The Happiness Engine wrote:I would now like to change my answer to 'inbreeding'.

Unlikely. None of the members of my family has ever stopped in, let alone even stayed overnight in, West Virginia.

Bonus item: I found once when I was checking something.I discovered that under the degrees of consanguinity (how close you are genetically) in West Virginia, WV Code Section 48-2-302 prohibits marrying your first cousin or double cousin, but the law on incest, Section 61-8-12 does not make it illegal to screw them.

I would now like to change my answer to 'inbreeding'.

pinback wrote:And also makes one wonder if Paul, too, was a swap-in.

No, I'm the baby of the family, my brother is 6 years older than me, my sister, 10.

Here is an odd coincidence. My mother was first married in the late 1940s through the 1950s to a man named Norman Robinson who is not my father. They had my sister. Back around 1985 or so I got to meet him because my sister decided to hire detectives to see if her father was still alive. He was, he came out to visit and my mother never recognised him.

Later they would divorce, and my mother moved from New Jersey to Milwaukee, where she met the man who would be my father, William Robinson. They got married and had me and my brother.

Later, my sister met a guy and they decided to get married. His last name was..... Robinson.

Consider that. My mother married two different men whose last names were Robinson and my sister married one also.

That was kind of weird.

You know how in the Venture Brothers, Hank and Dean have died like, COUNTLESS times? Maybe it's that, and the copies just kept degrading.

And also makes one wonder if Paul, too, was a swap-in.

Tdarcos wrote:My mother proceeded to go to a pet store, spend $300 - a lot of money in the late '70s-early '80s - on another Lhasa Apso that looked exactly like him, give the new dog the exact same name, and, I guess, pretend the dog never died.

That's... much more horrifying than you think.

We had Teddy Bear for several more years, then, as dogs do, he died. We knew something was up because my mother started bitching about spending too much money, which was a dead giveaway she was about to do exactly that.

My mother proceeded to go to a pet store, spend $300 - a lot of money in the late '70s-early '80s - on another Lhasa Apso that looked exactly like him, give the new dog the exact same name, and, I guess, pretend the dog never died.

Tdarcos wrote:
She made the mistake of putting nothing out for me to use if I had to go to the bathroom. I knew she would go nuts if I shit on her couch, so I lowered myself to the wooden floor where I had a bad incident, but at least you can mop up a sealed wooden floor and completely remove the smell no matter how strong it is, as opposed to it soaking into the cloth cover and cushions of a couch.

Also, I knew that it meant that she would have to call 9-1-1 eventually because when I'm on the floor I'm dead weight - I have no strength - and she can't lift me, it takes about 4 firefighter-paramedics, possibly with lift harnesses, to lift me off the floor, even just 6 inches to the bed or a foot to a wheelchair.

And I discovered that the dogs didn't just love the warm, freshly made snacks and rich gravy manufactured by the cat, I could do nothing but lie on the floor as the dogs proceeded to clean up after me, too.

Oh, so there's the lost footage from Event Horizon.

That's a good point. I am willing to film my interjections. This is your ticket out of this dump, Paul!

This SO needs to be a video. I mean it. Get some placards, write up a tentative script, and video this mo-fo. You want a million hits? DO IT!

In the style of Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues video and make it HUGE!


THE
CAT VISIONARY
AARDVARK

Tdarcos, please slap ICJ.

And, if that doesn't work, ear rape him.

Or maybe he was "two timing" in which he was visiting a second family - I'll have a story about that - and they moved and took him, same as we originally did, which might have been a nicer alternative. Even if that was the case, it's been over 20 years so he'd have to be dead anyway.

Please, please con--

"Dapper, the cat that got renamed."

Having lost our precious Princess, my mother decides to buy another cat. She goes to a pet store and buys a light-colored kitten, But can't decide on a name right away.

Well, okay, er, please conti--

Let's go back to sometime in 1971-1972, approximately.

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

My mother shopped at second hand stores all the time, always brought me alkong, and I got to look at things. So, like girls that mothers brought with them to shop, I learned to like shopping. I got to be good at finding bargains. My mother also kind of taught me another way of finding bargains.

/me checks logs to see if anything appears from Chris Cornell's hotel room

Let's go back about 24 years.

We don't really ha--

My sister decided to let Bijou go, since she could still see him.

What year is it?

Let's go back about 24 years.

My sister Joann owned an adorable white Persian cat. She wanted him to have an elegant name, so she called him Bijou. My sister was a bit of a cat person, although nowhere near as bad as my mother, but she owned six cats. Plus two bitch cocker spaniels, an all black and a caramel brown.

During the mid 1990s I was between jobs and staying at my sister's place, recovering from problems and writing my first book. Since I wasn't doing anything (of significance or value), and the (legally prescribed) medications I was on made me feel terrific with lots of energy, I walked her dogs every day.

What was my sister doing (for a living) at the time? Running a dog walking service where she walked other people's dogs.

So I walked her dogs all the way around the block to the back of the tennis court for the houses in the development, then back on the other side Probably the equivalent of a 1/2 mile. By then the dogs were tired out and empty.

She had a cat door in her back door, so when I took the dogs out, all, and I mean all of Joann's cats would follow along with us. They'd trail us like a security detail, close enough to watch but not close enough to be in range if the dogs became aggressive. Amazing to watch as a tall, heavy-set man walking two dogs on leashes has an entourage of six cats (not on leashes) trailing him.

So this meant that the cats generally went outside to do their business. Except for one. One of her cats liked to take a dump at the bottom of the stairs from the basement. We had to leave an empty litter box in that exact spot just past the bottom of the staircase to keep the cat from crapping on the floor.

By then, my sister was also watching other people's dogs at her house when the owner didn't want to leave them alone, they'd socialize with her dogs and the other guests and get attention. So, as soon as the cat who liked to do its business on the basement floor walked to her spot, all the dogs - my sister's and visitors - would hover around the space like shoppers at a mall near Christmas hovering in their cars around someone about to exit a parking space. Once the cat finished her business, the dogs would proceed to clean up after the cat, sharing the fresh, warm snacks she left behind. The dogs would actually share. Sometimes the cat had diarrhea, and apparently the dogs enjoyed the rich gravy and chunks of meat she provided.

By the time they finished the plastic litter box was totally polished and cleaner than when the cat used it. And putting kitty litter in the litter box didn't help, the dogs would eat the remains she left and whatever cat litter stuck to it, too. Seems that according to my sister, cats have very primitive digestive systems, and require high fat and high protein, which, of course is irresistible to dogs, probably also because of the flavoring the cat adds.

The extra snacks did not stop the dogs from enjoying a full dinner. In the case of my sister, she had to ration how much food her two cockers would get, because they have an appetite with essentially have no "off" switch. My sister told me how one time she decided to see what would happen, and gave her dogs all the food they wanted. They kept eating and eating until they threw up. This was how she discovered they do not have an "off" switch.

Then there was the time, probably around 2011 when I went to visit during the thanksgiving week, and because my sister had used a shock collar on one of her dogs to stop her from barking, it beeped before shock and the dog was scared of my power wheelchair because it beeps, so she drove the wheelchair out in the hall.

She made the mistake of putting nothing out for me to use if I had to go to the bathroom. I knew she would go nuts if I shit on her couch, so I lowered myself to the wooden floor where I had a bad incident, but at least you can mop up a sealed wooden floor and completely remove the smell no matter how strong it is, as opposed to it soaking into the cloth cover and cushions of a couch.

Also, I knew that it meant that she would have to call 9-1-1 eventually because when I'm on the floor I'm dead weight - I have no strength - and she can't lift me, it takes about 4 firefighter-paramedics, possibly with lift harnesses, to lift me off the floor, even just 6 inches to the bed or a foot to a wheelchair.

And I discovered that the dogs didn't just love the warm, freshly made snacks and rich gravy manufactured by the cat, I could do nothing but lie on the floor as the dogs proceeded to clean up after me, too.

So anyway, going back to the 1990s and Bijou, at some point a neighbor's cat died. Bijou decides to "two time" my sister by just casually walking over to the other house, using her cat door too, eat the cat food the woman had left, then crawl up and sleep on the woman's bed.

Then after a few hours, Bijou would wake up, refreshed, and come back to Joan's for another meal. Now, cats again have very picky digestive systems and changes in food can cause vomiting or diarrhea, except by sheer coincidence the other woman was feeding her cat the same kind and brand that Joanne used.

Later, the woman told my sister how Bijou's staying in her bed over a week or so comforted her during the worst parts of her mourning her late feline. Bijou decided to move in permanently with the other lady, apparently finding that he liked the idea of exclusive attention from a single person who had nobody else he had to share them with.

My sister decided to let Bijou go, since she could still see him.

Once we were moved in I think I spent a week learning the city, where stuff was, buses, the library, downtown, and other things.

My mother shopped at second hand stores all the time, always brought me alkong, and I got to look at things. So, like girls that mothers brought with them to shop, I learned to like shopping. I got to be good at finding bargains. My mother also kind of taught me another way of finding bargains.

Shoplifting.

She knew all the tricks, and how to get stuff past the typical bored cashier. Which, of course, I learned, not knowing it was wrong.

So, anyway, it was probably me, I called the school board and asked where the elementary school was that I could go to. So someone looks it up and gives me the name, telephone number and address of the school, which I have just looked up and discovered was Lafayette Elementary.

So I go in on Monday and start school. As I remember, I was there for a week before a nice lady from the school board came to see me and had me leave class.

Turns out I'm in the wrong school. I'm sure I asked why, and I think they treated me like a young man, not a little kid, and explained the situation.

The address 340 W 15th Street is at the exact southeast Corner of the boundary of the area for Lafayette Elementary. The odd numbered addresses on the 300 bliock of 15th go to Lafayette. All addresses on the 400 block of 15th go to Lafayette. As it turns out the even addresses on the 300 block of 15th do not go to Lafayette, they go to Roosevelt Elementary, so that's where I'm supposed to go. I think she might have even apologized. So, what happens is I can finish the rest of the day but tomorrow I start going to Roosevelt.

So I did, and I remained for the rest of the year until I transferred to George Washington Middle School. There's no problem going to the wrong school at it is literally one block away, It takes up the entire even block at the 200 block on 15th plus the equivalent blocks on the two streets next to it.

Let's go back to sometime in 1971-1972, approximately.

Our whole family (me, my older sister, older brother and my mother) drove from Milwaukee to Denver. I hadn't realized just how smart I am at times except to note that at 10 years old, I was the one reading maps and ended up becoming navigator. My mother had stopped driving years earlier which meant my sister drove. We rented a U Haul trailer for our stuff. The car we borrowed from my father, who was separated from my mother. At that age I didn't know it was effectively a divorce in everything but name, however, they did remain civil.

I could probably do a whole story about the trip but I'll leave that for later. We arrived in Denver and found a place on E Colfax Ave. Basing on what I remember about the school I went to being only a few bloclks away and what Google Maps shows, I'm guessing it was either Peoria E.S. or Kenton. which puts it, surprisingly, near the 11000 block, I didn't realize it was that far out.

Me and my sister went back to return the car, then took Greyhound to Denver. At some point we went out to the pound and found an adorable Lhasa Apso male which my mother adopted. She named him Teddy Bear.

Take him to the vet to make sure he has all his shots. Doctor checks him out and mentions we have the option to take the dog back, it has a heart murmur. Might never bother him or might turn into something serious. My mother is long since attached to the dog, she's keeping him.

The dog was cute. Light tan to white fur, and when you held him by his belly, he'd "swim" in mid air. And if someone hit a high note, he'd echo. So if someone said, "I'm going to watch Channel Twoooooooooooooooooo" the dog would howl along.

The reason I remember when it was, was that I was there when it snowed, and at some point my mother decided that Denver just wasn't for us, so our family split. My sister stayed in Denver and me, my brother and mother took Greyhound - or it might have been Trailways - to Los Angeles. The dog we brought along and it went in a carrier in the cargo area underneath the bus.

The timing - as I'll explain later - means we ended up in Los Angeles in the summer of 1972.

I think we found a cheap motel that allowed dogs - or we snuck him in - and Bill stayed behind while me and Ma went apartment hunting. Which showed that 11 my mother realized I was very smart, which is why she had me along. We ended up down in Long Beach, at the south end of the county.

On Ocean Avenue near the end of the RTD 36F bus line (NOT the same agency as the RTD that by sheer coincidence runs transportation in Denver now), we stopped in a restaurant and next to the ketchup I noticed a bottle of something white. I asked her what it was, and she said, "Horseradish. it's spicy and you won't like it." Well, being a kid I wanted to see, so I put some on my finger. Really pleasant taste, not hot or bitter, and I said so. Which caused my mother to taste it. I don't remember if she admitted she was wrong, but she did identify this mystery condiment I had never tasted before.

"Mayonnaise."

All of my life my mother bought whatever was cheap, so other than margarine (25c/pound) the only thing we had ever had for sandwich spread was Miracle Whip.

We found an apartment in an 8-apartment, open-face building on the first floor at 340 W 15th St in Long Beach. The owner, Mr. Fite, had no problem with the dog, which, of course, we had to pay extra fees over.

We moved in over there and had some problems, apparently my brother got lost trying to find the place and so she went looking for him. Either he found the place or she found him, but he got back.

I remember that first day in the apartment because the radio was on the news, which probably meant radio station KNX 1070am out of Los Angeles. The news announced that Nixon had won the nomination as the Republican Candidate at the 1972 convention, when he was running for re-election, which made it August 23, 1972.

"Dapper, the cat that got renamed."

Having lost our precious Princess, my mother decides to buy another cat. She goes to a pet store and buys a light-colored kitten, But can't decide on a name right away.

Well, this kitten was feisty, playing and having fun, chasing things and scampering all around the house. She was too young to go out so we put a litter box in the kitchen.

But for some reason she had this hard-on for the fireplace.

In the middle of the living room was an unused fireplace. We had a furnace in the basement (as I mentioned in earlier messages how Princess hid in a crawlspace near it), so with Central Heating and Air we never used the fireplace.

But the cat wanted to get some use from it. She kept trying over and over to climb the fire brick inside. Well, considering how smooth that is it is not going to get any cat anywhere.

So with our dog Buttons going upstairs to steal things, I got the idea that it's like this cat wants to get to the damper, the furnace cover you open when using a furnace so the snow doesn't get in.\

So I started calling the cat "Damper," after the furnace flue cover. This didn't last long as my mother didn't care for that name, but by corrupting the word "Damper," she realized she had a good, cute name for this feisty, petite kitten.

Thus, she got the permanent name "Dapper."

And, unfortunately, she eventually suffered the same fate as Princess a long while later after she was old enough to go outside.

Anyway, let's get away from assholes and back to pussy.

Princess never had problems from her accident, she lived for many years after the accident, going out every day to exercise and do her business, never having a problem from her hip injury.

One night, a woman cane by and knocked on our door. She came to tell us she saw a large cat lying in the dirt of our parking space by the side of the road in front of the house. We go out and discover it's Princess, lying dead in the dirt. I think I brought her in.

I tried to explain to the woman that I understood it's not really her fault, cats do run across roads and sometimes misjudge the amount of time they have. Then she explained that no, she didn't hit the cat, she just saw this incredibly beautiful cat lying by the side of the road and figured it might be ours.

My mother, however, was not as strong as I am. She sat down in a chair and started babbling, "wubba, wubba, wubba." I had heard of this, she'd gone into shock, and the correct thing to do in this case is to snap of her out of it.

For the only time in my life, I hit my mother. As I had learned from TV or other references - this was pre-internet in the early '90s - I knew what to do. I used my open palm, and smacked my mother across the face, then backhanded her on the other side.

When I think back on it, I knew she was in shock, and needed to be shocked back, did it in seconds without a second thought, and I had no feeling at all about it.

And it worked. She immediately came out of it, and never remembered me hitting her. One of the few times in my life I did the exact right thing at the exact right time for the exact right reason.

My sister had Princess cremated. I think she still has the urn along with those of other animals and family members "like so many friends we've lost along the way."

Some time later, Mugger disappeared. He just went out one day and never came back. Probably suffered the same fate as his lady love. Or maybe he was "two timing" in which he was visiting a second family - I'll have a story about that - and they moved and took him, same as we originally did, which might have been a nicer alternative. Even if that was the case, it's been over 20 years so he'd have to be dead anyway.

Ice Cream Jonsey wrote:That's cruel and unnecessary.

Please apologize to Paul about that, and only that comment.

Not important, it was funny.

I could not use one of these. I tend to forget things, not check and recheck to make sure stuff is right, and make sure everything is done correctly. I've just never really been anal retentive.

That's cruel and unnecessary.

Please apologize to Paul about that, and only that comment.

Paul would never find it again.