Little Ozzy as a Rockette and Other Stories

This Little Ozzy was a gift from a friend quite a few years ago and is currently the cream in Trombone’s coffee so to speak. I like posing Little Ozzy, which is easy to do because he is jointed, and then running him over with one of the 8 Matchbox Ferraris that were gifts from another friend quite a few years back.

Lesson: if you are juvenile enough through your ’20s, people will give you enough toys that you never need buy any for your kids when you are in your ’30s. Trombone is also currently playing with a bucket of Lego that SA and I bought for ourselves long before we had even discussed having children. $14.99 8 years ago is a sound investment!

I also have enough hand puppets to start my own hand puppet army. And as of the garage sales we attended on the weekend I am the proud owner of a small house-type structure that has a puppet show window. We found a spice rack too. Yes, my life is near complete.

We acquired a Raffi CD last week, our first Raffi CD, and it has been in heavy rotation. Trombone knows all the words. He gets right up next to the speaker and just stands there, listening and because this represents 50% of my child-minding duties taken care of, I do not mind playing the CD 17 times a day. Better than television! Raffi does a cover of Octopus’s Garden, a song I have never thought too much about but today, suddenly, it spoke to me. I would like to be under the sea in an octopus’s garden in the shade. I would. It sounds really quiet and lovely.

Please don’t tell me the song is really about Ringo’s drug dealer’s back yard. Let me live in my fantasy world. It’s all I have.

Speaking of drug dealers, yesterday we came home from a walk and there were three cats on our front porch. Just sitting there. One on the table, one on the porch itself, one on the wooden railing. Our cat is an inside cat, and is male, and is neutered, and rarely moves off the couch so I don’t think he was in the kitchen window taunting the neighbourhood cats or anything. Why are they gathering at my house? What do they know?

The only thing I can think of is that perhaps Seamus (our cat) is selling drugs.

OK, the only other thing I can think of is that I left Trombone’s rubber boots out on the porch because the other day we were stomping in puddles and then I noticed he was stomping on the carcass of a rodent. (He did not notice. He is not traumatized for life. I am, however, as are my twitter followers.) It was raining heavily so the boots got rinsed pretty well by the time we got home but then Trombone took them off inside and the next thing I know there’s Fresco picking them up with his curious face on so I put them outside. Maybe the cats can smell dead rodent and think I am some kind of rodent-killing-queen? Cat army, assemble!

I think I would rather have a cat army than a dog army, though I much prefer dogs to cats. I also prefer not-armies to armies, though, despite mentioning them twice in this entry, so there you go.

Speaking of dogs, yesterday we met a dog named Weezer. (Or, I guess, possibly, Wheezer, but I prefer to picture Rivers Cuomo as a terrier. [is he not totally a terrier?]) The little girl he belonged to seemed worried he would bite Fresco. I didn’t tell her that Fresco bites back. Fresco also outweighed the dog by about 20 lbs.

I wonder how much Rivers Cuomo weighs.

I wonder who would win in a cage match: Gordon Campbell our (not very) NEW PREMIER! or Courtney Love. Sometimes I wonder about these things.