I'm a mother-slayer, I looked around.
I walked to my car, trying to shoo the baby back to the backyard because I didn't want it to see its mama on the road, and also I didn't want it to think it should head closer to the road and also, I couldn't take it home because stealing a kitten after killing the mother is easily, the shittiest thing to do to someone ever.
I wrote a note that said that I am so sorry to for killing the cat, and I borrowed a shovel and moved it to the side of the road, but didn't bury it because that seemed weirder than I already felt, prowling around their yard with the kitten that looks disturbingly like the cat I hit.
And as I wandered to the house to stick the note in the door and get the shovel, in drove a guy who was the most farmerish guy I'd ever seen. Oh, and is that his 12 year-old child in the passenger seat. Girl? Boy? I can't be sure, but there's no way s/he didn't see the cat.
Damnit.
Frick.
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| These two guys's farmer-baby would be the guy who pulled up in the truck. |
So I walked over to the truck. Farmer says "You tha one that hit our cat?" And my knees buckled and I gulped and nervously said, "Uhh, I think so. I'm so, so sorry." And the farmer said, "Meh. No biggie." And I said "Um, but is that the mother of the kitten in the backyard?" and the farmer just laughed and I said, "I was just about to borrow your shovel and move it to the side of the road." and the kid said, "Oh, naw. I'll just do that." and I said, "Um, But I tried to swerve. I should, um, well you shouldn't have to..." and the kid and father laughed and said "Oh, naw. It's just a cat."
And I smiled in disbelief and said, "I'm just gonna head back to the big city now." and I tapped the car door thing twice, and the farmer and kid both howled.
I don't really know why I feel like I have to tell these stories, except that I feel like I've been the star of some secret Youtube videos. So, if you find any Youtube videos where I am looking around for hidden cameras, do me a favour and send them to Ellen.
In the meantime, I'm gonna try and blog a bit more often so that I stop forgetting how to craft a tale.
