Tag Archives: Mega Coon

One of those nights.

3 years ago this week, in a blaze of solo packing glory, I packed up our condo like a crazy person when it was suddenly, FINALLY confirmed that the sale would actually go through (don’t ask, there are seriously some things that even my blabber-mouth self will never be able to speak of,) and prepared to turn the keys over to the next owner of my beloved Treehouse.

I spent my last night there alone – Binky-the -wonder-dog having been carted off to my parents’ house, along with Jr in an effort to prevent his particular kind of packing “help,” (pulling everything out of boxes I had just filled whenever I turned away for a half a second;) and The Mr. traveling for business.

It was good that there were no witnesses to that particular brand of emoting – I wandered from room to room with a box of tissues in one hand and a bottle glass of Vhino Verde in the other; delivering long-winded, tear-gargling monologues about all of the fabulous memories each space held for me. There were several instances involving me hugging appliances and doorways, and a declaration of love for the giant patio that was so garbled by sobs and snot that I think I traumatized the next door neighbor’s cat permanently.

It was hours and hours of the textbook example by which to measure all other examples of “ugly cry.”

Last Sunday, the 25th, was the actual anniversary of that shameless emotional evening, and I was feeling particularly sorry for myself thinking back on it, and on the obvious and faultless wonder of The Treehouse and our fabulous perfect life there. Yep – time hadn’t clouded my memories of that At All.

At 3:00 in the morning Binky woke me from my peaceful, urban-dream-filled slumber.  He was pacing and panicking and having a furry meltdown, scratching at the back door.  One eye cracked open as I came downstairs, I popped on the back light expecting to see the dreaded Mega Coon, or our neighbor’s cat (equally menacing and WAY more carnivorous than even Mega Coon.) Nothing was there and my fuzzy first born was LOSING HIS MIND trying to get outside, so I opened the door and out he ran.

Turns out the poor guy had the poo. Like really. Like whoa.

As I watched him, um, dealing with his issue, all over the back yard, I was struck by the memories of a few nights in the city that were very different from that nostalgia and wine soaked last one in our old home.   Memories of past tummy troubles with Binky, of him and me pacing up and down 7th avenue at horrifically early hours of very dark mornings, as he was coping with the aftermath of some mystery something he had snacked down on an earlier walk.     Meanwhile, I was glancing back and forth, nervously aiming my pepper spray and a bag full of dog poo at any noise I perceived on the deserted streets – trying to throw my best crazy-don’t-screw-with-me eyes at the occasional teetering soul who dared pass too close headed home from some booty-call or night cap.

I did not miss that. I did not miss that one damn bit, and I don’t think my sick, miserable doggie missed going up and down in the elevator (that seemed to take FOREVER to come, on those nights in particular,) or trying to work out his issues going back and forth on one narrow patch of grass under a street light, with me standing right on top of him acting like a freakjob. (I know my weaknesses. Solo night time streets pretty much ANYWHERE is one of them.)

In and out went poor Binky for the next 3 hours, from his cozy home directly into his private, large back yard where he could do his doggie business as much as he needed while mom stayed on the sofa inside, sans pepper-spray and nutty faux-ninja-like reactions.

Around the time the sun was coming up, he came in for the last time and laid down overlooking his yard to rest.

I am not confirming or denying anything – but I may have even given that doorway a little hug.


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This Blows. (No really. It BLOWS.)

I’ve come to terms with life being a bit breezy way out here in the ‘burbs on the wind-swept plains.
Really, I have not. Really.

The wind along the front range of my beloved Colorful Colorado of late has been obscene.
Like “expect to see cows and Auntie Em fly by when I look out of the blinds, wondering if there is a witch left in Oz for the house to land on” windy.

“Drove Mega Coon from his winter slumber two nights ago, sending him in to the corner of my raised garden bed where he stood on his hind legs SCREAMING at Mother Nature for a good 10 minutes” windy (seriously, he is big, he is pissed off, and HOLY CRAP does he hate the wind!)

“Forced to set down coffee and drive with both hands so I didn’t accidentally change lanes while piloting Frederico Escapé to the office” windy.
Seriously effing windy.

So I sat in the car in the office parking lot this morning, watching the dirt and tumbleweeds and assorted debris blowing around, thinking about how stupid I was to have worn a dress with a full, billowy skirt today, and pouting for a good 20 minutes.  Then I made the least graceful entrance in the history of mankind, loaded down like a pack mule with all my stuff, hair blowing like I was on the deck of an aircraft carrier, one hand holding a wad of extra material from my skirt tight up against my legs, the other clutching my precious coffee as I shuffled down the row of cars and erupted in a gale into the main door.

Hot stuff.

Here is the thing about wind. Take anything, even the best thing ever, and add wind.  Said thing is instantly made much worse, if not totally ruined.
Beautiful day at the beach? Niiiiice.  Add wind and it’s just a painful sand shard shower that knocks over your umbrella drink.

Crisp, clear fall afternoon? So refreshing.  But plus wind? Caked with groddy leaf mulch and chilled in spite of the sun.

Gentle accumulating snow outside your window?  Oh so very pretty. Until wind blows its stupid self in and BOOM, nasty-ass blizzard knocking out power to your Hot Toddy and Movie viewing snow day and creating toilet paper and bread hording situations at the Kroger, yo.

Andplusalso, wind makes me people cranky as hell. No one is happy with jacked up hair and God-knows-what blown into their eyes. Even Binky-the-wonder-dog is uber-ticked about having to go wizz in the wind. (Careful where you are standing in that situation, BTW. Just sayin’.) Getting Jr from the car to the door of daycare requires tether-ropes and sandbags at this point – a gust caught his hood yesterday afternoon and I thought we were going to be on the news:  “boy achieves solo flight via dinosaur hoodie – last seen over Ft Collins, film at 10.”

I loathe the wind with a passionate and boundless hate. With a hate that gives me energy like a cup of coffee, but with a side of rage.
Hate. It.
Please go away wind. All your blowing totally sucks.

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:::Yawn::: Just sayin’.

This may have been my FB status update at 3:30 this morning:

“MEGA COON!!!  My child is stirring in his bed after your latest round of demonic screaming in my flower bed.  If he actually wakes, I assure you there will be NO PLACE on God’s Earth you can hide from me, you angry, furry bastard.”


Just Sayin’.

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You are my Everest, Mega Coon – Just Sayin’.

Some people fear intruders. Some fire, some worry over freezing pipes or furnace woe or leaky roofs.

I know my home ownership nemesis all-too-well, for I have looked into his beady, evil eyes.
He has mask-like markings, and is the size of a station wagon.


Call me Ishmael, because this will be an epic battle- mark my warning.  But I must win, or decend into madness trying.

Just Sayin’.

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Wildlife – Just Sayin’.

3:53 a.m..
Awakened by what sounded like a hippie bus with a bad fan belt in my back yard. Turned on back porch light.
Raccoon the SIZE of hippie bus looks up for a split second from edge of deck and then goes on doing whatever the hell he is doing – I’d say fighting another racoon, but only one came away…. he eventually got tired of my light and swaggered off into the neighbors lawn to menace someone else. What will the dawn’s early light reveal in the yard?


Just Sayin’.

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