7:49am, Sunday.

"I think a cat has come into our yard to die."
Alarm.  "What?"
"I'm serious, I saw it earlier when I took Kylee out.... it's acting really weird."

Mr. Morgan announces things that are passively disturbing to him most times in a low tone.  Not a whisper, but how someone gently broaches a potential problem.

Sure enough it is out there.  

We went outside, for a closer inspection and the cat if without question wrong, Spidey-sense wrong.  It isn't bleeding or moving in an injured way but it does move in a crazy short-circuited stagger.  From a safe distance I waved my hand in front of it's eyes and no response.  None, so abundantly none it made the hair on my arms stand up.  Couple that with giant engorged pupils making it's eyes unlike anything I've ever seen, I think my body was spot-on for reacting that way.  Mr. Morgan moved in on it and I swatted at him.  This is all back and forth in a panicked hushed tone, one adult in a robe flapping arms and the other in an army crawl position with arm out, finger in place to poke it from the rear angle:

"Don't touch it fool,  there's something really wrong with it, what if it's all rabied-up... don't think that is some normal house cat if it's off in the head!"
"Rabied... up?"
"Yes!  Rabied-UP!  Don't hassle it!"
"Well...."
"Don't!  It's got chupa eyes!!"
"Chupacabra?"
/swat. "Chupaaaa!  Leave it!"  then we run inside past Kylee who was seconds from annihilating the screen door and getting her a devil cat - which means she would have tucked tail, looked at us and said "Right you are, that's one fucked up cat."

We don't really know what to do but "not hassling" a fucked up cat is probably breaking some law or another.  Why MY yard?  Between us.... Simon is nervous and I don't like it one bit either.  Death comes to our house completely brazen and balls out right in front of the Russian?  That's just wrong,

Staring at us, taunting.  Wrong.............

What is the law on disposal?  Taboo conversation topic but if binning a dead animal is illegal, is possession-nine-tenths logic in order if it's not even our fucking cat?  Why are we in charge of this asshole cat?  Gah!  It probably heard that we gush money into any sorry four legger in need, but that is merely a rumor and never would have applied to cats in the first place.  We do feel bad for it, but damn.... really?  On Sunday?  Good luck then puss, glad we could help you out.  /sigh.

-DM

Carnivale Macrabe

To get it out of the way....it's NOT early.   Halloween 2012 theme is Carnivale Macabre.  Perfect timing for the forth of July carnival to come into town and let me get some photos for the video I'll be making later this year instead of borrowing another town's carnival from Google.  We walked to the "event" mostly for the sun and air and my insatiable love for all things won and bartered for.  My eyes immediately honed in on a prize that was declared "Impossible!" by Mr. Morgan.  I don't remember the exact conversation because like most people who are told no... the NO is the only part they recall as there could be no plausible reason for it.  His reasoning went along the lines of winning what I wanted took many series of trading the prize won towards a bigger prize, but remember.... I'm still stuck at no and standing in the makeshift carnival dirt paths with cotton candy literally stuck in my grip and in each corner of my twisted "but I want it" mouth.  

"Then how about a penguin?"  I settled. (beware the penguins!)

"No penguin."

/kicks dirt and compares self to the petulant two year old sharing the a similar frustration nearby. 

"Monkey?  That man says I could get a monkey and I need a monkey."

 

This is Mr. Morgan caught in loathe for the carnival.  On entry he quickly left me, refusing to be beside me and surprisingly unaware that I had every intention of taking photos of a tiny crappy carnival and didn't care if people thought I was in fact the 'backwoods freak" marveling at it on film. He cannot believe how shitty it is.

I did eventually talk him into playing a game.  It would not be goldfish, even the man touting the game was having difficulty selling a half dead chore to the few goers in attendance.  I knew I had installed a nagging need to play a game and prove that he could master the carny trick games when I saw Mr. Morgan squinting at each booth and his hand was resting outside his pants, but over his wallet.  He is not aware that he does this when he is going to spend.  I've seen it when he's made purchases from upgrading his order at a pizza place up to buying an entire living room set.  Once that hand is over his billfold... that's when he's hooked into parting with cash.  This happened at the balloon - dart throw booth.  

Three throws for five bucks or so.  The first two, pop pop! accompanied by the carny (latino and giving his own flare) shouting "That's one hombre!  Now two, uno más para un premio!"  He missed the third one and I quickly stroked his arm saying the balloon had clearly been buttered.

The Sponge Bob of "Whatcha gonna do." was chosen accordingly.  

The dogs have not chosen their costumes, I'll be going gypsy.

- DM