This little piggy took a bath…

I had a bath the other night, and as I sat in the hot water, my legs fully extended to just beneath the tap (I love being short), my attention was caught by my toes. (I have nice toes – ask to see them sometime).

There they were, at the end of my feet (unlike yours, which sprout from your kneecaps), looking alien to me. I’ve certainly seen my toes before – Hell, I see them every day – but for some reason, that night in the tub, they looked different.

They were pale, white, straight, and just… there. My inner thighs were all red from the heat of the water, but it hadn’t pinkened any further down my legs. This seems to be the pattern for me in hot water; my thighs and lower abdomen turn pink or red, while the rest of stays pale.

So there were my little alien toes, staring up at me blankly. They weren’t going anywhere and my bathwater was getting cold, so I got on with my bath and stopped looking at my toes.

I like my cats

I’ll be the first to admit that, at times, I annoy easily. People cutting me off on foot, people who drive under the speed limit in good weather in the lane I want, my sister or the coworker… but I also tend to amuse easily, too.

As an example (or several): my cats. The fact that Digger (and previously Chloe) likes(d) to pick through garbage cans and fish out dental floss to play with makes me laugh. The fact that one night, Digger amused himself (and me, somewhat) by repeatedly knocking over my garbage can and then ignoring it – all as a signal to me to go to bed – is a riot. The fact that he gets bored and goes snooping through my desk or garbage can to find a toy – then chases a fake flower I give him all around the upstairs – is fantastic.

This is the same cat who waits outside my door until I go to bed to come in and pin my feet and snuggle me. He tells me when he’s getting fed up with waiting for me to go to bed, too; he comes in and meows at me, pacing back and forth and sometimes jumping up in my lap. Here he always steps on my keyboard tray and pushes it in – I’ve unlocked it so as to make more room for him on my lap. Her he sticks his floofy tail in my face and tries to find room on my meagre desk to pace and find trouble, or Post-It notes, a pad of which is one of his favourite playthings. I kid you not.

This morning when I woke up, Digger was camped out on my bed, and not too impressed with being disturbed. He followed me around, telling me I needed to attend to his needs, but Shadow was nowhere to be found; not on my sister’s bed, my parents’, or in the hallway. I thought she must’ve been downstairs, until I sat down at the computer and happened to glace over to the window. There she was, camped out on the register. [Since I originally wrote this piece a few days ago, this setup has become a routine.] Shadow is what we like to call a “heat-seeker.” Registers, warm people, and under blankets (sometimes) are all her domain.

She also started to go through my garbage can, a la Digger. Apparently the security seals from my DVDs are fascinating playthings to a cat.

Johnny Storm… not just a fish, but a legend

As I said before, when I got home last night, I discovered to my dismay, that Johnny Storm, the red fish of the original “red fish blue fish” pairing, had died. He shares a tank that’s divided by a plastic wall with Dr. Seuss, the blue fish of the pair, who appears to be fine physically (as much as I can tell just by staring at him through the water), if a bit down in spirit.

Both Dr. Seuss and Stinky appear to realize that something major has happened. Perhaps they sense a void in the space beside and beneath them, respectively; perhaps his little fishy final gasping for breath was audible to the two of them, and they were able to sense what happened. I don’t know if Johnny Storm (known as Storm, for short) made any final convulsions, or even if he could sense his time was near and prepare them; all I know is that he didn’t prepare me, and I was shocked when I came home.

Unlike other dead fish that I have seen, Storm didn’t want to upset others by floating, belly up, at the top of his tank; rather, he was found lying motionless on the bottom of the tank. Maybe it was a suicide, and he weighted down his little fishy belly with rocks from the bottom of the tank in order to drown himself. Any note he left was long gone by the time I found him, so I’ll never know.

It’s also possible that the plotting that I thought I saw between the fish was not plotting against me, but rather against Storm; fed up with his superiority complex and his bragging about his vivid red colouring, the mottled Stinky and blue Dr. Seuss decided to do away with him somehow.

Of course, having flushed the body, I’ll never know. It’s not possible for the water to have been poisoned, as Dr. Seuss shares the same water. This must have presented quite the dilemma to our little Machiavellians, as they discussed the best way to do away with poor Storm. Possibly they poisoned his food; possibly they shot him in the back of the head, execution-style. I’ll never know.

But alas, poor Storm… you lived a good, fishy life. Your food was plentiful, your water occasionally changed, and you got to swim your little fishy heart out. You are missed by those of us you left behind, including myself, and though other fish may come and go, they will never be your equal. May you go to little fishy Heaven, and not have gotten clogged in the toilet’s U-bend pipe, or I will be thoroughly revolted when we have to fish (no pun intended) your little fishy body out of the pipe, and I will likely catch holy hell for having clogged it in the first place.

Take care, little fishy, and dream sweet fishy dreams of hot mermaids and toes to nibble.

And that other stuff

My witchcraft midterm got delayed a week, which was a bit of a pisser but nothing too bad. I don’t know why; I didn’t stay to find out. When I left, I chatted for a bit with a girl I used to work with at the animal hospital, then headed over to Mark’s.

Mark and I watched South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, which I’ve seen before, but not for awhile. A tip for you, if you rent it on DVD: play it in French, and fast forward to the “Uncle Fucker” song section. It’s funny in French, trust me.

I wrote my English exam today, so it was nice to get that out of the way. Let’s see, my semester is more than half over, and I’ve submitted two papers and written one exam. I feel so productive.

Actually, I am anything but productive. I still haven’t submitted anything to the magazine, although I’m hoping to rectify that tonight, and I still haven’t really done any of those readings I keep telling myself I have to do. I’m kinda not really caught up in English (I was ahead, but then he switched some stuff around, so all I can say is that it’s a damn good thing I’d already started Alias Grace, ‘cause I don’t think I’d get through it in time otherwise), and I’m doing okay in Witchcraft, although now with the exam delay and all, I probably still have a bunch to do. Forget about either CMN course; I haven’t really touched the readings for either of those… and oh, did I mention? I have a paper due on Tuesday, based on the readings. Wahoo.

Tomorrow I’m getting together with a classmate to prep our Tuesday presentation, and I’m also getting my photos taken for grad. I’m hoping I don’t look all exhausted for them, and I have to remember to wear a white shirt, pack my contacts (or wear ‘em) and grab my makeup. Gotta look purdy!

On a tangential note, Digger apparently stole the sticky paper that wrapped up one of my socks from my garbage can when I wasn’t looking, ‘cause he’s since brought it back into my room to show off. Or play with. With him, it’s hard to tell. I give him the flower.

Bah. Distractions in the form of conversations. Good ones, though, so I don’t mind. I just keep noticing how it’s getting later and later and I need sleep so as not to look like death warmed over tomorrow… *grumble*

Okay, time to wrap this up and try for an article. I think I’ve covered it all, and if not, then I’ll add it later.

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