Ah, But With Good Reason

 "It turns out that your weakness isn't the color yellow after all, but bullets, knives, and angry packs of badgers. "
There are a plethora of things that Ninja Kitty would prefer catnip to. Then there are those things that cause Kitty to wet herself - and not in a remotely positive way. These are those things, and the short stories behind them (in no particular order):

SPIDERS


While I'll be the first to procure a delightfully foreboding Halloween decoration (or sport jewelry) celebrating the super-fantastic-creeptacular-eight-legged-beasts, I have no interest in befriending a live one - or being within a 15 mile radius of the same for that matter. They strike fear in my heart - in the words of My Jen, I do rather believe they can smell my soul - and would love nothing more than to feast on such. Simple arachnophobia? I think not! To date, I have not encountered another creature my entire being is convinced possesses nothing BUT ill intent and maliciousocity towards Yours Truly.

There I was, a plucky young kiddo of no more than 4 or 5 years of age..... A Shirley Templesque Pip-squeak lacking a care in the world. As I finish dressing our poor unsuspecting calico, Spooky, in what can only be described as a cutting edge and fashion forward frock fit for a queen, it occurs to me that all her fussing and protesting signals the need for a nap in that toy playpen I received the Xmas before! Sheer genius! (***Quick side-note for all you PETA sympathizers out there... At the time, I fully believed the dear fuzzball would eventually reach the decision that all this childish harassing was out of love and concern for her general content  ;) ) Hmm.... Now where did that contraption end up? Ahh... Must be in the garage only accessible through the unfinished basement probably constructed on some ancient burial ground of the beasts hell couldn't contain...

SUCCESS!!! I spot the playpen across the lumber & rusty nail playground under bits of rags and old molting blankets. As I was young and naive (well... more so), I couldn't fathom how retrieving it could possibly go wrong. JESUS F*CKING CHRIST, WAS I MISTAKEN!!!!!! As I reach my chubby l'il arm across to pull one of the hideous blankets back - the scene that unfolds causes me to wet my britches, vomit and shriek - somehow all simultaneously. There were thousands of them. A volcano of greenish, translucent spiders erupting in a swarm of uncivilized chaos. The mere recollection of this horror is justification enough for the swig of whatever that flask in my desk contained.

CLOWNS

In a rather contrasting manner to *shudder* spiders *urp*, clowns terrify me on a more.... well... let's just call it "cautious yet intrigued" level. First of all - there is NOTHING funny about clowns and no one is about to convince me otherwise. They are quite simply the personification of the premeditation serial killers whet their appetites with. A fetish for thick, oil-based makeup and ill-fitting, blindingly flamboyant clothing.... not to mention an unhealthy obsession for all things of inappropriate & unreasonable proportion.... *further incoherent grumbling*. Riding about town wreaking havoc in miniature automobiles.... those maniacal permi-smiles....fueled by the tears of children. Simply put, they are the things my nightmares are made of. But seeing as how I embrace general feelings of fear (except where spiders are concerned), I can tolerate them. From a distance. Don't even get me started on mimes.

Hanging in the hallway right outside my bedroom growing up... the same hallway I'd have to brave should I need to enlist my parents' assistance in terminating a spider....was this awful (and that word doesn't even approach the horrific nature of it) oil painting apparently and unbelievably PURPOSELY done by some Great-Great-Lunatic-Aunt ( I use the term "great" rather loosely, here). The subject? F*cking clowns. Two of them. A father and daughter. The scene looked as though it were meant to portray the ominous backstage following a theatrical performance involving these....these....creatures. Not only were their eyes filled with the sadness one might exhibit after watching their mother callously hacked to bits with some crude instrument - there were also innumerable layers of paint coating the canvas. These were the sorts of layers applied in some sort of mortal panic - as though trying desperately to cover up the stains of the damned. Yeah. Not so much a fan of this one. Never mind the additional threat of the frame fashioned of asbestos.....

Couple this disgusting omnipresence in my childhood with the time my older brother waited 6 hours - yes - 6... full.... hours.... hiding out in my closet so he could take advantage of that moment in time when I sleepily stumble through the darkness to investigate the weird noise inside only to find him hunched over in there donning a goddamned clown mask. It just got better and better from there.

SMALL SPACES/HEIGHTS/FREE FALL




Oh My, Yes, My Pets - These can actually all be tied to a single instant in time. I'm just that damn good.

To this day, I'm torn between blaming G.I. Joe and my brother, Luke (***See closet memory above***), for these.... He's still my favorite brother, but sweet jesus, we got in loads of trouble together. Hmm... perhaps no coincidence, there.....For this particular adventure, we found ourselves home alone, nothing of note on either of the 2 channels we could get, perfectly sunny and pleasant outside, and a G.I. Joe submarine begging to be tested in "rough waters". This all could only mean one thing: It was time to load up the backpack and head up into the mountains behind our house where new construction was abound.

About an hour or so into the trek, some sort of mountain run-off pond beckoned. It was perfect. We could finally test this submarine as nature (or the good folks at Hasbro) intended. Well - it was anti-climatic, to say the least. The wind died down and the plasticine subject of all our hopes and dreams just sat there pitifully. Frankly, to send this piece of shit into battle would be a grave injustice. Time to head home... perhaps throw rocks at cars or something equally worthwhile. *sigh* So there I was, feet dangling innocently in the drainage pipe of doom. As I turned to stand up, my brother yelled something - to this day, not sure what, but down I went. 25 feet deep in the barely-2-foot-diameter pipe...visions of Alice In Wonderland dancing through my pea-brain until I finally landed on some delightfully unforgiving, sharp rocks. The opening to my left stretched beyond my imagination, but quickly narrowed to what appeared to be no more than a 6" outlet off in the distance. The only other way out was up. Damnit! Why didn't I select Lassie at the pound in lieu of that damn cat!!?!?!? Shockingly enough, the kite string Luke lowered down in a feeble attempt at rescue proved useless. Foiled again.

Clearly, I eventually got out... somewhat in tact. But the volatile mixture of a cramped space, 25' up and the free fall ride sandwiched in between was enough to scar me mentally the one place the physical damage didn't.

There remains a laundry listing of other assorted nuisances, pet-peeves and inconveniences - but take the sum total of the short stories above and you have the hot mess before your very eyes. In retrospect, seems it would have been far more prudent, and a helluva lot safer to just join the circus in the first place.

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Kitty

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Ah, But With Good Reason

 "It turns out that your weakness isn't the color yellow after all, but bullets, knives, and angry packs of badgers. "
There are a plethora of things that Ninja Kitty would prefer catnip to. Then there are those things that cause Kitty to wet herself - and not in a remotely positive way. These are those things, and the short stories behind them (in no particular order):

SPIDERS


While I'll be the first to procure a delightfully foreboding Halloween decoration (or sport jewelry) celebrating the super-fantastic-creeptacular-eight-legged-beasts, I have no interest in befriending a live one - or being within a 15 mile radius of the same for that matter. They strike fear in my heart - in the words of My Jen, I do rather believe they can smell my soul - and would love nothing more than to feast on such. Simple arachnophobia? I think not! To date, I have not encountered another creature my entire being is convinced possesses nothing BUT ill intent and maliciousocity towards Yours Truly.

There I was, a plucky young kiddo of no more than 4 or 5 years of age..... A Shirley Templesque Pip-squeak lacking a care in the world. As I finish dressing our poor unsuspecting calico, Spooky, in what can only be described as a cutting edge and fashion forward frock fit for a queen, it occurs to me that all her fussing and protesting signals the need for a nap in that toy playpen I received the Xmas before! Sheer genius! (***Quick side-note for all you PETA sympathizers out there... At the time, I fully believed the dear fuzzball would eventually reach the decision that all this childish harassing was out of love and concern for her general content  ;) ) Hmm.... Now where did that contraption end up? Ahh... Must be in the garage only accessible through the unfinished basement probably constructed on some ancient burial ground of the beasts hell couldn't contain...

SUCCESS!!! I spot the playpen across the lumber & rusty nail playground under bits of rags and old molting blankets. As I was young and naive (well... more so), I couldn't fathom how retrieving it could possibly go wrong. JESUS F*CKING CHRIST, WAS I MISTAKEN!!!!!! As I reach my chubby l'il arm across to pull one of the hideous blankets back - the scene that unfolds causes me to wet my britches, vomit and shriek - somehow all simultaneously. There were thousands of them. A volcano of greenish, translucent spiders erupting in a swarm of uncivilized chaos. The mere recollection of this horror is justification enough for the swig of whatever that flask in my desk contained.

CLOWNS

In a rather contrasting manner to *shudder* spiders *urp*, clowns terrify me on a more.... well... let's just call it "cautious yet intrigued" level. First of all - there is NOTHING funny about clowns and no one is about to convince me otherwise. They are quite simply the personification of the premeditation serial killers whet their appetites with. A fetish for thick, oil-based makeup and ill-fitting, blindingly flamboyant clothing.... not to mention an unhealthy obsession for all things of inappropriate & unreasonable proportion.... *further incoherent grumbling*. Riding about town wreaking havoc in miniature automobiles.... those maniacal permi-smiles....fueled by the tears of children. Simply put, they are the things my nightmares are made of. But seeing as how I embrace general feelings of fear (except where spiders are concerned), I can tolerate them. From a distance. Don't even get me started on mimes.

Hanging in the hallway right outside my bedroom growing up... the same hallway I'd have to brave should I need to enlist my parents' assistance in terminating a spider....was this awful (and that word doesn't even approach the horrific nature of it) oil painting apparently and unbelievably PURPOSELY done by some Great-Great-Lunatic-Aunt ( I use the term "great" rather loosely, here). The subject? F*cking clowns. Two of them. A father and daughter. The scene looked as though it were meant to portray the ominous backstage following a theatrical performance involving these....these....creatures. Not only were their eyes filled with the sadness one might exhibit after watching their mother callously hacked to bits with some crude instrument - there were also innumerable layers of paint coating the canvas. These were the sorts of layers applied in some sort of mortal panic - as though trying desperately to cover up the stains of the damned. Yeah. Not so much a fan of this one. Never mind the additional threat of the frame fashioned of asbestos.....

Couple this disgusting omnipresence in my childhood with the time my older brother waited 6 hours - yes - 6... full.... hours.... hiding out in my closet so he could take advantage of that moment in time when I sleepily stumble through the darkness to investigate the weird noise inside only to find him hunched over in there donning a goddamned clown mask. It just got better and better from there.

SMALL SPACES/HEIGHTS/FREE FALL




Oh My, Yes, My Pets - These can actually all be tied to a single instant in time. I'm just that damn good.

To this day, I'm torn between blaming G.I. Joe and my brother, Luke (***See closet memory above***), for these.... He's still my favorite brother, but sweet jesus, we got in loads of trouble together. Hmm... perhaps no coincidence, there.....For this particular adventure, we found ourselves home alone, nothing of note on either of the 2 channels we could get, perfectly sunny and pleasant outside, and a G.I. Joe submarine begging to be tested in "rough waters". This all could only mean one thing: It was time to load up the backpack and head up into the mountains behind our house where new construction was abound.

About an hour or so into the trek, some sort of mountain run-off pond beckoned. It was perfect. We could finally test this submarine as nature (or the good folks at Hasbro) intended. Well - it was anti-climatic, to say the least. The wind died down and the plasticine subject of all our hopes and dreams just sat there pitifully. Frankly, to send this piece of shit into battle would be a grave injustice. Time to head home... perhaps throw rocks at cars or something equally worthwhile. *sigh* So there I was, feet dangling innocently in the drainage pipe of doom. As I turned to stand up, my brother yelled something - to this day, not sure what, but down I went. 25 feet deep in the barely-2-foot-diameter pipe...visions of Alice In Wonderland dancing through my pea-brain until I finally landed on some delightfully unforgiving, sharp rocks. The opening to my left stretched beyond my imagination, but quickly narrowed to what appeared to be no more than a 6" outlet off in the distance. The only other way out was up. Damnit! Why didn't I select Lassie at the pound in lieu of that damn cat!!?!?!? Shockingly enough, the kite string Luke lowered down in a feeble attempt at rescue proved useless. Foiled again.

Clearly, I eventually got out... somewhat in tact. But the volatile mixture of a cramped space, 25' up and the free fall ride sandwiched in between was enough to scar me mentally the one place the physical damage didn't.

There remains a laundry listing of other assorted nuisances, pet-peeves and inconveniences - but take the sum total of the short stories above and you have the hot mess before your very eyes. In retrospect, seems it would have been far more prudent, and a helluva lot safer to just join the circus in the first place.

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