Tag Archives: Esme

How Much Is That Human in the Window?

Guest column by Esme Bowles

 

Who says humans have the collective wit of inbred gorillas?

Well, I have, to be honest. But while I was on my human’s computer last week (I log on when he’s away to write crank letters to Cat Fancy magazine), I came across a story I had trouble believing: The primates in Congress passed a bipartisan bill.

And what drew the embittered parties in the together? The House passed a law making it a felony to eat cats and dogs. Seriously.

The bill, called the Dog and Cat Meal Trade Prohibition Act, would make it illegal to “knowingly slaughter, transport, possess, buy, sell or donate dogs or cats or their parts for human consumption.” Violators would be fined up to $5,000.

At first, I was elated. That creepy neighbor down the street eyes me like a roasted suckling pig every time I pass.

But the more I read, the more horrified I became. The article went on to note that eating dogs and cats is legal in 44 states.

What the fuck, people? We spend millennia guarding your homes, guiding your blind, pee-hydrating your petunias, allowing you to watch us crap in public, and this is your gratitude? Promising not to sell McYorkies?

Then I got to thinking: What other ludicrous laws have you hominid dummies left on the books? This is just a sample:

  • 22. Bingo games cannot last more than 5 hours (North Carolina) Image result for funny bingo
  • 21. Chickens are not allowed to cross the road (Quitman, Georgia)
  • 20. If you cut down a cactus, you could be sentenced to 25 years in prison (Arizona)
  • 19. Policemen are allowed to bite a dog if they think it will calm the dog down (Paulding, Ohio)
  • 18. It’s illegal to sell your eyeballs (Texas)
  • 17. It’s against the law to sing off-key (North Carolina)
  • 16. You may not sell toothpaste and a toothbrush to the same customer on a Sunday (Rhode Island)
  • 15. You are not allowed to eat fried chicken any other way than using your hands (Gainesville, Georgia) Image result for fried chicken with silverware
  • 14. Marriage between cousins is against the law only if they are younger than 65 (Utah)
  • 13. Red cars may not drive down Lake Street (Minneapolis, Minnesota)
  • 12. It’s forbidden for a female to appear unshaven in public (Carrizozo, New Mexico)
  • 11. Bear wrestling matches are prohibited (Alabama) Not sure if that’s bear-on-bear or man-in-bear. Image result for bear wrestling
  • 10. You may not take a picture of a rabbit from January to April without an official permit (Wyoming)
  • 9 .You cannot buy meat of any kind on Sunday (Washington)
  • 8. It’s illegal to attend a public event or use public transport within 4 hours of eating an onions or garlic (Indiana) Image result for garlic breath
  • 7. In San Antonio, flirting is against the law (Texas)
  • 6. It’s illegal for a man to give his fiancé a box of candy that weighs more than 50 lbs (Idaho)
  • 5. A motorist with criminal intentions must stop at the city limits and telephone the chief of police as he is entering the town (Washington)
  • 4. If you are found stealing soap, you must wash yourself until the bar of soap has been completely used up (Arizona)
  • 3. If you have a mustache, it’s illegal for you to kiss a woman (Eureka, Nevada) Image result for mustached man
  • 2. It’s against the law for a woman to drive a car in Main Street unless her husband is walking in front of the car waving a red flag (Waynesboro, Virginia)
  • 1. You can be arrested or fined for harassing Bigfoot (Washington)

I’m hopeful the Senate will approve the bill and the president will act immediately (after all, he appears to like canines: He got nearly all the way through Clifford and the Grouchy Neighbors. Image result for Clifford and the Grouchy Neighbors

Still, you never know with the Senate. I’m guessing the bill will stall when Mitch McConnell demands that turtles be added to the list. Image result for mitch mcconnell and turtle

 

Gray Hawk Down

 

“You’re anthropomorphisizng.”

How many times have we leveled that claim, either as accusation or admission? Of assigning human qualities to inhuman things: the dog that knows what you’re thinking; cats that speak to you; that hamster that must have a cocaine problem. Image result for funny hamster

Perhaps we can’t help it. Perhaps we shouldn’t.

The other morning, I was in the spa, trying to awaken. Suddenly, I felt a bird graze the back of my head as it flew through one window of the jacuzzi and out the other as it rested in the backyard.

I was stunned. The only living creatures to enter the spa are me, bugs and, once, a tiny frog taking a steam sauna on the side of the tub.

But never a bird. Finches love my house: They once built a nest on the back awning, and are constantly on the roof and back wall, scouting for bugs. The huge crows that live in the tree next door are predators to be sure, but they pay the finches no mind.Image result for finches

Now one was frozen still in the back yard.

I turned around to see the window through which it flew. What I saw startled me: a gray hawk, big as a hen, staring me straight in the eyes less than three feet away. I’ve read that birds are the closest modern-day ancestor to dinosaurs, which always threw me for a loop.

Until I saw that hawk. Suddenly, I felt like I was staring at a velociraptor. Image result for velociraptorI wanted to pick up my iPad and snap a photo. But I was nervous that the bird (uncertain of my size because I was up to my neck in water) would take it as a sign of aggression and peck my eyes out.

I froze like a finch.

Finally, the hawk took flight, landed on the back wall, and resumed the hunt.

The finch tried to become airborne, only to find the hawk swooping down to attempt another attack. The flinch descended again, took cover under my patio. The hawk, meanwhile, stood over him on the tin patio roof.  Now the finch was fucked.

So I decided to anthropomorphize.

When it comes to animals — any animals — we believe in pacifism at the Fortress of Scottitude. I’ll escort spiders outside. Wasps too. Bugs consider Rubio Avenue a sanctuary city. And unlike our president, I consider visitors guests, not intruders. I can proudly say I never separated a mother bird from her chick to send a message.

Also unlike our president,  we don’t tolerate predators of visitors. I stood in the tub, naked as a finch, and fetched one of the dozen tennis balls stacked in the spa for  Esme. I took aim, and chucked the ball at the bird. It clattered along the roof, sending the hawk squawking away. About a minute later, the finch took flight. I know I broke Nature’s first law of life — death — but fuck that. My kingdom, my rules.

As if on cue, Esme fetched the ball and brought it back. And I realized: Why do we have such disdain for anthropomorphism? If anything, shouldn’t we be assigning more human qualities to those we consider inhuman? From finches and bugs to Democrats and Republicans? Maybe assuming that creature has human sensibilities isn’t such a bad thing.

I know one finch that would agree.

 

 

 

 

The Forever Minute

“For god is but Dog with dyslexia.” — Ssad Mar

Esme and I are prone to rituals, particularly around dinner.

Every day about 5:30 p.m., I prepare my evening meds. Every day about 5:30 p.m., Esme watches, waiting for me to prepare her dinner.

Girl is serious about her kibble. When Teddy was the only pup in Dogtown, I could leave food heaped in a bowl. He would eat what he wanted, when he wanted, and somehow never gained a pound. Leather wallets must increase metabolism rates, because he ate a few of those, too.

But when Esme entered the scene, Teddy quickly learned that if he didn’t eat his entire dinner when it was served, his entire dinner would be eaten for him. She’s as smart as a whip, but Esme clearly believes haste makes taste: She resembles  a penguin who eats her emotions.

Until she finishes her meal and get outside, where she turns into a greyhound racer for another routine, when we say good night to the day.

It goes something like this: I chuck one of her tennis balls on the roof, waiting for it to roll down shingles, clatter over the aluminum patio awning and bounce to a near-perfect height for Esme leap and fetch. We’ll do that, literally, until Esme runs out of energy and retires indoors (with the ball; I guess she presumes me too stupid to know she wants to stop otherwise).

Last week, we were in the middle of the day’s farewell routine. Roll, clatter, bounce. Roll, clatter, bounce.

Perhaps it was the California-coated dusk. Perhaps it was the song playing (“Bittersweet Symphony”). Perhaps it was the sugar high. Whatever the reason, I was so overcome by this sentiment I said it aloud:

“I wish this moment would never end.”

How often, I thought, do I say that? Not enough, that’s for sure. How often do any of us say it enough?

I don’t mean during a trip to Disneyland. Or down the aisle. Or toward the acquisition of something treasured.

I mean in the middle of the dishes. I mean during the morning commute. I mean waiting for the microwave popcorn.

Why does it take something blatantly memorable to be remembered? And even then, it is almost always in retrospect. How often have we told ourselves, ‘Man, I wish I could have that time back. If I realized how special it was, I would have enjoyed it more.’

Great news: Now is special. And it’s just waiting for someone to enjoy the fuck out of it.

Think of that minute just before dinner, perhaps mankind’s favorite moment on the spectrum of human pleasure. It is already a bounty. You may not even be hungry. You may not care for the food you’re eating — yet again. You may have a ton of errands awaiting you after the last swallow.

Even more reason to recognize the beauty of humdrum. Instead of saying grace to some invisible superhero that chose to feed you and starve others, why not collectively wish that everyday moment would never end? Mundane, yes. Dull, you bet. Repetitive, no doubt. But a day will come, sure as sunrise, that we see the beauty of banality. That the absence of hell is, to some measure, heavenly.

Roll, clatter, bounce. Roll, clatter, bounce.