Animal Crack

I
When I was in sixth grade we got a cat.  Or rather, a cat got us.  In human terms, it was as if a slutty teenage girl had been kicked out of her house, taken a liking to my mom, and flattered her mothering characteristics until there was no other choice but to take the wayward girl home and care for her.  We girls loved that delinquent to pieces!  Sure, she got into fights in the neighborhood a lot, and yes, of course, she inevitably came home pregnant (we still don't know who fathered those four kittens), but we loved her all the same.  Though Mom insisted that we share the duties of cat food and litter box, ...
it was Mom who always ended up taking care of things.  My dad always acted like he couldn't stand the sight of Kitty, but more than once he was caught chatting with her in a friendly tone.  (He still denies it.)  Kitty slept on my feet, let me scratch her ears, and always came running at the sound of the can-opener.  (Can-opener = tuna.)  She gave my mom and sister terrible allergy symptoms, but they both popped Claritin rather than avoid the cat.  Then, a few years ago Kitty died, and it was hard on all of us, but mostly my mom.  Mom told me yesterday that whenever Kitty straggled home injured after having vanished from our care for days, Mom would sit her down and tell her sternly:  "See?  That's why it is dangerous to stay out all night.  You're lucky you are alive."  But Kitty couldn't help herself.  She loved our home, but she just had to know what was out there beyond its walls...

II
A couple of nights ago my mom was awakened by the sounds of a fight.  I had not heard it myself, so I asked, "between people?"  (A common occurrence outside my apartment in Queens, but we're in suburban Ohio, readers, where this would be unheard of.)  "No," she said, "animals, but I couldn't tell what animals.  I think it was a cat.  And the cat was losing.  To something that made a whistling sound."
A possum?
No, a cat would just run away from a fatass possum.
A raccoon?
Do raccoons whistle?
Do any animals whistle?
This went on for a while until my mom concluded it that it was definitely a cat.  And that cat was definitely getting the worse end of it.  And the only explanation for the whistling is that the cat was in a fight with an alien.
Awesome.  Glad we got to the bottom of that.

III
Last week, a chipmunk took up residency underneath a patch of sidewalk that leads to my parents' front door.  As I, too, am a freeloading resident here, I easily accepted his presence and look forward to each fleeting glance I get as he dashes from one burrowed little hole to another, leaving nothing but a streak of grey and a smattering of mulch in his wake.
It's the mulch that gets my dad.
The house has become the set of a sitcom in which my mom and I play characters in the main plot through witty dialogue about men and kids and careers over the kitchen counter, while my dad and the chipmunk handle the subplot.  On a regular basis, mine and Mom's conversation is interrupted by Dad, with a wily look in his eye, a shovel in one hand and butterfly net in the other.
"Anybody seen my firecrackers?"
And then he disappears toward the mulch-scattered sidewalk.
I have been defending the chipmunk's life.  At first I suggested loud music to drive him out but keep him unharmed.  "Try Katy Perry."
Then Dad comes through again.  He has a chainsaw.
"I thought we had some rat poison around here somewhere..."
Mom shakes her head.  I get out my cardboard and markers.
Commercial Break.
Dad is in a gas mask carrying sticks of dynamite.  He opens the front door to find me marching along the sidewalk chanting:  "SAVE THE CHIP-MUNK!  SAVE THE CHIP-MUNK!"  and a sign the reads:  "OCCUPY SIDEWALK!"

IV
A few hours ago, I took a walk in the nearby Blacklick Woods Park.  It has a well-maintained path, lots of shade, and other friendly pedestrians.  I have seen lots of wildlife at Blacklick park: deer, rabbits, butterflies...  Today I saw a something far less pleasant.  Those that know me personally will report that while I am generally a brave individual, I crumble to a jelly-kneed mess in the presence of animals without legs.  Mostly, this means worms.  (I find it impossible to navigate sidewalks after a heavy rain.)  And the only thing worse than a worm is a snake.  This was meant to be a day of no running.  I love to run, but I am old enough and smart enough to know that I cannot run with frequency and evade knee problems forever. So, as I enjoyed my little walk in the park, considering what I would write about in my next blog, I spotted a long black curvy thing about ten feet before me.  I am famous for mistaking branches for boa constrictors, so I stayed calm.
For about one-tenth of a second.
Because then I saw it slither.
Instead of continuing the final half-mile of my walk, I happily tripled my distance by retracing my steps in a full-out sprint.  I slowed down only long enough to see if the devil was chasing/hunting me and to tell my fellow hikers and bikers:  THERE'S A SNAKE UP THEEEEEERRRRRE!, leaving nothing but a streak of grey and a smattering of mulch in my wake.

Winan's is a chocolate shop in German Village.  They also have plenty of quality coffee and espresso drinks and are one of the friendliest little shops in Columbus!