Typically, he sits with his back to me, scanning the room. I have interpreted this as a protective stance as he appears vigilant to potential dangers, not unlike a good lifeguard whose eyes never leave the shoreline on a busy day at the beach.
The dangers here are varied but admittedly minimal. They include the possible consumption of a half-eaten bag of chocolate chips that -- as the only remaining chocolate in the house -- poses a constant threat to whatever diet I'm on this week, plus a series of online articles about Ralph Macchios's knee injury sustained while on Dancing with the Stars.
|Ralph in eyeliner.|
|Karina, you fool.|
Not only has the Karate Kid become rather creepy (I didn't expect that, did you?) but he recently wore eyeliner for yet another futurisitic-themed performance with Karina Smirnoff who's only claim to fame (besides a recent Playboy photo spread) is as the woman who broke off an engagement with Maksim Chmerkovsky.
What was she thinking, America?
There is, however, one thing that strikes fear into the heart of even the stalwart and intrepid Buzzy.
It has been in the house since February, is a master at inflicting terror upon all in its path and has successfully eluded capture for months. It is, of course, a nearly deflated, but undeterred Valentine's Day mylar balloon.
The balloon began its life like other mylars.
Cheerful and shiny, it teamed up with some flowers back on February 14 to make my Valentine's Day festive. Unanchored a few weeks later from its tether by the sharp teeth of Nifi the cat, an avowed balloon hater and ribbon-gnawer, it has drifted ever since--pushed by unseen air currents from room to room, getting closer and closer to the ground as it loses helium.
In its younger days, it would pass us in the hall or pay a visit as I cooked or washed dishes, still eye level and cheerful. But now, it's life force draining daily, it has become a lurking source of intimidation as it creeps about, surprising me as it silently follows me into the bathroom or drifts by my feet as I step out of bed in the morning.
But the true victims of this silent mylar nomad are the cats. I can tell that it's near when they either run on tiny legs, telescoped by fear, or leap backwards --achieving amazing heights -- as it approaches.
Why don't I just puncture it with a pencil and end its reign of terror?
|From king of the jungle to this...|
Because it keeps us all on our toes, that's why. Most importantly, it provides stimulation for a small herd of cats whose lives have been reduced to eating, sleeping and going poo poo while their less fortunate but more skilled couter parts are keeping their feline DNA sharp by scrounging for scraps in alleys.
I am doing this for the gene pool of cats everywhere. You're welcome.