Friday, Sept. 10, 2004
Dear Diary: The trunk of my car is a crime scene. The tragedy began because I had to fold down one of the back seats in the Marnmobile to fit my shovel in my trunk the day I went to get hosta from Monique. When I got home I left the windows of my car open to help keep it cool and forgot to flip up the backseat, leaving access to the trunk from inside my car. *Insert ominous sound of your choice here.* Whenever they get a chance, my cats like to scramble into my car to nap because, really, what's the point of leaving any surface in either my home or my car free of a liberal layer of cat hair? Exactly. Well, this afternoon during a break in the rain I went out to vacuum plant debris out of my car trunk. When I opened it, to my horror I saw two tiny little black chickadee feet side by side and nearby were a few fluffy itsy bitsy gray chickadee feathers. There had been a tweeticide in my car. You have no idea how much the sight of those tiny little black legs upset me. The cats very seldom get birds. Rodents, rodents they get a-plenty. I do not mourn their loss one bit because they rip insulation out of our home every chance they get, annoint my counters with mouse droppings every fall until we get them driven out, and down at my mom-in-law's they've snacked on the outside of electrical wiring, creating fire hazards. But birds ... well, I love birds. Chickadees hold a special place in my heart because my late father-in-law tamed a flock that used to stop by his feeders. You could stretch out your hand and they would eat sunflower seeds out of it. For years after Poppa died the chickadees down at the home farm would still alight on an open hand looking for seed. Those nondescript little gray birds will always remind me of a very kind, generous man who is still greatly missed eight years after his death. So I immediately went all CSI on the cats. I tried to remember if I'd noticed a feline skulking inside the car, but I hadn't. I looked to see if anyone had gray chickadee feathers sticking out of their mouth. Not one of the three did. I checked for chickadee breath, but all I could pick up was whiffs of Friskies dry cat food. Cunning. Cats are cunning. Despite intense grilling on my part, not one of the cats cracked and 'fessed up. So the perpetrator of the tweeticide remains at large. For now. In happier news, the Bazonga Booster 2004 Hall o� Fame has actual bona fide members! Yes, the following people have rummaged between their sofa cushions, turned in those empty pop cans, or accosted strangers in dimly lit alleys so that they can send fistfuls of their hard earned coin in support of my limp through the Jog for the Jugs in Montreal on Oct. 3. If I have missed anyone who has already donated just yell at me and I�ll add you to the list and the Hall o� Fame, because, after all, being associated with the word �Bazongas� is exactly the sort of thing to which we all aspire, right? My thoughts, exactly. Oh man. This is going to be hard Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers
Want to delve into my sordid past? She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 - .:Adventures In Oz:. .:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.
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