The Fish Slayer

First let me begin by saying that from the beginning of the Toad's childhood, fish seem to have extremely limited lifespans when in my house.

He won a goldfish at the fair. It died within days. Not really a big shock, but we purchased a replacement fish. It died within days, spawning a new childhood rhyme:

One fish
New fish
Dead fish
No fish

If my mother is in charge of feeding the fish, there's a good chance we'll come home to a cloudy fishtank and dead fish. The Fish Slayer gene is apparently hereditary.

Kevin, the Howler, and I left on a Wednesday evening. The Toad was given specific instructions: feed and water the cats, feed the fish. The cats are easy--if the bowls are empty, fill them. Feeding the fish, however, seems to be akin to doing brain surgery--how much is a pinch? What do you mean by "Twice a day"? Too hard....must kill fish.

We get home on the following Sunday afternoon, and the fish tank is not only cloudy and populated with half-and-half fish. Half are dead, and the rest look like they are dying.

Kevin cleans the tank, all the while muttering about Theo the Fish Slayer. He fishes (HAH!) out the dead ones and we hope for the best. More fish die.

Kevin is now singing along with cartoon theme songs, changing the words to reflect the Toad's new title: Fish Slayer.

Squirrel Bait

There was an article in our local paper this week about a mail carrier in the Oil City, PA, area who was attacked by a squirrel.

It made me wonder why there are not more attacks on people by squirrels, at least in the tri-county area I live in.

My mother has the uncanny ability to attract crazy people. I call 'em "Squirrel Bait." These women are nuts.

Their sense of entitlement is surpassed only by their warped sense of reality. Their children, in jail and out, are, small wonder, nutcases themselves--at least from what I hear in the endless parade of stories featuring these people.

One lives on the same street I do. Her adult son, and his preschooler daughter, live with her, in a cramped two bedroom house. She's currently angry because the only *daycare* in the area that provides free busing does not have openings. She refuses to believe that this *daycare* is Head Start, because Wes, her son, told her it's not--even though when Head Start called and left messages for him regarding this, they identified themselves as Head Start.

Wes, apparently, only lies to the police, girlfriends (current and exes), work, and credit card companies. He does not lie to her--even though, in her stories about Life With Wes, there are contradictions galore.

The stories are mind-numbingly the same, and numerous.

Squirrel Bait 1, has lifted off and left town for a while. She is apparently spending time at the home colony in Florida.

There is no rest for the wicked....Enter Squirrel Bait 2.

It's like being forced to watch reruns of really really bad CBS sitcoms--or what I'm getting now, a whole brand new season of SSDT (same stupid, different twit). Of course, it all seems so familiar somehow.

Much like a wild animal caught in a trap, I'm considering chewing my own foot off.