"That's it, everyone get your monkey butts outside!" Dad bellows.
It's a dad's growl, a voice that when deepen with frustration, everyone's heads turn. It's a bellow that says hey, your mom may not believe in spankings but that doesn't mean dad is a true believer. When heard all children know one thing for sure: Shit, we're busted and there's no getting out of it.
No one does it like dad does it. Sure, don't get me wrong. No one can throw a dish busting hissy like mom. There's a place for it no doubt. But there's a significant difference between the two that all kids know.
Here are the facts. Mom is going to lose it. She's going to go absolutely apeshit. And when that happens she is going to open the cabinet and start throwing her own dishes into the sink, smashing each and everyone. As a kid you are looking at this and are amazed at the ferocity of the attack. And you know you are in trouble. However, you know that this shit isn't yours so no big deal. Maybe you'll get a grounding and you can deal with that because your Wii is still ok.
And then you know that later will come the mom guilt and remorse. It's a guarantee. She'll feel bad that she over reacted. In fact, chances are that when you go buy some new dishes you'll get something cool yourself. And a little advice--you'll probably get some candy too if you cry a little.
But dad?
Dad has no remorse. And he doesn't break his own shit. He breaks your shit and he doesn't feel that bad about it. Every kid knows this and that is why when dad uses his dad voice, you fucking pay attention.
Because it says that if you two kids don't get out in the front yard in two seconds I'm going to put Barbie's head in a blender and make you push the button. It says that your favorite ball is about to be chucked on the roof and the ladder is going to be locked up. It says that despite what your mother says, she's got to leave sometime and when she does we are going to have a meeting between ass and hand.
Kids know this.
So when I say "get outside now" both kids stop the fighting, stop the throwing things and stop trying to jerk the phone out of mom's hand. Because now is punishment time and what is all Dad's favorite punishment of all time, everywhere?
Clean the garage you two yahoos.
Because if you have all this pent up energy that mathematically prevents you from behaving then god damnit we are going to be productive about it. My dad was king of this and I'm happy to say that I employ the same strategy.
Because a Dad knows that nothing builds character in children like some good old sweat that will put some hair on your chest. And the garage and front yard is the best place to make it happen.
Here's what dad is thinking. In his head he has a vision of you when you are about 21. You've dropped out of college and are hitting the drugs hard. But the drugs are what get you through your 8pm to 3am shift at Bobs topless club so you need the drugs. And the drugs always make you more flirty so Slimy Mcgreasball tips you better so now maybe you can get some boose with your drugs. And finally, why not ask old Slimy to come home with you and spend the night at your house. And by your house I mean your parents house because that's where you still live thus ruining any and all chance for your Dad's peace and quite which is all he really wants.
That's what dad sees and that's what comes through in his voice. He'll be damned if he's raising a couple of coked out whores and he knows the best course of action to take. Use the dad voice and let's do some manual labor. And he supervises which makes it 10 times worse.
Pick up that piece of trash. There's a screw over there. Let's move it gang, you aren't get paid by the hour. I'll be out here all night if I have to, I love the garage. The garage is my happy place. Elmo does not visit this garage. The wonder pets hate this garage. This is my fortress of solitude and there is no hope for you here. Pablo gets gang banged in this garage.
And then he lectures you while you do it. Fantastic.
He asks you if you want to be homeless by the time you are 13 and he's just curious because that's the way things are going for you right now. Hey, don't blame him, these are your choices. He asks you if you want to be walking for the rest of your life because there is no way your are getting a car, ever. He asks you why do you have to behave like a border ruffian and perhaps its the influence of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse so we should never ever watch that again.
So when Dad bellows you listen to it because if you don't, he's got friends with garages. Hell, he's got a whole front yard that needs to be mowed and weeded. And he knows just the two kids that just volunteered for the job because no one finds willing volunteers like Dad.
And if you do a good job you might get some ice cream.
5/31/09
5/28/09
The Friday Five
The 5 Greatest Dinner's Cooked By Dad.
5. Grill cheese sandwiches and potato chips. The good old standard and one that I use commonly when I don't feel like cooking for the squids and the person that gave birth to them.
4. Cupcakes and apple sauce. Amazingly this little combination goes together better than you would think. Don't knock it until you try it.
3. Taco's and french fries. Roll with me on this. Lettuce is a vegetable. Tomato is a vegetable. And a potato, well I know it's a tuber but I'm not a hundred percent sure if that is a vegetable or fruit. But I know that it's roughage and the kids need roughage, at least that is what my dad told me when he made me eat a raw carrot every day for 5 years.
2. Pizza. That's right, the old standard. What Dad doesn't employ this one when he has the kids by himself. I would bet that this little dinner has saved more marriages than Viagra.
1. Cereal and Chicken Nuggets. This was tonight's little selection, fit for any dinner party you may be thinking about having. Cereal, who doesn't love cereal. Everyone does, boom, there you go. The kids love Honey Combs, yea yea yea, it's not small, no no no. And nuggets, every kids other favorite. Add them to together and you got one kick ass dinner while mom is out "working late". And by working late I mean knocking off at 6 and then calling me from a bar to let me know she is going to be a little later than she thought and probably won't be making it home for dinner. Moms, this is what happens when dad spends to much time alone with the kids. On another note, you wouldn't think that ketchup would go with Honey Combs, but ya know what, not bad.
5. Grill cheese sandwiches and potato chips. The good old standard and one that I use commonly when I don't feel like cooking for the squids and the person that gave birth to them.
4. Cupcakes and apple sauce. Amazingly this little combination goes together better than you would think. Don't knock it until you try it.
3. Taco's and french fries. Roll with me on this. Lettuce is a vegetable. Tomato is a vegetable. And a potato, well I know it's a tuber but I'm not a hundred percent sure if that is a vegetable or fruit. But I know that it's roughage and the kids need roughage, at least that is what my dad told me when he made me eat a raw carrot every day for 5 years.
2. Pizza. That's right, the old standard. What Dad doesn't employ this one when he has the kids by himself. I would bet that this little dinner has saved more marriages than Viagra.
1. Cereal and Chicken Nuggets. This was tonight's little selection, fit for any dinner party you may be thinking about having. Cereal, who doesn't love cereal. Everyone does, boom, there you go. The kids love Honey Combs, yea yea yea, it's not small, no no no. And nuggets, every kids other favorite. Add them to together and you got one kick ass dinner while mom is out "working late". And by working late I mean knocking off at 6 and then calling me from a bar to let me know she is going to be a little later than she thought and probably won't be making it home for dinner. Moms, this is what happens when dad spends to much time alone with the kids. On another note, you wouldn't think that ketchup would go with Honey Combs, but ya know what, not bad.
5/27/09
Bar Song Night Night
Dad: You ready Little Hoss?
Little Hoss: Ready Daddy!
Ahem
I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison. And I went to pick her up in the.....
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
But before I could get to the station in my pickup...........
Little Hoss: TRUCK!
I got run over by a dang ol'....................
Little Hoss: TRAIN!
So I'll hang around just as long as you will let me........
Little Hoss: LET ME, LET ME, OH PLEASE BABY LET ME!
And I never minded standing in the
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
Oh, you don't have to call me Darling...................
Little Hoss: DAAAAAARRRRRRLIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!
You never even call me,
Little Hoss and Dad: WHY DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME!
Why don't you ever call me by my.................
Little Hoss: NAME!
Night night sweet pea.
Little Hoss: Night night daddy. I want to go to Texas Daddy.
Me too honey.
And that my friends, is how we do bedtime in the Hossman household.
Little Hoss: Ready Daddy!
Ahem
I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison. And I went to pick her up in the.....
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
But before I could get to the station in my pickup...........
Little Hoss: TRUCK!
I got run over by a dang ol'....................
Little Hoss: TRAIN!
So I'll hang around just as long as you will let me........
Little Hoss: LET ME, LET ME, OH PLEASE BABY LET ME!
And I never minded standing in the
Little Hoss: RAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNN!
Oh, you don't have to call me Darling...................
Little Hoss: DAAAAAARRRRRRLIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!
You never even call me,
Little Hoss and Dad: WHY DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME!
Why don't you ever call me by my.................
Little Hoss: NAME!
Night night sweet pea.
Little Hoss: Night night daddy. I want to go to Texas Daddy.
Me too honey.
And that my friends, is how we do bedtime in the Hossman household.
5/21/09
The Friday Five
5 things that are complete and total bullshit.
5. The sign on the back of dump trucks that say "stay back 200 feet. NOT responsible for broken windshields". Bullshit. Of course you are responsible for it. First off, I can't read your sign from 200 feet away. Second, it's the very definition of negligence. You guys overloaded, didn't cover properly and now my windshield is cracked. I tell you what. I'm going to come to your house and give you a sign that says "Not responsible for genetic mutants." Then I'm going to fuck your cat and let you deal with whatever happens later. Fair trade. Let me know how that works out.
4. My Barry Bonds rookie baseball card is worth shit. My Mark Mcguire rookie baseball card is worth shit. In fact, my entire collection of baseball cards are now worth shit. 20 years ago you sold me on the idea of collecting baseball cards and how they could be worth something. So like every American boy I had dreams of scoring the next Honus Wagner card, selling it in my 50's and putting my kids through college. Now I can't even afford refridgerator college. I have kept these things in pristine condition for 20 god damn years. Half of them have never been touched and the rest are in plastic. And what do I got? Stale gum. Thanks Barry Bonds. Thanks for your gigantic head and my stale gum. Real pal you are. Dick.
3. Kodak for deleting all my pictures. I know I've railed on this before. But guess what dickhole, I downloaded them all to my computer hard drive. And I bought a new camera. My only condition for a new camera? Not a Kodak. I hope penicillian does not work on your gonereha.
2. The entire baby industry. All bullshit. A regular crap dresser cost 100 bucks. Add baby in front of it so it becomes a special "Baby Dresser" and it's 400. It's the same damn dresser dude. We all know it. Get off it. It's all partical board bullshit. Here take my money anyway because the wife had to have the color maroon.
1. The scrambled porn channel when I was a kid. Thanks man, thanks for torturing a sad and lonely 16 year old by showing me a fuzzy boob and no follow up. If they could black out my local football team I'm pretty sure you could have just blacked out the porn channel as well and saved me years of disappointment. But nope, instead you just added to a generations continued frustration. They were horny as hell but were dumb as hell and couldn't get laid, and you just made it worse. Was that a boob or some dudes butt crack. Am I gay now? I don't like myself. Not cool man, not cool. Regular women turned us down just fine on their own and that frustration would have been enough. We know what you were hoping. You were hoping we'd call the cable channel and pretend to be the "Adult with decision making ability in our choice of cable providers" and order the 17.99 movie. Well we did. Then we had to explain to our Mom's why Jenny's Interracial Gang Bang 4 was on the cable bill. Hope you had fun with your devil money.
5. The sign on the back of dump trucks that say "stay back 200 feet. NOT responsible for broken windshields". Bullshit. Of course you are responsible for it. First off, I can't read your sign from 200 feet away. Second, it's the very definition of negligence. You guys overloaded, didn't cover properly and now my windshield is cracked. I tell you what. I'm going to come to your house and give you a sign that says "Not responsible for genetic mutants." Then I'm going to fuck your cat and let you deal with whatever happens later. Fair trade. Let me know how that works out.
4. My Barry Bonds rookie baseball card is worth shit. My Mark Mcguire rookie baseball card is worth shit. In fact, my entire collection of baseball cards are now worth shit. 20 years ago you sold me on the idea of collecting baseball cards and how they could be worth something. So like every American boy I had dreams of scoring the next Honus Wagner card, selling it in my 50's and putting my kids through college. Now I can't even afford refridgerator college. I have kept these things in pristine condition for 20 god damn years. Half of them have never been touched and the rest are in plastic. And what do I got? Stale gum. Thanks Barry Bonds. Thanks for your gigantic head and my stale gum. Real pal you are. Dick.
3. Kodak for deleting all my pictures. I know I've railed on this before. But guess what dickhole, I downloaded them all to my computer hard drive. And I bought a new camera. My only condition for a new camera? Not a Kodak. I hope penicillian does not work on your gonereha.
2. The entire baby industry. All bullshit. A regular crap dresser cost 100 bucks. Add baby in front of it so it becomes a special "Baby Dresser" and it's 400. It's the same damn dresser dude. We all know it. Get off it. It's all partical board bullshit. Here take my money anyway because the wife had to have the color maroon.
1. The scrambled porn channel when I was a kid. Thanks man, thanks for torturing a sad and lonely 16 year old by showing me a fuzzy boob and no follow up. If they could black out my local football team I'm pretty sure you could have just blacked out the porn channel as well and saved me years of disappointment. But nope, instead you just added to a generations continued frustration. They were horny as hell but were dumb as hell and couldn't get laid, and you just made it worse. Was that a boob or some dudes butt crack. Am I gay now? I don't like myself. Not cool man, not cool. Regular women turned us down just fine on their own and that frustration would have been enough. We know what you were hoping. You were hoping we'd call the cable channel and pretend to be the "Adult with decision making ability in our choice of cable providers" and order the 17.99 movie. Well we did. Then we had to explain to our Mom's why Jenny's Interracial Gang Bang 4 was on the cable bill. Hope you had fun with your devil money.
5/19/09
How We Roll
Normal dads may take their kids to a nice Mcdonalds lunch. Let them play on the jungle gym a little, maybe make some eye contact with hot mom in the corner looking to trade up. They'll sit there in silence and eat some chicken nuggets, just a little ketchup please, and then perhaps an ice cream cone. Then they'll go home and drop the kid off and brag about how they took the kid all by themselves to lunch. And they'll get credit to.
But us. No, that's not how we roll. That's rookie dad stuff.
Instead we go to a downtown restaurant during the rush hour lunch. 4 dads and 6 kids, 3 of them are toddlers and 3 of them are still in diapers. This is dading at an advanced level.
We rolled into the restaurant, put our names down--yes you heard that right honey, we need three high chairs--and then continued to the bar. The 3 toddlers saddled up to the bar.
"Three shots of milk sweet cheeks, this one's on dad."
We finally get out table and left the bar remarkably intact, just a few thousand sets of silverware that our kids had slobbered on and thrown on the floor. A minor setback, it's true, but nothing that we couldn't handle. This isn't a challenge, this is a walk in the park.
We strolled through the business people talking about business things. Take over a corporation here, bankrupt a rival there--all trivial when compared to taking 6 kids, 3 strollers and enough diaper bags to change every baby in America, to a busy downtown restaurant at noon.
The place got quiet as they stopped their discussions of corporate evil and glanced our way. Oh, I know what they were thinking. They were thinking "What the fuck is this."
This is awesomeness personified, observe and bask in our glory.
We got to our table. We had chosen to implement a 3/2 zone defense, yes even our sports knowledge exceeds yours because what else do we have to do all day other than to analyze sports?
Within seconds the table was set and the kids were placed. No one was out of arms reach. The kids in the highchairs were already seated and munching on chips. Smooth. If you blinked you probably missed how we set this up. It's ok, we hold workshops.
And then we ordered. Just like that. No arguments, no questions, no surprises. My own kid threw a challenge to everyone else in the restaurant. He started downing handfuls of salsa. Carnage everywhere, salsa dripping from his chin and mixing with the tears from his eyes. But he was not crying, they were tears of victory. The gauntlet had been thrown, could the corporate pukes keep up?
They could not.
We were a sight to see, something that perhaps is not normal. A group of dads who are actually good at taking their kids out. A group of dads who aren't hurrying to get home, a group of dads and are ready to show you how it's done.
And then it happened. A lady came up to our table with her camera.
"Oh, I've got to get a picture of this." she said.
Yes baby, get a picture of the gun show passing around a package of wet wipes.
This, my friends, is how stay at home dads roll. Try and keep up.
But us. No, that's not how we roll. That's rookie dad stuff.
Instead we go to a downtown restaurant during the rush hour lunch. 4 dads and 6 kids, 3 of them are toddlers and 3 of them are still in diapers. This is dading at an advanced level.
We rolled into the restaurant, put our names down--yes you heard that right honey, we need three high chairs--and then continued to the bar. The 3 toddlers saddled up to the bar.
"Three shots of milk sweet cheeks, this one's on dad."
We finally get out table and left the bar remarkably intact, just a few thousand sets of silverware that our kids had slobbered on and thrown on the floor. A minor setback, it's true, but nothing that we couldn't handle. This isn't a challenge, this is a walk in the park.
We strolled through the business people talking about business things. Take over a corporation here, bankrupt a rival there--all trivial when compared to taking 6 kids, 3 strollers and enough diaper bags to change every baby in America, to a busy downtown restaurant at noon.
The place got quiet as they stopped their discussions of corporate evil and glanced our way. Oh, I know what they were thinking. They were thinking "What the fuck is this."
This is awesomeness personified, observe and bask in our glory.
We got to our table. We had chosen to implement a 3/2 zone defense, yes even our sports knowledge exceeds yours because what else do we have to do all day other than to analyze sports?
Within seconds the table was set and the kids were placed. No one was out of arms reach. The kids in the highchairs were already seated and munching on chips. Smooth. If you blinked you probably missed how we set this up. It's ok, we hold workshops.
And then we ordered. Just like that. No arguments, no questions, no surprises. My own kid threw a challenge to everyone else in the restaurant. He started downing handfuls of salsa. Carnage everywhere, salsa dripping from his chin and mixing with the tears from his eyes. But he was not crying, they were tears of victory. The gauntlet had been thrown, could the corporate pukes keep up?
They could not.
We were a sight to see, something that perhaps is not normal. A group of dads who are actually good at taking their kids out. A group of dads who aren't hurrying to get home, a group of dads and are ready to show you how it's done.
And then it happened. A lady came up to our table with her camera.
"Oh, I've got to get a picture of this." she said.
Yes baby, get a picture of the gun show passing around a package of wet wipes.
This, my friends, is how stay at home dads roll. Try and keep up.
5/17/09
Yup, That's My Fault
I want to officially apologize to my family for the dinner that I just cooked. Judging by the looks you have given me, it was indeed as horrible as your gagging sounds seemed to indicate.
First off, I know that it didn't look appealing. I know that the stuff on the bottom of a garbage mans boot looks more tasty than this dish that I whipped up. I know that the aroma coming off it is a close relative to what's in the diaper champ. And I'm sorry that I cooked it.
I know that I'm not experienced enough to experiment with flavors. Honestly, I don't even know what that means. I'm a culinary idiot, there I'll admit it. A child with a milk and a box of cereal can create a better meal than I can and your constant glares confirm that.
All I knew was that it was meat and meat is good. Meat is God's gift to us and so I cooked it and perhaps I added things that I shouldn't have. Maybe the marinade that I made was more of a death swamp, I don't know but I am truly sorry so you can stop putting your hands over your mouths to stop from puking.
There is no need to take another bite to spare my feelings. They'll be restored when that feeling of relief comes over your face when you realize that I am sincere and not wanting you to ingest anymore of the food that even a zombie would turn his nose at. I realize that a vulture would even judge me on this one so there is no need to shovel one more piece.
Now I don't mean that you can stick your tongue out and let the chewed remains fall on the floor, that's taking it a little to far, don't you think Bubba Hoss? I know your 1 year old palate is not that refined so stop acting like I just made you eat something straight from Satan himself.
And don't cry Little Hoss. It's not actually that bad is it? Ok, maybe it's that bad but it's considered bad manners to actually cry over something your father spent an hour making you. Just say no thank you and move on from there.
Look at your mother, look how she handles it. You could learn a lot from her. She has only turned a soft shade of green and hasn't said one word other than "This is not your best effort dear." See, polite yet firm to let me know that she expects much, much better out of me. And I agree because this is truly aweful.
So I am very, very sorry for this witches brew that I cooked up.
But the rice is still pretty good, isn't it?
First off, I know that it didn't look appealing. I know that the stuff on the bottom of a garbage mans boot looks more tasty than this dish that I whipped up. I know that the aroma coming off it is a close relative to what's in the diaper champ. And I'm sorry that I cooked it.
I know that I'm not experienced enough to experiment with flavors. Honestly, I don't even know what that means. I'm a culinary idiot, there I'll admit it. A child with a milk and a box of cereal can create a better meal than I can and your constant glares confirm that.
All I knew was that it was meat and meat is good. Meat is God's gift to us and so I cooked it and perhaps I added things that I shouldn't have. Maybe the marinade that I made was more of a death swamp, I don't know but I am truly sorry so you can stop putting your hands over your mouths to stop from puking.
There is no need to take another bite to spare my feelings. They'll be restored when that feeling of relief comes over your face when you realize that I am sincere and not wanting you to ingest anymore of the food that even a zombie would turn his nose at. I realize that a vulture would even judge me on this one so there is no need to shovel one more piece.
Now I don't mean that you can stick your tongue out and let the chewed remains fall on the floor, that's taking it a little to far, don't you think Bubba Hoss? I know your 1 year old palate is not that refined so stop acting like I just made you eat something straight from Satan himself.
And don't cry Little Hoss. It's not actually that bad is it? Ok, maybe it's that bad but it's considered bad manners to actually cry over something your father spent an hour making you. Just say no thank you and move on from there.
Look at your mother, look how she handles it. You could learn a lot from her. She has only turned a soft shade of green and hasn't said one word other than "This is not your best effort dear." See, polite yet firm to let me know that she expects much, much better out of me. And I agree because this is truly aweful.
So I am very, very sorry for this witches brew that I cooked up.
But the rice is still pretty good, isn't it?
Cat Watch
Day 1
Stop me if you have heard this one:
So a cat gets stuck in a tree.
The neighbors came over which is a little bit of surprise as they never come over. They are very nice people but not much into the neighbor kind of thing which is cool because I'm not that much into it either. It's our mutual dread of small talk that have bonded us.
"You guys have a cat right? It's stuck in our tree."
Shit.
Shit, shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My whole goal in the neighborhood is to do nothing whatsoever to draw attention to myself. I just want to blend in, that's all. Its the sole reason why I mow my yard. If it wasn't for the stares of the neighbors I would never mow. I hate yard work like Britney hates a good parent.
I head outside and there is my cat, way up in their tree. It's an oak but only because I call every tall tree I see an oak. I have no idea what it is but it's tall, therefore it's an oak. And crowded around that tree is about 8 people, all neighbors, pointing at my cat who is currently about 50 feet up. Again, I'm guessing at the height as I have no real idea the spacial relationship of things. I'm guessing it's about 5 basketball goals up, thus the 50 feet.
"Is he stuck" they ask.
And I panic. I do the only thing that comes to my head. I pull a Chief Wigem. Nothing to see here folks, move along, nothing to see.
"Oh, no he's not stuck. He does this all the time. He'll come down in about an hour." I don't believe a word of it because A). he has never done this and B) I have no idea what I'm talking about. But I sound good and that's all they need.
The crowd breaks up and I run back to the house cussing the cat the whole way. Stupid damn cat that gets stuck in the stupid dumb tree. I get back inside before I notice my zipper is down and my boxers and showing, bad.
Day 2.
The neighbors are back. Their daughter is scared because the cat is still in the tree and she is worried about it. I want to be a good neighbor but I'm failing miserably.
The only time we talk to our neighbors is when my animals act dumbshit and do something bad to the neighbors. We were introduced because I let my two dumb as rocks dogs out at the same time the neighbors let out their little rat dog. My dogs jumped on that little poofy thing like it was a free hooker on Friday night. That's how I met my neighbors, a doggy gang bang.
And now my cat is stuck in their tree and their daughter is freaking out.
I go over and do the only thing I really can do. I look up at the cat and order him to come down. That's all I got. I am ordering a cat to do something. I see the stupidity in this but I can't help it. He promptly ignores me. So I talk louder. GET DOWN HERE NOW!
Nothing. No surprise here but at least I look like I'm doing something.
I am a man that can't even control my own house.
Day 3.
Does the fire department really come out to get a cat out of a tree. Everyone has heard of this but I have never seen it in action. Would they really? This seems like a waste of city resources to me but I'm determined to get the cat out of the tree today. The look from the neighbors was enough to convince me that today needs to be the day that I call someone.
For the record, the fire department does not get cats out of trees.
But animal control does but only in certain circumstances. First, the cat needs to be injured. Second, the cat has to be of height that they can get there ladder to. I pointed out that if it was just a ladder issue then I could do this myself. I own a ladder, I'm a real man, I promise.
But no, they won't do it either. However, they say they get calls like this all the time and deal with it a lot. They say to just put food at the bottom of the tree and the cat will come down on it's own. They PROMISE that this will happen and not to worry about it. I don't tell them that I'm not worried about the dumb cat, I'm worried about pissing off my neighbors hating me enough to plant poison ivy around their driveway.
The kids and I head out and start our vigil of sitting in the neighbors yard with cat food trying to get the cat down. He's making a lot of racket and I lose it. I tell the kids to put on the earmuffs.
"Listen you dumb cat, get your ass down here right now! I swear to god I will climb that tree and pop you if you are not here on the ground in two seconds."
That's right, I said "Don't make me come up there".
Day 4.
Cat still in tree. I ask my other stay at home dads what the hell to do. I get the same response--the dumb cat will come down on its own. That's it, I'm out of advice.
I start coming up with plans. The kind of plans like the CIA came up with in the 60's to get rid of Castro. Exploding cigar type plans. What if I fly a kite into the tree then the cat can use the string to shimmy down it ninja style. Then I realize that he would cut the string with his claws.
What if I go to the lumberjack store and get some of those spikey boots and then climb up and get him. But where is the lumberjack store? Do they even exist in the Midwest?
I thought about shooting a BB gun at him until he jumped but even I think that is to mean. Truth be told I'm still a softy. Two of my animals are rescues and this cat is the prize of them all. We found him as a kitten when someone spray painted him so we took him in. All in all, he's the best pet I own, a great addition to the family. Poops outside, comes home to eat and sleep, and kills all the varmets. This cat is better than my car.
And knowing my cat like I do, maybe I should play to his weaknesses? I consider going to get a little rat from the pet store and putting it at the base of the tree. The mere presence of an uppity rat might actually do the trick. But then my daughter would want to keep the rat as she loves all things furry.
Crap, crap, crap, crap.
Day 5.
This is it. We have to do something today. I'm actually worried about the cat. He's been up there 5 days with no food and no water. We check on him about every hour and refill both food and water but I think I'm just feeding dogs that the people walk. At first I thought he was doing this just to screw around. A cat prank, if you will. I'll freak out my owners and that will show them.
A storms coming and I'm pretty sure it's going to be a bad one. My cat only weighs about 5 pounds and I'm thinking he would make a pretty good sail for one stiff wind. It's starting to rain.
The neighbors knock again.
"He's coming down!" they say.
About time, I was out of ideas other than cutting the tree down and hoping that they didn't notice that their oak was gone.
We go outside and the cat is very nonchalantly walking down the trunk, like he could have done this anytime he wanted. It's starting to rain pretty hard but everyone's happy. My daughter claims that she "rescued" Clarence and deserves her Diego Rescue Badge now. I hate that show.
We try to pick him up but he bolts for our house. No problem. He's got to be hungry and tired and a little bit wet by now. We get him into the house and I pick him up checking for any obvious signs of injury that my insults might have caused. Nothing, he appears totally fine.
He goes to the food bowl and begins to eat, I'm thinking he's got to be starving by now. He eats for 2 minutes, very leisurely, and then goes upstairs for a nap. I'm wondering at this time did he really come down every night and do some hunting and then jump back into the tree just to mess with us.
Round 1 goes to you sir. Very well done.
Stop me if you have heard this one:
So a cat gets stuck in a tree.
The neighbors came over which is a little bit of surprise as they never come over. They are very nice people but not much into the neighbor kind of thing which is cool because I'm not that much into it either. It's our mutual dread of small talk that have bonded us.
"You guys have a cat right? It's stuck in our tree."
Shit.
Shit, shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
My whole goal in the neighborhood is to do nothing whatsoever to draw attention to myself. I just want to blend in, that's all. Its the sole reason why I mow my yard. If it wasn't for the stares of the neighbors I would never mow. I hate yard work like Britney hates a good parent.
I head outside and there is my cat, way up in their tree. It's an oak but only because I call every tall tree I see an oak. I have no idea what it is but it's tall, therefore it's an oak. And crowded around that tree is about 8 people, all neighbors, pointing at my cat who is currently about 50 feet up. Again, I'm guessing at the height as I have no real idea the spacial relationship of things. I'm guessing it's about 5 basketball goals up, thus the 50 feet.
"Is he stuck" they ask.
And I panic. I do the only thing that comes to my head. I pull a Chief Wigem. Nothing to see here folks, move along, nothing to see.
"Oh, no he's not stuck. He does this all the time. He'll come down in about an hour." I don't believe a word of it because A). he has never done this and B) I have no idea what I'm talking about. But I sound good and that's all they need.
The crowd breaks up and I run back to the house cussing the cat the whole way. Stupid damn cat that gets stuck in the stupid dumb tree. I get back inside before I notice my zipper is down and my boxers and showing, bad.
Day 2.
The neighbors are back. Their daughter is scared because the cat is still in the tree and she is worried about it. I want to be a good neighbor but I'm failing miserably.
The only time we talk to our neighbors is when my animals act dumbshit and do something bad to the neighbors. We were introduced because I let my two dumb as rocks dogs out at the same time the neighbors let out their little rat dog. My dogs jumped on that little poofy thing like it was a free hooker on Friday night. That's how I met my neighbors, a doggy gang bang.
And now my cat is stuck in their tree and their daughter is freaking out.
I go over and do the only thing I really can do. I look up at the cat and order him to come down. That's all I got. I am ordering a cat to do something. I see the stupidity in this but I can't help it. He promptly ignores me. So I talk louder. GET DOWN HERE NOW!
Nothing. No surprise here but at least I look like I'm doing something.
I am a man that can't even control my own house.
Day 3.
Does the fire department really come out to get a cat out of a tree. Everyone has heard of this but I have never seen it in action. Would they really? This seems like a waste of city resources to me but I'm determined to get the cat out of the tree today. The look from the neighbors was enough to convince me that today needs to be the day that I call someone.
For the record, the fire department does not get cats out of trees.
But animal control does but only in certain circumstances. First, the cat needs to be injured. Second, the cat has to be of height that they can get there ladder to. I pointed out that if it was just a ladder issue then I could do this myself. I own a ladder, I'm a real man, I promise.
But no, they won't do it either. However, they say they get calls like this all the time and deal with it a lot. They say to just put food at the bottom of the tree and the cat will come down on it's own. They PROMISE that this will happen and not to worry about it. I don't tell them that I'm not worried about the dumb cat, I'm worried about pissing off my neighbors hating me enough to plant poison ivy around their driveway.
The kids and I head out and start our vigil of sitting in the neighbors yard with cat food trying to get the cat down. He's making a lot of racket and I lose it. I tell the kids to put on the earmuffs.
"Listen you dumb cat, get your ass down here right now! I swear to god I will climb that tree and pop you if you are not here on the ground in two seconds."
That's right, I said "Don't make me come up there".
Day 4.
Cat still in tree. I ask my other stay at home dads what the hell to do. I get the same response--the dumb cat will come down on its own. That's it, I'm out of advice.
I start coming up with plans. The kind of plans like the CIA came up with in the 60's to get rid of Castro. Exploding cigar type plans. What if I fly a kite into the tree then the cat can use the string to shimmy down it ninja style. Then I realize that he would cut the string with his claws.
What if I go to the lumberjack store and get some of those spikey boots and then climb up and get him. But where is the lumberjack store? Do they even exist in the Midwest?
I thought about shooting a BB gun at him until he jumped but even I think that is to mean. Truth be told I'm still a softy. Two of my animals are rescues and this cat is the prize of them all. We found him as a kitten when someone spray painted him so we took him in. All in all, he's the best pet I own, a great addition to the family. Poops outside, comes home to eat and sleep, and kills all the varmets. This cat is better than my car.
And knowing my cat like I do, maybe I should play to his weaknesses? I consider going to get a little rat from the pet store and putting it at the base of the tree. The mere presence of an uppity rat might actually do the trick. But then my daughter would want to keep the rat as she loves all things furry.
Crap, crap, crap, crap.
Day 5.
This is it. We have to do something today. I'm actually worried about the cat. He's been up there 5 days with no food and no water. We check on him about every hour and refill both food and water but I think I'm just feeding dogs that the people walk. At first I thought he was doing this just to screw around. A cat prank, if you will. I'll freak out my owners and that will show them.
A storms coming and I'm pretty sure it's going to be a bad one. My cat only weighs about 5 pounds and I'm thinking he would make a pretty good sail for one stiff wind. It's starting to rain.
The neighbors knock again.
"He's coming down!" they say.
About time, I was out of ideas other than cutting the tree down and hoping that they didn't notice that their oak was gone.
We go outside and the cat is very nonchalantly walking down the trunk, like he could have done this anytime he wanted. It's starting to rain pretty hard but everyone's happy. My daughter claims that she "rescued" Clarence and deserves her Diego Rescue Badge now. I hate that show.
We try to pick him up but he bolts for our house. No problem. He's got to be hungry and tired and a little bit wet by now. We get him into the house and I pick him up checking for any obvious signs of injury that my insults might have caused. Nothing, he appears totally fine.
He goes to the food bowl and begins to eat, I'm thinking he's got to be starving by now. He eats for 2 minutes, very leisurely, and then goes upstairs for a nap. I'm wondering at this time did he really come down every night and do some hunting and then jump back into the tree just to mess with us.
Round 1 goes to you sir. Very well done.
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