A Day In The Life Of A Cat

As always, the cat has the last word in these matters. Pay her the respect that a supreme life form deserves.

7:02 AM. Waking up at home. Slept exceptionally well. Dreamed of vast fields of catnip.

7:06 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, gazing out at the vastness of my domain in the pre-dawn. More snow has fallen in the night. Flying lunches around the feeders already. I shall content myself in watching them for the moment. After all, breakfast is coming, whenever my staff gets downstairs.

7:10 AM.  Walking around on the piano keys in an effort to get my staff downstairs. She might think it sounds like feline nonsense. I can tell you that my musical abilities are that of a virtuoso concert pianist.

7:14 AM. I have heard enough sounds upstairs to know that my staff is now awake and about. I leap off the piano and await her presence downstairs. 

7:19 AM. Patiently waiting on the staff. Looking around the living room. Wondering if I should make a final excursion up the Christmas tree. I mean, at some point in the not so distant future the staff will be taking it down, right? And I was only up it three times this holiday season.

7:24 AM. The staff comes downstairs and mutters about closing up the piano at night. Well, you could, but then I’d have to serenade you with cat yowls at four in the morning. Which I’m inclined to do anyway, but that’s beside the point. The real point that you and I must focus on right now is seeing to my breakfast. Because as they always say, breakfast is the most important part of the day. Now then, let us start discussing breakfast, shall we?

7:25 AM. Furthermore, staff, would it kill you to wake up a half hour earlier and put a plate in the fridge? I’ve told you many times that I like having my breakfast on a slightly chilled plate. That means putting it in the fridge a half hour before my optimal breakfast time. Because putting it in the fridge the night before will make it too cold, and we can’t have that. And by the way, staff, I don’t want to be seeing any of those field rations you insist on putting out every morning, are we clear about that?

7:27 AM. The staff has put down my breakfast for the morning. A plate of chicken and a bowl of milk meet my expectations. Unfortunately she also persists in setting down a bowl of field rations as well. I shall ignore the last and get to work on the first two.

7:29 AM. I have finished the milk and chicken, and am licking my lips with satisfaction. I shall let the staff have her breakfast in peace and quiet.

7:42 AM. Hearing the distant barking of that annoying hound from down the road outside. What part of shut up is too complicated for that dog?

7:45 AM. The staff is on her way out the door. I remind her to bring milk home from the store, because that’s one of those things we can’t do without.

7:47 AM. Watching the staff pull out of the driveway in the car. Well then, what shall I do today? Aside from naps, because you can never stockpile too many of those.

8:06 AM. Surveying the living room from the top of Mount Evergreen, as I’ve taken to calling the Christmas tree. I’ve only knocked two ornaments off.

So far.

This morning.

10:49 AM. Waking up from a nap. Slept well. Feeling hungry.

10:51 AM. An examination of the kitchen determines that the only food out in the open happens to be those field rations. With much reluctance, I help myself to some of them. The things I do because my staff refuses to leave the fridge door open.

11:01 AM. I have returned to the piano where I commence playing my signature composition Feline Scherzo For Piano. I make Chopin look like an amateur.

12:13 PM. Walking back into the kitchen and helping myself to more of those field rations. I shall have to have a word with the staff about this sometime soon. Why not get one of those automatic timers that release a morsel of canned tuna, for instance, every hour?

1:31 PM. Woken up out of a good nap by the muffled distant barking of that idiot dog from down the road. A glance at the clock confirms that the mailman must be out and about and the mutt is barking at him again.

4:18 PM. Waking up from my latest nap and glancing at the clock. Great, it’ll still be a full hour before the staff gets home. Hopefully she hasn’t forgotten the milk.

5:28 PM. Greeting the staff when she walks in the front door toting a couple of grocery bags. Did you remember the milk, by chance? Because if not, you’ll have to go back out and get it.

5:30 PM. An inspection of the groceries confirms that milk has been purchased. This pleases me, because you can never have enough milk around if you ask me, and you are asking me. So then, staff, have you given any thought to dinner?

5:35 PM. The staff takes note of the ornaments dropped on the floor and looks at me. Yes, well, at least they didn’t break. Are you going to be putting the tree away tonight?

6:41 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s made bacon pancakes, which I approve of. And she’s been nice enough to cut one up into nice kitty cat sized bites for me. 

8:28 PM. Supervising the staff while she gets Christmas decorations put away. I’d help, staff, really I would, but I’m much better being a supervisor. Or su-purr-visor. 

9:14 PM. The staff has finished with the Christmas decorations. It hasn’t occurred to her that the Elf On The Shelf is missing. I wonder how long it’ll take her to find its remains under the couch.

11:29 PM. The staff is off to bed. Good night, staff, sleep well, but do keep the door open. After all, you know how much I like walking all over you at four in the morning for no reason at all.

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

Once again it is time for the point of view of the dog and the cat. As always, I begin with the perspective of the hound, who after all gets so easily distracted.

7:04 AM. Waking up at home. Slept well. Dreamed of chasing a mailman until he jumped into Niagara Falls.

7:07 AM. A glance outside. The sun’s not up yet, but there’s enough light for a look. Some birds around the feeders, no doubt wondering how long it’ll be until the seed runs out. Fortunately my human keeps it pretty well stocked. More snow’s fallen overnight too. That’s a good thing, because I want to get out for a run and roll around through it.

7:13 AM. Waiting on the human to come downstairs. Because aside from getting out for my morning run, my first priority must be breakfast. And as I lack the opposable thumbs to open the pantry door, I must leave it to her to prepare my breakfast. Besides, even if I could get into the kibble bag, I don’t think I could be trusted to gobble down just one breakfast worth of it.

7:18 AM. Listening to sounds coming from upstairs. Good, my human is going to be downstairs soon. And that means breakfast will be forthcoming. And that means I’ll satisfy my present state of hunger… at least until I’m ready to mooch at lunch.

7:24 AM. Greeting the human with a furiously wagging tail as she comes downstairs. Good morning, human! Fine day, isn’t it? Say, have you put any thought into my breakfast, by chance? I’m just saying.  I mean, it’s been ten hours since I last had a morsel to eat, after all. And that’s seventy hours in dog hours.

7:25 AM. Thumping my tail on the floor of the kitchen as the human pours my bowl full of kibbles. I’ve been looking forward to this since I woke up. Oh boy oh boy oh boy…

7:26 AM. Licking my lips after finishing off my breakfast. Boy oh boy, was that good!

7:28 AM. Inquiring with the human as to if she’ll let me out for my run. 

7:30 AM. Out the door and on my way. See you later, human!

7:36 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off, as happy as I can be. 

7:53 AM. Stopping in to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike!

7:54 AM. Spike and I confer on all sorts of matters. I tell him that my human had two grand-nephews and three grand-nieces with their parents around the house over the holidays- and all of the kids ages, not adults. Which meant I spent the better part of my time hiding, because the last time they were around, I had ribbons tied in my tail and they were calling, doggie doggie doggie half the time. I don’t know why humans have kids, Spike, I’m sure glad my human never did….

7:57 AM. Spike tells me he had seven of the grandkids around the house chasing him half the time during the holidays. Seven? And I thought five of them were bad enough. You know, we dogs have to be patient and put up with a lot… I mean, if you ask me, sometimes giving one of those brats a bite on the leg isn’t that bad an idea, but we end up being called things like bad dog if we go and actually do it.

8:02 AM. Spike and I agree that we’re glad the holidays are over. Even if some of the debris is still out and about. I mean, my human hasn’t put away the Christmas decorations yet. Well, Spike, I’d better get going. I mean, humans do need us to keep an eye on them, after all. But I’ll keep you up to date by barking if I happen to see any of the squirrels today.

8:19 AM. Returning home. Barking to let the human know that I have returned. Human! It is I! Loki, Chewer of Slippers and Annoyer of Mailmen!

8:21 AM. The human has only just let me in after applying the Towel of Torment to my fur. Come on, human, why can’t I just dry off naturally? And don’t go talking about the smell of wet dogs. There is nothing wrong with the smell of a wet dog.

8:24 AM. Settling down in the living room for a nap. As always, I turn in a circle precisely three times before lying down. Because two is too few times, and four is too many.

10:56 AM. Waking up from my nap. Startled to see that the human has been clearing up some of the Christmas decorations. I wonder if I can convince her to get rid of the Elf On The Shelf once and for all this year. I mean, it’s such a judgmental know it all tacky little bastard to begin with, and I’m convinced the evil little cretin is watching me.

11:39 AM. I am supervising the human while she’s putting decorations away. I’d help, really I would, but I think we both know that Christmas ornaments don’t do well under even the gentlest of pressure from canine teeth. 

12:08 PM. The human is done with the work and is starting off with lunch. I use my mooching eyes trick to convince her to give me a couple of dinner rolls. Mmmmm, ham and cheese!

1:31 PM. Launching a vicious assault of barking on the mailman as he’s dropping off mail at the mailbox. Get lost, you vile fiend! Don’t ever come back! 

He drives away, not even acknowledging my warnings. Coward!

3:25 PM. Mooching a couple of cookies off the human while she’s having afternoon tea. Yum yum yum!

4:39 PM. Staring outside at the falling snow. Human? We have enough dog kibble in the house, right?

6:38 PM. Dinner with the human. She’s cut up some nice pieces of roast beef into bite sized chunks for me. I find it perplexing why she insists on having cauliflower with hers, but as I’ve thought on many an occasion, humans can be quite weird.

8:28 PM. Lying on my back in the living room, pondering the great mysteries of life. Did the squirrel start our eternal war, or was it the dog?

11:48 PM. The human is off to bed. Very well, human, good night. I’ll stay guard down here overnight. In between naps. And wondering why it is you persist in bringing out that evil Elf On The Shelf thing every year.

A Tale Of Two Identical Birthdays

If Coincidence Is Such A Coincidence, Why Does It Feel Contrived?

Toronto (CP) It is impossible to have a birthday to yourself. In a world with seven billion people and only 365 days in a year (366 in those pesky leap years), one will share their birthday with many others. Yet there are days in a given year where there are statistically fewer babies being born in the current era. Aside from the once in four years February 29^th, recent studies in statistical analysis have shown that in North America, Christmas Day is the least common birthday. A decade’s worth of American birthdates compiled by the website FiveThirtyEight shows September 9^th as the date of most frequent births, while Christmas Day is the least.

Hospitals have long been aware that families try to avoid births on major holidays. Obstetric procedures are less common on Christmas in maternity wards across Canada and the United States. Elective procedures like inductions and elective c-sections tend to get scheduled before or after the date. “It’s to be expected,” Harriet Reed, a professor specializing in statistics at the University of Toronto said about the report and the so called ‘Christmas drought’ that is reflected in the website study.

“After all, who wants to have their birthday on Christmas?” Reed asked. “You’re effectively being condemned to a lifetime of your birthday being overshadowed and turned into an afterthought if you have a birthday within a week, either way, of Christmas. Birthday cake might end up being Christmas fruitcake, and that in and of itself is awful. But people are pretty much ignoring your birthday because they’re busy unwrapping their own gifts, or caught up with their own families and such. So on some subconscious level, there’s an effort these days to avoid conception that’ll end up with a late December birthdate.”

Some notable people in history have, by chance, marked Christmas Day as their birthdate. Isaac Newton changed the world of science, but was a Christmas baby. The famed nurse and advocate Clara Barton was another. Actors Humphrey Bogart and Sissy Spacek both were born at Christmas. Musicians Jimmy Buffett, Annie Lennox, Cab Calloway, and Dido? All Christmas babies. Current Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau? Also born on Christmas Day. Theological historians note the irony that the individual for whom Christmas is named wasn’t even born on that date- Jesus Christ was born in the spring, probably in March.

“It is a bit trying,” Lennox admitted when this reporter reached out for comment on the experience of having a birthday on such an occasion. “First when you’re a child, you don’t get to be the centre of attention at a birthday party, because you really don’t get a birthday party. Because everyone else is having a party. Second, you’re not really getting two days worth of gifts in the way that a sister or brother or friend might have when their birthday and Christmas are months apart. And what are supposed to be your birthday gifts are just wrapped up in Christmas wrap. Later on when it’s less about the gifts and more about sharing time with loved ones, well, they’re all off with their families and children unwrapping their gifts. This is one reason I liked being on the road on tour that time of year.”

Much the same applies to the day before and the day after. Christmas Eve and Boxing Day, being in such close proximity to the big day, tend to result in some of the same overlooked birthdays for those born on such dates. Such is the case with one of those peculiar coincidences that can’t be a coincidence. Drummer Lars Ulrich, the long-time member of Metallica, half deaf at this stage in his life, was born on December 26^th, 1963 in Denmark. With a birthday in such proximity to Christmas, the drummer was quite accustomed to being overlooked and ignored on his birthday. “It might be why I went into metal,” he conceded. The son and grandson of professional tennis players, Ulrich might have gone into the family occupation had he not gotten into the metal scene early on. “Anyway, when you’re used to everyone else being busy around your birthday with all that Christmas stuff, you might start finding the holidays kind of irritating to begin with. And when they start piling on Christmas music all the time, it becomes all the more irritating. That’s one of the reasons Metallica has never done a Christmas album.”

It turns out that another Lars Ulrich shares the exact same birthdate as his counterpart, albeit years later, as he’s two decades younger than the Metallica drummer. The legendary and cranky RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich was born on December 26^th at a hospital in Whitehorse, Yukon, which one might speculate may have something to do with his general default state of grouchiness. This reporter sought out the Mountie at his detachment in the Alberta foothills before New Year’s. After reassuring Ulrich that this reporter was well aware that he was not the Metallica drummer, the Inspector was at ease. He admitted that the rumour was true- that he did indeed share a birthday with his namesake.

“Coincidence, they call it,” Ulrich said, shaking his head. “I’d call it something that can’t be printed in a newspaper. Unless you’ve got a common name, like a John Smith, for instance, what are the odds that you’re going to be sharing a birthday with someone else of the same name? Especially if you’re being constantly confused with that other person, like so often happens to me? It’s really irritating to be confused by people for that other Lars, considering I’m younger than he is, and don’t look a damned thing like him.”

When asked about his experiences in having a birthday so close to Christmas, Ulrich shrugged. “Well, I learned early not to put much stock in Christmas to begin with. I come from a long line of Mounties. My father was a Mountie, and half the time he was off chasing some mad trapper or a thief or murderer or jaywalker. So he might not even be around at Christmas. I do the same thing. You can’t call off a manhunt for a terrorist or a mad scientist or a graffiti tagger just because it’s the 25^th of December. So I don’t really dwell on it. I just push through the whole nonsense of the Christmas season, try to ignore the onslaught of music, and don’t make a fuss about my birthday.”

At this point, before another question could be asked, the detachment front door opened, and a man walked in, accompanied by a cameraman. He had the vacant-eyed look common to those of his profession, if you wanted to call his line of work a profession. And he wasn’t quite dressed sufficiently for an Alberta winter, wearing loafers and a light suit without a tie. He caught sight of the cranky Mountie, and strode forward. “Lars! Lars! Jamie Skittles, Access Hollywood!”

Ulrich had not yet turned around, but the grim expression on his face had taken shape almost when the door had opened, as if he could sense the presence of those he despised without even seeing them. “Your name is Skittles?” he asked in a low growl that should have been warning enough for the man to back away.

“You like it? I changed it when I got into the business,” Skittles proudly said, oblivious to what was soon to come. Ulrich’s fellow Mounties, on the other hand, were well aware, one of them opening up the door. “Listen, Lars, first off, a belated Happy Christmabirthday to you. That’s a new word we’re trying out on social media for people who have birthdays around Christmas. You like it? I love it, if you ask me.  Anyway, Lars, what I’m here to ask is this. It’s too late now, but will Metallica be coming out with a Christmas album for 2019? Because surely a metal rendition of We Wish You A Merry Christmas mashed together with Silent Night would go down big time on the music charts.”

Ulrich turned, glaring at Skittles with the sort of expression that would have driven fear into the heart of anyone with a working brain. But not an entertainment reporter, as that sort of person lacks a working brain. “I am not that Lars Ulrich.”

Skittles started laughing. “Oh, you joker!”

Not another word was said. Inside two seconds, Ulrich threw a punch that sent Skittles flying out the front door. The cameraman got out of Ulrich’s way as the Inspector went charging out the door and in pursuit of the entertainment reporter. The pursuit ended with Skittles taken to hospital, trapped in a body cast and murmuring in a daze about jingle bells, boughs of holly, and angry drummer boys.

Unleash An Army Of Internet Scammers

Another year dawns, but the spammers and scammers can't make a New Year's resolution to hold their breath for an hour. No matter how many times we tell spammers that we're not remotely interested in their spam about whatever pile of crap they're trying to spam, no matter how many times our spam folders automatically catch their comments... they never take the hint. Such is the same with the internet scammers, who send out emails to hundreds of thousands of different email accounts hoping for that one person who'll be enough of a sucker to take the bait. Such is the case with the following that came into my email back in December, complete with a second email address in the header that had nothing at all to do with the one listed here....

Attention Beneficiary

This is to officially inform you that we have verified your contract / inheritance file and found out that why you have not received your payment is because you have not fulfilled the obligations given to you in respect of your fund.

Secondly we have been informed that you are still dealing with none officials in the bank and even dealing with fraudsters and this was why all your attempts to secure the release of your fund are still in vain. We wish to advise you that such an illegal act has to stop if you want to receive your payment since we have decided to bring a solution to your problems in receiving the fund. You are now going to receive your funds through Online Banking. To receive your funds through online banking, you need to reply back with your information as urgent as possible to ensure you are the true beneficiary.

Once again, you have to stop hence your further communication with any other person(s) or office(s) regarding this transaction, this is to avoid any hitches in finalizing your payment. The transfer of your total sum of $10, 800.000.00 will be affected as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Kendrick D. Lugan

Tel/ +229-9806-4444

Email/( boa2c@yahoo.com.vn )

Where to start with this one? Well, at the beginning. Attention beneficiary? Who says that? Our friend the totally fake Kendrick D. Lugan claims that they've verified my contract/ inheritance file. Well, which is it? I mean, I know it's fake either way, but make up your bloody mind when you write these bloody emails. One or the other, jackass, not both. 

He phrases it as 'found out that why you have not yet received your payment is because you have not fulfilled the obligations given to you in respect of your fund.' Written like someone who doesn't have a formal command of the English language and who thinks that writing it as formally as possible sounds right. Guess what? It doesn't.

There are the usual tell-tales. The capitalizing words that don't need it. The punctuation (or lack of punctuation) that sticks out like a sore thumb. The dangling an insane amount of money (which doesn't actually exist) routine in front of me hoping I'm dumb enough to buy into the scam. He says, 'we have been informed that you are still dealing with none officials in the bank and even dealing with fraudsters and this is why all your attempts to secure the release of your fund are still in vain.'

"None" officials? Are you sure you know what that word means? Because to quote Inigo Montoya, I do not think it means what you think it means. And to also quote the great swordsman....

As for that bit about claiming I'm dealing with fraudsters, well the only fraudsters in this equation are the dumbass scammers who sent this bloody email in the first place and who are claiming that all my attempts 'to secure the release of your fund are still in vain.' 

Listen, Jackass McRatface, I haven't made any such attempts, because there are no actual funds of 10.8 million bucks waiting for me that I wasn't even aware existed. As for your claim that 'such an illegal act has to stop if you are to receive your payment'- I find it hilarious that a bloody criminal such as yourself trying to fleece the gullible actually brings up the words illegal act. The illegal act, you insufferable simpleton, is being committed by you.

Nice try, "Doctor" Kendrick Lugan. I put that in quotes, because let's face it, you're not a real doctor. And I find it hilarious that you list a phone number that supposedly originates in Georgia, while listing your email address here too. With a internet code, vt, indicating Vietnam. Right, sure, because when I think on the up and up, I think of Vietnam.

That's a hell of a long way from Georgia. Or wherever on the planet you actually are, because really? It's going to wind up being neither of the above.

Maybe you'll get lucky and someone on that list of five hundred thousand email addresses you're sending this crap to will be dumb enough to bite and take care of that "obligation" you mention- ie, the ten grand you're going to ask as a handling charge. Maybe they'll send it to you, actually expecting the money to come their way, and then wind up baffled when it doesn't show up. 

Or maybe the other 499 999 people on that list are just like me and know a scammer when they see one.

Do us all a favour. Go take a flying leap. Into a deep gorge.