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Possible Damien sighting


Okay, this is really bizarre.

Damien’s been missing about two weeks now. To get him ready for England, I had him chipped when he was a baby. So, without much hope, I go to his chip-maker’s website to see if they have any advice. They do; they have a little slideshow called Pet Detective.

According to this guy, cats are highly territorial and seldom go far. He must actually hunt pets for a living, because he says, “Around 90 percent of injured/deceased cats that I have found were within a 1-house radius of their own home! Of those, 80 percent were hidden.” He recommends concentrating on the neighbors first. Talking to people. Making up flyers and stuff.

Well, that sounded like bullshit advice to me — if Damien were that close by, why wouldn’t he come home? — but I’ll bounce back quicker if I do my bestestes, so I made up some flyers at work today.

I am neither happy nor optimistic about this approach. When I see a lost pet flyer tacked to a telephone pole, I always think, “ho HO! You poor deluded fool — you’ll never see Mister Whiskers again!” But when you absolutely must eat the shit sandwich, there’s nothing for it.

I was walking to the corner to staple up the first one, and I met a girl two doors down who was vacuuming her car. “What the heck” thinks a weasel and waves a flyer at her.

“Oh my god!” she says, “that’s the cat. THAT’S THE CAT!” Apparently he — or one just like him — showed up at her door some days ago. Skinny, extremely friendly, wouldn’t go away. She said it followed her to the store and she bought it some food. She let it in and out of the house. It hung around for a while. Last sighting, maybe two days ago.

Now, whether that was Damien or not, I don’t know. But I’m as sure as I can be this girl wasn’t lying to me. She was real excited. She called her mother on her cell to gabble about it. Apparently said cat had been an object of some family curiosity. At that moment, of course, it began to rain heavily and I couldn’t fan out through the neighborhood.

Okay. I’m lying, of course. I walked ALL around the neighborhood calling his name and getting soaked, but there were no more humans for me to talk to.

So…how could he possibly be a hundred feet from his own kitty door and still beg for a meal? I ask you! Has anybody else experienced this brand of soap-opera-quality pet amnesia? And if cats really are that scary crazy, will I ever let one outside again?

May 16, 2008 — 5:52 pm
Comments: 82

Not even close, really

no moar rinos!

Heh. I see from my logs that See-Dubya has kindly thrown me a bone over at Michelle’s. She’s soliciting slogans for the deplorable state of the GOP in 2008. (Pretty amusing thread, akshully).

Commenter at #15 longs for a graphic of a rhino with its head up its butt, and See-Dubya at #24 asserts that your ‘umble weasel might have the skill.

No. I have not. A rhino with its head up its butt would look like an elephant donut with legs sticking out of it. I could not draw that thing.

I have this thing, though. I drew it a while back and was saving it for a post about politics. You know, politics — that thing I used to talk about occasionally, back before I was consumed by my cat and my house and my birthday.

It’s not just that the Republican establishment is now being run by a pack of RINOs. I’m increasingly convinced it’s run by a pack of RINOs who don’t even like conservatives. So in 2008, the Dems are going with the candidate beloved of their fringe and the Pubs are going with the candidate despised of their fringe.

What a very strange election.

I hope they all drown.

Update: Whoa! I was just funnin’, See-Dubya. RINO dude makes it inside a post at Michelle’s.

— 8:17 am
Comments: 46