Holy Mackerel

Amidst all the crap that was last week, the worst thing that happened finally happened: our first, and oldest, pet passed away. You know how sometimes you just know that something really bad is about to happen? Or how sometimes you just know that someone (or something) is going to die shortly? Well, I had that feeling about Furry, our guinea pig. The six months or so, she was moving a little slower, sleeping a little more, and losing a bit of weight. We started giving her more food by hand because we thought that perhaps Mo, our 2-year-old guinea pig from hell, was stealing all the food (because she does). I'd sit with Furry and she'd nibble on pieces of cucumber (from the middle part out) or green pepper, as pleased as a pig can be. Although she never really gained back any weight, she seemed fine otherwise. Totally happy, eating, drinking, curious, doing all the normal piggy things. But all along, I watched her, because something told me her time was coming. It wasn't...

  Whoever came up with Earth Hour needs to be blamed for the chaos. And all the deaths, not to mention the rabid chipmunks wandering the streets blindly at 9 p.m. Saturday night. Well, I didn't actually see them, but I know they were out there. I could hear their chatter clearly. There is something a bit frightening and disconcerting about a neighbourhood that is suddenly silent and dark, when normally windows are lit up, televisions are on, and lives are lived. It's almost like Armageddon has silently passed through, killing everyone in its path. We were living The Road , a book I  recently finished reading, and we were about to get chopped into tiny little bits by cannibalistic people who looked dead but were actually alive, sort of like zombies, but the opposite. I'll call them Anti-Zombies. This was actually going through my mind as I looked out the window, trying to find some light, any light, on our street. If there's one thing I've noticed about Dee rece...

One of my least favourite ways to wake up in the morning is to the sound of high-pitched, screeching tires, with a touch of wailing as if the person (or thing) is in extreme pain. Unfortunately, I wake up to this noise more than only once in a while in this household. The cause of this noise, you ask? My children, of course! What else? Em and Dee often get up on school days before I manage to fumble my way out from between my warm blankets and to the bathroom to put in my contact lenses so that I don't stumble down 20 stairs and break my nose. They don't really need me any longer to come down and make their breakfast, make sure they're dressed, etc. They're pretty much self-sufficient, but I still like to make an appearance to show them I care, to make sure they eat something and brush their teeth, and, on some days, to ensure that they don't kill each other. Such was the situation on Wednesday when I awoke to the screeching banshee sound and knew that either someo...