1998-2009

Widget 1998 - 2009
















Widget by ~nickgraves on deviantART

Of Mice and Me

Widget decided just the thing to get me on a regular morning schedule again was a nice fat mouse in the bed.

She caught the little bugger that has been taunting me around my computer desk just out of reach for the last month now. I’ve been telling it its days were numbered, but it’d just sit down in its lil crack, look at me with its big beady eyes, and chew my stolen sunflower seeds with evil glee. The lil shit stole a whole bag…not one or two like a normal mouse, no, these here are Grays Creek field mice…they are mutant kangaroos with a sort of ghetto breeding that rappers cream themselves for. I kid you not…they look like little fat kittens, all brown on top and snowy white on bottom, but they grin at you with mean gold plated grills, and if you try to chase them out of your dresser, the little bitches will jump your ass.

I have been attacked by mouses in my house. I have mouse related PTSD. My husband has been innocently sitting on the toilet, and his dresser mouse saw him vulnerable, and decided it was a great time to hop over and rape his foot. One hid in the dish washer until I opened it, and then sprung out at me to jump down my shirt and into my bra.

Creek mouses come with bad ass street cred. They are fearless.

This particular mouse would come out and nip at Widget's tail while she was sleeping on my computer, sending her into hours of 'hunt and kill the mouse' posturing (muchly an inconvenience considering she was crawling all over me), until eventually I would leave the room, and…she’d have to leave too because she didn’t want to be left alone with the thing.

This morning however, she wasn’t in bed with me like she normally is. I didn’t notice though, because for once I was sleeping well…until I heard a crash across the room (I have a bed in my study now…which I sleep in nightly, long story there) and looked up to see her standing on my desk in the glow of the monitor, like some lion with a dangly gazelle in her mouth…or in this case a plump twitchy mouse.

I was ecstatic. The little mutant was caught. And then I was instantly horrified…because she was coming to give him to me…and I couldn’t stop her, one great jump and she was in my lap and so was king mouse, big bulging eyes and all. Now…long time ago, I used to be all about “Aww…lets put it outside, Widget! He’ll be happy there!” And then I grew up, and realized once outside, the little shit would laugh, dust itself off, and come back in the way it got in the first time…and then chew up something important of mine to send me a message to never mess with it again. So after I smacked it down from where it was planning to run about my sheets and flee, I nabbed it by the tail and commanded a swift coup de grace for the poor malicious little taunter, and told her to kill it, or I was going to smash its head in with a rock. She took it away from me then, quickly too, because she hates it when I hold them by the tail like that, and went a little ways down the hall to hold it by the neck…and just hold it, and hold it, and hold it, and then she dropped it and looked at me.

It’s her way, she doesn’t eat them anymore. At some point past young adulthood she decided she’d rather just suffocate them and get the piece of ham I give her in exchange for the kill rather than actually eat the nasty gamey mouse that gets fur stuck in her teeth. So, I got up then, nipped it up by the tail again, and flung it out into the wild wooly world of my back yard…and then got her the ham she deserved. She was a very pleased kitty this morning…and so was I.

Except that I had to wash my sheets.

Neh....

I live like a rat. It wouldn’t matter if my house was worth a million bucks...my study would always always be clutter..
I work best in a nest. All my shit in piles all around me, order in disorder, post-its all over the walls, on the desk and the cat with things like “Dr. Sanderson Nov 21 3:30” and “You want to smoke his pole!”(that last one I found under the desk, appropriately enough) and these are what I use to remember everything from when I need to see my Neurologist to whole scenes between characters in a story that I didn’t have time to write, but that I know will be triggered by a strong catch phrase from the scene. Point is, clutter is my thing, you mess with my mess and you mess me up beyond repair. I can’t function without my mountains of books and notes and gadgets and porn.

Yes...porn. I collect porn.

Penthouse, Playboy, Gallery, Heavy Metal(doesn’t really count bet neh...), these are my chief art reference staples. However, occasionally I get something interesting. This doesn’t count the manga and stuff I get of an anime Yaoi sort of variety of which I am similarly addicted but only got turned onto AFTER I became a penniless bum again...many many many years ago. The real gem of my collection...is the bondage fetish porn.

Now I didn’t buy the stuff, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t, it just means I’ve never had that kind of cash to throw away, and while it’s all very pretty(except the stuff with yellow latex which for some reason makes me...very ill) it’s not where my personal tastes fall the strongest. It’s mostly heterosexual stuff big guy/little girl, compromising positions, ball gags and lots of whips and leather. Cute, but...not entirely my thing. So it got bottomed shelved.

Where Widget for a short while considered having her kittens, unbeknownst to me.

Today I am cleaning, knowing we’re possibly going to have an inspector come by soon checking in every nook and cranny, and I get under my desk to find....bits of women all tied up...looking horrified, missing limbs. Heads here, arms there. It was a massacre.

Apparently kitty thinks bondage porn makes the bestest bed eva! She shredded the hell out of it. Battered woman confetti.The floor under my drafting table looked like a scene out of Seven or some other psychological horror flick, and I could just imagine what sort of insane serial killer in the making the inspector would have thought me if he’d shined a light under there first.

So I gathered them all up... and burned the bitches.

I’m a little worried about that though too. I’ve got a history with that sort of thing back firing. For example when I was pregnant, I ate a lot of chicken.

I mean...buckets. All I ate was chicken...no vegetables, no beef...chicken chicken chicken. It was all I could keep down. So living on a farm my husband took out the trash daily, all those chicken bits, and put it on the burn pile. Fast forward two months after moving here, my father and brother-in-law show up with a few other members of my family and they are helping scrape the burn pile(you do this ever so often, bag up what doesn’t burn down and take it to a landfill) and they come across chicken bones.

Piles and piles of chicken bones.

Soooo the rumor becomes...Nick is sacrificing puppies and kittens to the debil!!!!

I shit you not.

You’d think my family would know better, but I come from the biggest herd of self-righteous self-absorbed gossip hungry wackos the south can produce. It doesn’t help that I’m not Christian. In this area if you aren’t Christian you are a baby sacrificing, gris gris carrying, heathen.

I have never been so embarrassed for eating chicken in my life. I didn’t touch the stuff again for near a year...



KFC is the debil....true story