Your Daily Fetish

And I thought I had a cat problem:

I do hope this 90 day "sentence" is for mental help and not taking up space in a jail. That would be even more ridiculous than her crime.

Related story.

Gross Me Out! Gag Me With A Spoon!!!

Once in awhile there is a dreaded tapeworm situation among the felines in the family and today was just such a day. One was dangling over the edge of a patio chair. And our conversation went something like this.

kona: "Ewwww, there's a dangling tapeworm. Take care of that."

txrad: "I'm not touching it."

kona: "You don't have to touch it. Grab a stick or something."

txrad: "You grab a stick."

kona: "You've castrated bulls before; you can't deal with a friggin' tapeworm?"

No response. So I dealt with it. Gross. Reminds me of a song....

Tapeworm, tapeworm
Measuring the marigolds
Could it be, stop and see
How beautiful they are

Were We Throwing Spaghetti Around Or....What?

Reader Advisory: This post is pretty gross and explicit. Unless you ever seriously considered becoming a doctor or a vet you might want to stop here.

I use plastic bags for scooping and disposing of cat litter. Last week I scooped both boxes and deposited the litter into the bags. I keep one bag inside another just in case there's a rip or something. I tie a knot in the first bag and then tie a knot in the second bag before taking it to the dumpster.

Last week I forgot to take the bag out. It was still sitting in the small plastic bucket which helps keep the bags open since I fold the bags over the edge of the bucket. I needed to clean the litter boxes this morning and I decided to pry open the bags and continue filling those rather than use new bags.

I gently pried open the knot in the top bag and then began working on the inner bag. I noticed what appeared to be a rubber band tangled up in the knot. I thought that was strange since I don't use those to secure the bags shut. As I got the knot untied I pulled at the thing and it actually wasn't a loop like a rubber band would be. I thought it was a piece of spaghetti. Then my brain began to kick into action.

If it really was a wayward string of pasta it would probably have been dry and brittle and would easily break. It was quite limber. This was going through my brain as I was holding the end of it. I quickly dropped it into the pre-existing litter and began scooping fresh litter out of the boxes and into the bucket, trying very hard to cover that thing up as quickly as possible so I wouldn't have to see it.

I took the bag out to the dumpster, this time holding it in my left hand which was the pasta hand, so that I'd use a relatively clean hand on the door knobs. Then I went to wash my hands.

I don't know what the hell it was but I have a feeling it was gross. (And I refuse to use the "T" word on this blog.) Did it crawl out of a turd and try to escape through the knot?

I need to think about something else. Like what's for lunch. See you all later.

Scorpions 1, Loretta 0

I felt pretty good this morning when I got up. It was Friday (albeit the 13th), I was looking forward to the day, and I was seriously jazzed about Loretta Lynn.

Then as I finished up my morning coffee I stood up and felt a very uncomfortable prick on my foot under the strap of my sandal. I thought it was probably one of the very nasty grass burrs we have here. They are tiny seeds with thorns which stick to the bottoms of your shoes, or anything else to which they come in contact. I just thought one had gotten under the strap.

As I was pulling my foot from the sandal I felt another extremely sharp piercing pain -- almost like a red-hot ice pick going through my foot. I think I may have yelled "fuck" once or twice, and then I saw the scorpion crawl out of my shoe.

The wet-looking shit you see to the left of the scorpion is what squished out of it after I pounded it with my shoe.

The "no-kill zone" at kona ranch suffered a temporary suspension. Normally I would catch any such critters in the house and take them outside. This one unfortunately earned my severe wrath. Hell's fury descended down upon the scorpion, you might say.

I proceeded to shower and get ready for work. My foot was in extreme pain for about 10-15 minutes. About the time the pain subsided, I was feeling the toxic venom shit coursing through my bloodstream.

By the time I left for work I could already feel a bit of numbness in my face, particularly around and in my mouth, and my tongue. I'm firmly convinced the stuff dentists use for anesthesia is derived to some extent from scorpion venom! Not only was I experiencing the unpleasant numbness, but I could taste the toxins in my mouth. It pretty much destroyed any sensory pleasure from eating or drinking. Even water tastes odd.

Someone at work got me a Benadryl and by 11:30 I wasn't feeling any better and was getting drowsy. I decided to come home for the remainder of the day. I stopped and got a cheap frozen entree for lunch since I can't taste shit anyway. Then I took a nap for about an hour.

It's now almost 6:00 and the nasty taste in my mouth lingers. Most of the other nasty symptoms have dissipated somewhat, but not entirely.

The fucker sure did screw up my plans for the day. At least that one won't have another opportunity.

The woman who got me the Benadryl asked me if I've ever seen a mama scorpion with her babies. There was a group of them in the mailbox once and I inadvertently brought them in the house with the mail. The mama scorpion carries them on her back. The lady at work told me the babies will stay on her and actually eat her to death. If that's true, these nasty fuckers are even more evil than I thought.

I hope I'm fully recovered tomorrow. Sorry, Loretta. It would have been a blast.

Christ, I was 14 years old when that video was shot!

Thank You SOS Chats

Early cat blogging: If you can read French, check out SOS Chats in Switzerland which I learned about today after reading an article in the New York Times. Even if you can't read French, the pictures are great.

I had no idea it was legal in Switzerland, of all places, to skin cats for their fur and sell the garments. Fortunately, this is about to change and hopefully this year.

While it is legal in Switzerland to shoot feral cats as well as domestic ones that stray more than 200 yards from their homes, it is not clear how many cats are hunted every year here and across the border in France, where residents have also complained about disappearing felines. One government official put the number at a couple of dozen. Luc Barthassat, a legislator with the Christian Democratic People’s Party, said about 2,000, but members of S O S Chats, an advocacy group, say tens of thousands are killed.

Estimates of the value of each pelt vary wildly. Mr. Barthassat said he had been told by tanners that they pay only about $5. But animal rights advocates say that hunters make much more than that, noting that some blankets made from 10 pelts sell at retail for more than $1,700.

But the numbers almost seemed beside the fact this fall, after a series of TV reports created a public furor. Three TV news crews from Switzerland and France conducted hidden-camera investigations that caught tanners who had officially denied trading in cat fur actively doing so and, in at least one case, explaining that cat meat was also available.

It's one thing to raise animals in captivity for pelts as well as hunting wild animals for the same reason, and I'm personally not a proponent of either. But at least I understand it. I'm less adverse to the idea if the wild animals being hunted are primarily used as food and the pelts are used secondarily to avoid wasting any part of the animal.

But people have been losing their beloved pets to this absurd practice. SOS Chats did a lot of work in exposing this and I'm very happy they did. If I knew someone had shot and killed any of my cats for pelts or meat I'd be tempted to reciprocate.

Friday Pussy Blog: The Double Espresso Edition

It has been an educational and informative week, that's for sure.

It all started with a couple of posts elsewhere. Check them out, then come back here and we'll continue: 1 and 2

So from what I understand, there is from time to time a necessity to express the contents of the anal glands manually, and it can be a DIY procedure rather than a series of expensive trips to the vet, as long as you know what you are doing.

First, it helps to understand where these anal sacs are located. So I have taken it upon myself to locate a handy illustration, as well as some other helpful Q&A stuff. And if you want additional answers, you can find plenty of helpful message boards out there. For best results, make sure you are posting your question on the correct board, otherwise confusion might ensue. If you find this to be unpleasant, realize you are not alone.

OK, looks simple enough. I believe I can find those.

It is probably a good idea to pop on a latex glove, you know.. just in case. I mean, try it bare-handed if you want to, but since this is my first demonstration and I am not familiar with the outcome, I'm going to play it safe.

Now, the next step is to hoist up the feline which is in need of having those anal glands expressed. Oh yes, I believe those swollen anal glands are plainly visible. This should be a piece of cake.

Oops, what I thought were anal sacs might have actually been his balls, or what's left of them. Sorry, Tot; my mistake.

I have a feeling there's going to be hell to pay for this little exercise.

At this point, I'd suggest you stop, have a Girl Scout cookie, and some chocolate, and try again. (It may taste fishy; that's perfectly normal.)

Or maybe seek the instruction of a qualified and trained vet, or anal sac technician before attempting this on your own.

(I ate that cookie, by the way.)

And you dog owners, you are not exempt from this phenomenon either, so stop laughing.

Lesson over. Happy Friday.

Machismo: Brazilian-Style

I'm not sure why a 15-year-old girl arrested on suspicion of petty theft would be held in jail for 26 days. That seems excessive to me. Or why they would have put her in a jail with men. Or why they would allow her to be raped and tortured continuously while being held, basically treated like a sex toy for their pleasure.

Oh, and they didn't just allow it.

The police in the jail did more than turn their backs on the violence. They shaved her head with a knife to make her look more like a boy, investigators said, and now are blaming her for lying about her age.

Because if she did lie about her age and was 19, shall we say, then the rape and torture resulting from her being put in a jail with men in the first place would have been more justifiable? I'm just curious.

Ana Júlia Carepa, the governor of Para, has been scrambling to clean up the mess since the situation became public late last month. Ms. Carepa pressed Raimundo Benassuly, the state police chief, to resign the day after he said publicly that the girl had lied about her age because she had a “mental deficiency.” The police have said that the girl had claimed she was 19, not 15, during several run-ins with the law.

Ms. Soares said that officials, including the judge in the case, a woman, did not press the girl for documentation proving she was an adult, even though she is under five feet tall and weighs about 80 pounds. “When I first saw her I thought she was 12, not 15,” Ms. Soares said.

For Ms. Carepa, the girl’s age is beside the point. “If she is 15, 20, 50, 80 years old or almost 100, it doesn’t matter,” she told journalists in Rio last month. “A woman cannot be in a cell with men.”

What has been particularly disheartening to federal human rights officials in the case of the 15-year-old girl is how many people had the chance to protect her. Ms. Soares, the lawyer, said the police, the judge and a public defender who had visited the jail all knew the teenager was in an all-male setting.

“Several officials were aware of what was happening, and at worst they were complicit in it,” Ms. Soares said. “It’s a very serious situation.”

This is just mind-boggling.

If the above link doesn't open, here's an alternative link to the story.

The Financial Benefits of War

We all know there's money to be made in times of war, but this is sick.

On the fourth Sunday in July, John Lee Cockerham was here in his hometown for the baptism of his twin sons.

[...]

At his sons’ baptism, he told fellow worshipers that he hoped to instill in his children the values he had wrested from hardship.

Less than 24 hours later Major Cockerham was behind bars, accused of orchestrating the largest single bribery scheme against the military since the start of the Iraq war. According to the authorities, the 41-year-old officer, with his wife and a sister, used an elaborate network of offshore bank accounts and safe deposit boxes to hide nearly $10 million in bribes from companies seeking military contracts.

The accusations against Major Cockerham are tied to a crisis of corruption inside the behemoth bureaucracy that sustains America’s troops. Pentagon officials are investigating some $6 billion in military contracts, most covering supplies as varied as bottled water, tents and latrines for troops in Kuwait, Iraq and Afghanistan.

The inquiries have resulted in charges against at least 29 civilians and soldiers, more than 75 other criminal investigations and the suicides of at least two officers. They have prompted the Pentagon, the largest purchasing agency in the world, to overhaul its war-zone procurement system.

It's one thing to be corrupt and take bribes. But to do so in the midst of a war in which soldiers and scores of innocent civilians are killed on a daily basis -- basically sacrificing their lives for nothing -- this really has to be the lowest form of criminality.

If Cockerham is indeed guilty, we can only hope he instills none of his values in his children.

What a sad waste.

America's Culture of Death

I'm not sure why I pay $55.00 monthly for a New York Times subscription when the news is routinely depressing. Part of me would just prefer to remain ignorant.

On the other hand, I'm glad they cover state executions with such excruciating detail. People need to understand how this works.

He looks almost like a young child buckled into a car seat, with his closed eyes and freshly shaved head, with the way the black restraints of the electric chair crisscross at his torso. He yawns a wide-mouthed yawn, as though just stirring from an interrupted dream, and opens his eyes.

He is moments from dying.

Daryl Holton was the first person executed by electrocution in Tennessee since 1960. And in my opinion, the details of his execution are equally as grisly as his crime of killing his four children by shooting them in the heart.

Two corrections officers step forward to place a sponge soaked in salted water on Mr. Holton’s bald scalp to enhance conductivity. Next comes the headpiece, which the procedures describe as a “leather cranial cap lined with copper mesh inside.” Finally, a power cable, not unlike the cable to your television, is attached to the headpiece.

The copper mesh pressing wet sponge sends salty water streaming down the inmate’s ashen face, soaking his white cotton shirt to the pale skin beneath. When officers try to blot him dry with white towels, Mr. Holton says not to worry about it, “ain’t gonna matter anyway.”

Damn right, it's not gonna matter. But it gets worse.

With the push of a button on a console labeled Electric Chair Control, 1,750 volts bolt through Mr. Holton’s body, jerking it up and dropping it like a sack of earth. The black shroud offers the slightest flutter, and witnesses cannot tell whether they have just heard a machine’s whoosh or a man’s sigh.

Fifteen seconds later, another bolt, and Mr. Holton’s body rises even higher, slumps even lower. His reddened hands remain gripped to the arms of the chair, whose oaken pieces are said to have once belonged to the old electric chair, and before that, to the gallows.

SCOTUS is dead wrong on this one. While it may not be unusual in the United States, it certainly is in the civilized world, and it's absolutely cruel to the core. A civilized nation does not proclaim murder to be a crime and then murder the murderer.

If I believed in hell, I'd swear the prosecution, the jury, and the fucker who pushes the botton on the ECC would all burn there eternally, as well as the politicians who refuse to condemn the brutality, and the assholes who continue to elect them.

Congratulations! It's a 7 lb. 6 oz. Snot Baby

I went to bed about 9:30 last night and actually slept quite well until 1:27am this morning when I felt my nostrils filling with warm goo. I probably woke the entire neighborhood with my nose blowing episode.

This experience has perhaps been comparable to a woman giving birth (obviously I'm speculating), only I've been in labor all week. I just hope I'm not going to blow out twins.

Why is pollen such a bitch?

It' snot fun

But thank God for technology so I can at least get in 6 or 7 hours of work at home. This allergy is making me mega-irritable. I finally took a shower this afternoon around 5:00 -- my first since 6:00 Monday morning. I was beginning to look rather unkempt. And considering how many times I turned my head to sneeze this week and blew snot into my hair, it was getting to be essential that I shower.

I went to the bed at 1:00 this afternoon to rest for a few minutes and almost immediately fell asleep and didn't wake up until almost 3:00. That certainly cut into any hope for a productive afternoon.

I had the weirdest dream. I was on some open-air transport vehicle which could travel over land and water. I was in an undeveloped foreign country with very rugged terrain and beautiful bodies of blue water. The driver of this vehicle was taking a group of us to some village and rather than take the road which would have required hours of travel time he took us over extremely rocky terrain -- a path rather than a road. It was very jarring. And then we treaded shallow water which was also very rocky beneath the water. Finally we entered a pristine body of water which stretched to the horizon on the way to our destination. Total travel time would have been about two hours but I woke up before we got to shore.

I really wanted to know where I was and where I was going. It seemed like a place I'd enjoy visiting.