The beaver is a proud and noble animal
Notes from a bemused canuck
We went to Starbucks last weekend. I just wanted a cup of tea. The dialogue went something like this:
Me: I'd like a cup of tea please
Starbucks Zombie: what size?
Me: Medium
SZ: what kind?
Me: um, English breakfast?
SZ: one bag or two?
Me: um, two?
SZ: room for milk?
Me: buh?
I ordered something for Katy as well. I always feel like a bit of a berk when I say “I'd like a grande one-shot decaf skinny caramel macchiato with whipped cream”. Makes me feel dirty, somehow.
There's a snippet of one of Dennis Leary's stand up routines where he talks about his kids and describes the “dangerous quiet” – the one where it's too quiet, the one where you find your kids giving the dog a bath in the toilet…
I have encountered my own version of the dangerous quiet this morning. The Kitten of Doom is normally vocal, demanding and rambunctious. This morning, all was quiet in the house. Nothing was stirring. Except the dead vole that was being batted around the living room and being happily disemboweled on the rug.
It would seem that the big fluffball is bringing presents back to the little one (who hasn't mastered the art of the catflap yet and isn't going outsite). If the kitten can't go outside, the outside will come to the kitten, apparently.