LaDeDah + Fire = BAD STUFF

As the afternoon sun faded on this glorious day I puttered around the dining room at my latest future former place of employment lighting candles on the table tops and making conversation with the guests. As I neared one particular table the woman at it caught my eye and touched the candle holder in a gesture fraught with "please sir may I have some light". I rushed forward to oblige. (have I mentioned that I am terrified of fire and use a foot long grill lighter for this?)

Suddenly she was waving at me and saying, "NO, No! The oxygen!"

It turns out that her elderly husband was attached to a traveling oxygen tank and in my fervor I almost blew him up. Woops.

Who's the Pet Here?

My cat falls into the "special" category. He is 3 pounds of satanic arms and legs with teeth. Today I went to target and bought kitten repellent (so he stops eating the couch) and fresh toys (a package of furry mice and one of fuzzy mice). When I came home I dropped the bag and ladedah'd off to organize the kitchen cabinets (no I'm not lying I really did). The next thing I know I look up and he is dragging the full shopping bag across the floor.  

"WHAT are you doing?" I schreeked at him.

On closer inspection I say that he had one of the furry mice in his mouth, but couldn't disengage it from the wrapper so was taking the whole kit n' caboodle. I showed him the new toys and he sniffed each mouse in turn before biting a camo fuzzy mouse to let me know he had made up his mind. 

He took off with the mouse and for the rest of the night has been growling and hissing at me when I get too close. He lost the thing under the fridge and yowled and screamed until I fished it out for him, then hissed at me because I was messing with his toy. 

It occurred to me then, as it does from time to time, that I am the pet and Benny Whiskers (aka Benny the Brat, Benny the Bat, Benny Big Balls, Kittenzilla, and Fucker) is the master.