Friends of Nigel 5: Mousecop and Charizard

Alrighty, so, I went to draw some pictures for my blog and realized my tablet has not been charged, and I don't feel like waiting until it's charged. Therefore, today's blog post features ACTUAL PHOTOGRAPHS!

And also this picture I drew a while ago:

Let's start with the story of how MC and Cha-zizzle came to join our little family...

Part 1: The Deal

Once upon a time, there was a myself named Jackie. She didn't have any kitties because she lived in a teeny apartment and the evil apartment overlords charged $ARM.99 in non-refundable pet deposits and $LEG.00 (before tax) for monthly pet rent. To make up for her lack of kitties, she would often go visit pet store kitties, hoping to fill the void. But that often ended up in embarrassing shedding-of-tears in a public place, which was disgraceful, so she stopped going.

Eventually, the lease on the Apartment of Death and Sadness came to an end, and Jackie and her spouse were forced to seek residence elsewhere. As luck would have it, several cities away, an old lady was getting to old to care for her home, so she was moving in with her son and his family, and he was ditching her house for cheap. And thus, Jackie and Daniel became homeowners.

Oh yeah, by the way, that happened.

The fortunate thing about owning a home, is that there are no landlords to make rules about whether or not you can own a cat. Therefore, I managed to talk Daniel into letting me get a kitten eventually.

Some weeks later, at a family gathering, my aunt announced that her little kitty, who was only a few months old, had somehow gotten teen pregnant and given birth to five little furballs, which were up for grabs. They were still too teeny to bring any home, but I went and visited to get to know the kittens and pick one out.

Argh! So fluffy! I'm 99% sure the two top kittens are mine.

I went back to visit a little later and took pictures of individual kittens so I could show them to Daniel (he refused to come visit the kitties himself, since he claims to hate cats and wanted nothing to do with them.) 

The kittens with their mom, Autumn. You may remember her from the hit drama "3 Months Old and Pregnant."

I was pretty determined that Mousecop was going to be the kitten I brought home.

Baby Mousecop (also known as Mouserookie)

When I showed the pictures of kittens to Daniel, he saw one little kitty and said "I like that little orange one." So I said "LET'S GET BOTH!"

Charizard was the runt of the litter. Like me.

We made a deal that I got to have two kitties as long as Daniel got to go on a trip with his friends to Indianapolis this summer to see Drum Corps International finals. Seemed like a pretty sweet deal to me.

Part 2: The Betrayal

Now, let's rehash a point here: Daniel very begrudgingly allowed me to get kittens, even though he didn't want them. He said "They will be your kittens. I won't clean up after them, I won't feed them, and most of all, I WILL NOT love them."

Therefore, these are my kittens, and mine alone. 

Right?

Apparently they had other ideas.

Those little jerks loved him more! I would come home from work every day to find both tiny traitors cuddled up on his lap, or on his shoulder, or in his arms. After all I'd done for them, finding them a home, feeding them, cleaning up after them, buying toys for them, they would rather cuddle him than me. 

The truth of the matter is, for all his protestations, Daniel secretly loves them too. 

Don't tell him I told you that.

Cats are liquid.

Part 3: The Present

I kept meaning to write about my kitties, because come on, this blog is really about my love of animals. I just got lazy, though. Now the teeny kittens I brought home are almost all the way to medium-sized adolescent cats. My little baby furballs will be four months old on Saturday.

The mighty huntress.

Mousecop is one of the most outgoing kitties I have ever known. When she lived her mom at my aunt's house, she was known as "Miss Adventure" because she was always getting into stuff and exploring. It has only gotten worse as she gets older. 

A rousing game of "Fight Under Door"

Mousecop's hobbies include jumping on things, climbing drapes, getting sprayed with the Bad Kitty™ bottle for climbing the drapes, posing for pictures, and violently attacking specks on the wall. Her favorite toys are shadows, her own tail, my ponytail, shreds of paper towels or tissues, and Charizard.

The infamous Bad Kitty™ bottle. Note the water level. We have some BAD kitties.

Mousecop cannot stand to be left alone, which means it is a really good thing we ended up getting two kitties. Whenever she can't find me, Daniel, or Charizard, Mousecop will stop, stand in place, and shout "MEOW-WOOOOOW?!" over and over until someone says "We're in here!" She has some huge lungs for such a small animal.

She is obsessed with drinking the water off the floor of the tub after one of us takes a shower. So much so, that the last few times I have taken a shower, Mousecop actually climbed INTO the shower with me and licked the water off the floor of the tub. She stays close to the edge, away from the spray, but she still comes away fairly damp. She doesn't seem to mind, though.

Yesterday, she brought me a generous offering of a dead moth. It was very sweet.

Kitteh yoga.

Charizard is very shy and doesn't really warm up to people easily. When we first brought the kitties home, I opened the kitty carrier and Mousecop immediately ran out and started exploring everything. Charizard sat perfectly still inside the cat carrier for like an hour before I finally dumped her out.

Charizard has the weirdest fur of any cat I have ever seen. Mousecop has regular short fur, and the rest of her siblings had long, fluffy fur. Her fur, weirdly, was mostly short with a few looooong, wispy hairs around her like a halo. The rest of her fur has gotten longer as she gets older, but she's still all weird and wispy.

Charizard's weird fur.

The reason Daniel wanted Charizard when he first got her is because she had bright blue eyes. As she has gotten older, though, her eyes have turned gold, which is pretty cool, because now they match her fur. She's monochromatic, except for her little pink nose.

Charizard's favorite pastimes include sleeping in weird places, hiding, looking really adorable, unintentionally clawing Daniel, and being led astray by the bad influence that is Mousecop. Her favorite toys are plastic bags, hoodie strings, my ponytail, and Mousecop.

Where she should sleep.

Where she does sleep.

Charizard has giant Puss in Boots eyes, so you can't ever be mad at her, even when she makes you bleed, because she will give you The Face and then you'll feel like a jerk. 

Part 4: The End

Daniel just called me a cat lady for writing so much about our kitties, so that's about all I have for now. I'll try to be better about drawing pictures next time, instead of just showing you a few of the gazillions of cat pictures I have taken in the last couple months.

Goodnight, Charizard.

Our Anniversary Happened

I was going to make some big deal about how it was our first anniversary this weekend, but I couldn't really think of anything interesting to say about it... We spent the night at a cute, slightly haunted B&B, ate some expensive food, and then we came home. Plus, we both came down with a yucky cold, so I don't have a ton if energy for thinking. Therefore, I drew you this pictures depicting how we are spending our Memorial Day!

There is a post about our kittens coming up, though, so stay tuned for that.

A Comprehensive Guide to Jackie's Hair

Since the early years of Cartoon Jackie, many different aspects of my person have changed drastically. 

From the beginning stages of primordial me, I lost the giant geeky glasses, my head got a little bigger, the feet and fingers went away, my facial features took a brief hiatus and came back as tiny eyes and huge mouth, and finally gained another dimension and leveled out as the magnificent creation you see before you today.

Throughout all these changes, however, one thing has stayed the same:

My ponytail.

Remember this movie?

Yeah, based on my life. Totally underrated, if you ask me. People just don't appreciate a good Scottish accent these days.

But I digress...

Anyone who has met me knows that my hair is my crowning glory. Naturally curly since birth (well, a couple of years after birth. I was bald for a long time), the foofy mass atop my head has gained a personality of its own. When I was in junior high, my friends joked that my ponytail contained mystical properties, additional storage space, or a second brain. By the time I was in high school, people were convinced that it was a symbiotic organism attached to my scalp.

These days, its favorite pastimes include getting stuck in my eyelashes, sucked up in seatbelts, rolled up in car windows, shut in doors, sat on, and zipped up in my jacket. It also enjoys crawling down Daniel's throat at night and grabbing people as they walk past my desk at work.

Sadly, for all the sentience my hair has gained over the years, it has never quite grasped the concept of language. Therefore, it has had to learn to communicate in its own way. The following is a Hair-to-English dictionary, for your reference.

What it Means: Why yes, I did shower today! I probably even used a blow dryer before I came to work (with a diffuser, of course).  It smells like roses and sunshine. It sure doesn't taste like it, though.

What it Means To You: Look, but don't touch. I know it's tempting, the curls are so boingy and it's probably soft like a duck. If you come anywhere near it, though, it will grab you, pull you in, and start digesting you like that island in The Life of Pi. Plus you'll make it all fuzzy and then it will look stupid, so thanks a lot. If I have it down over my face, I'm probably hiding from you, so leave me alone.

What it Means: It's been a long day, and I can only have my hair down for so long before it gets ridiculously hot or just tangled around everything in my immediate vicinity. The Ponytail is my natural state, so I will always revert to it after a while.

What it Means To You: Fine, you can play with my hair if you want. Heck, it's not my problem anymore, it's on the back of my head! But I still can't be held responsible if anything terrible happens to you. Plus, if my hair is contained in the good ol' PT, I'm probably in a decent mood and won't bite you or run away if you try to talk to me.

What it Means: Okay, yes. You caught me. I did sleep in this ponytail. I was probably up late and I slept through my alarm, so I may or may not have slept in this shirt too. 

What it Means To You: Grrrrrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Grr. Don't ask me hard questions or say things that annoy me. Also, don't sniff my hair at this point, because it most definitely does not smell like roses and sunshine anymore.

What it Means: Why yes, I did shower today! I probably even used a blow dryer, too. But it probably went horribly awry and my hair couldn't be seen in public, so I had to braid it for the safety of everyone around me. It could also mean that I'm going to bed, for similar safety reasons. 

What it Means To You: I probably had a stressful morning, so speak softly and don't make any sudden movements unless you want me to explode into hysteria.

What it Means: It has probably been way too many days since I've showered, and my hair is secretly dreadlocks under there. A bun is the only way to pretend that I kind of meant to do that.

What it Means To You: Please don't touch my hair. Don't touch me. Don't come near me. Don't ask me if I got punched in the face or are those just huge bags under my eyes. Don't ask me complicated questions or questions that you could have easily answered yourself. Don't talk to me, actually. Just let me sit here until it's tomorrow.

What it Means: Yeah, I had a few hours to kill and felt like holding hot things near my face for a couple of those hours. And yes, it's still me under there. I know you didn't recognize me at first.

What it Means To You: Feel free to stroke it lovingly, but only after I brush through it four or five times, because that's not something I can normally do. Also, don't ask me to raise my arms above my head or lift anything, because I just held a hot thing to my face for two hours. Please do not drink anything near me or mention the weather or think about moisture too loudly, because it was really hard to get it to stay straight.

What it Means: Yeah, I had maybe an hour or an hour and a half to kill, or maybe my arms got tired halfway through, or maybe I saw a picture of a raindrop. Whatever, man. I stopped caring.

What it Means To You: Don't tell me my hair is so straight, I know it's not. If you mention it my obsessive compulsive brain won't be able to stop thinking about the two wrinkled bits all day, and then I'll be ashamed of myself, so let's just all pretend nothing is different. 

What it Means: Someone else did my hair.

What it Means To You: Don't bother asking me how I did it, I don't know. I wish I did though, because a French braid would be the new Old Faithful, if it weren't for the fact that it's so hard to draw.

From Whence I Came

Okay, first off, let me make an apology to all those who have been anxiously awaiting a new blog post for weeks. A lot of big things have been happening lately and I haven't had a ton of time to write. Plus we just barely got internet like a week ago.

That said, happy Mother's Day, everyone!

Let's talk about my own mother. 

Twenty one years, five months, and two days ago, I came into this world and made her more than she was (you're welcome, Mom). She looked down into my tiny baby face, after 24 long hours of labor, and said with tears in her eyes, "It looks like a lizard."

Before I started this blog post, I thought a lot about the things that make my mom who she is. I pulled out my tablet and stylus and drew whatever came to mind, and now I'm here typing the words part and I can't quite figure out how to pull it all together. So, without further ado, here are some funny things about my mother!

The Nail Polish Box

My mother and sisters and I enjoy spending time together painting our fingernails. We go to the store, pick out fun colors of nail polish, and sit down and test it out. My poor father hates it, says it stinks up his whole house. He usually opens a can of sardines to fight stinky with stinky. But for us girl types, that's some quality bonding time. 

These days, all of the gazillions of colors of nail polish collected over the years are gathered together in two or three shoe boxes. Inside these boxes is everything we need for nail painting. In recent years, however, the nail polish box has gained a new addition.

It contains...

...all the colors of nail polish, for painting.

...nail polish remover, for changing colors.

...cotton balls, for apply nail polish remover.

...and reading glasses, because my mother is old now and can't look at things close up.

Instant Messaging

I have a crippling fear of talking on phones, and sometimes I get really busy and don't have a ton of time to go visit. However, due to the marvel that is Google, we mainly keep in touch via instant messaging. 

Well... maybe "instant" messaging is a bit of a stretch.

I recently took a typing test for a job interview, and my score showed that I type about 75 words per minute. My dear mother, on the other hand...

The woman types like she's disarming a bomb. You'd think the keyboard was going to jump up and bite her. 

Lessons Learned

Oh! I sort of figured out a direction to go. Yay me. The next few pictures are about things my mother taught me that have made me a more useful member of society. 

My mother recently told me that her main goal in raising her children was for them to grow up into independent, smart, productive women. None of us was ever raised to be a "kept woman" or to have anyone take care of us. 

As soon as I was old enough, I was taught how to be an effective person. I was given responsibilities and educated on every aspect of adulthood. 

She taught me how to manage money and how to make my meager funds stretch further. She taught me how to save money, how to spend money, and how to never pay full price for anything.

I remember one particular incident when I was young and getting ready to start school. I was going to big kid school, so I needed a new big kid backpack. I had found one that I loved, but there was one problem...

One of the most important lessons my mother taught me, though, is something I can apply to every aspect of my life. It's something I've shared with friends and with the young women I taught. 

That lesson is this:

Don't try to be a size 2 if you're really a size 6.

Think about it like this: Have you ever worn pants that were two sizes too small? You could be a perfectly healthy person that is perfectly average sized, but be wearings pants made for a person who is significantly less than average. You might squoosh those pants on in the morning and think to yourself "Hooray me, I'm a size 2!" But really, everyone else looks at you and says "Wow. Look at that poor pudgy girl. Bless her heart."

Now think about this. Have you ever had that pair of pants that just fits perfectly? You wake up in the morning, pull your pants on comfortably, look in the mirror, and think "Guuuuurrrrl." Maybe those pants aren't a size 2, but they look so good on you. Truthfully, your pants may be bigger, but they make you look a lot skinnier than a tiny pair of pants with love handles hanging over the side ever could.

That lesson doesn't necessarily apply to just pants, either. It could mean taking on a project that you actually have the time and resources to accomplish, rather than one that seems more impressive. It could mean choosing a major that actually suits your talents an abilities, rather than one that makes more money. It could mean choosing a piece of music to perform that is simple, beautiful, and within your range, rather than one that is complex and impressive. 

You'll always look better doing well at something that fits you, rather than failing at something that doesn't. 

For those of you in this world who have mothers (read: everyone), you too should take a moment to think about your mother and everything she has taught you. Chances are, it's a lot.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Babies Are Gross

Confession time again.

This may not come as a huge surprise to some (most) people, but I don't like babies. Like at all.

At first it was kind of a background little quirky thing that I liked to play up, but the older I've gotten and the closer to actual childbearing time, the more I've realized that I really actually can't stand babies, and I definitely can't stand children.

Even as a child myself, I harbored a certain disdain for kids. 

I don't know what it is... maybe there's some broken piece of my psyche that makes it so I don't react correctly to the sound of a crying baby, or the smell of baby head. Perhaps I actually have cancer and there's a tumor right in the drive-to-reproduce center of my brain. Maybe I am just one of those people that doesn't like children. 

I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like I hate babies and I want to abolish all reproduction on the earth. It's not like I want other people to not have kids. Heck, other people can have all the kids they want, as long as they don't expect me to touch them or interact with them in any way ever. 

Here's the solid truth, though:

• I don't think babies are that cute. They're all pink and naked and poopy and they don't even have tails or whiskers.

• I have no desire to ever have a baby, let alone raise it to adulthood. It's just not my jam.

• No, I don't want to hold your baby. That's great that you made one, now don't let it puke on me.

• I don't feel like I need to reproduce to be fulfilled in life or to be a "real woman." In fact, I feel like having kids would prevent me from being fulfilled.

Now, before you all freak out and start secretly being ashamed to know me, just know that I've heard it all before. My life is a never-ending barrage of "Oh, just you wait, once that biological clock starts ticking..."

I'll admit it, I do tend to talk about babies a lot. But it's mostly because I think the things I say are funny sometimes, and also I sort of feel the need to convince everyone in the world that I'm really serious about not wanting babies. The problem is, sometimes my protestations cause people to think that I'm secretly covering up my deep-down longing to have a billion offspring.

I'm not. 

And so, here is my response to some of the more common arguments I run into:

"What if your child is, like, the next Mother Theresa?"

Firstly, were I to reproduce, I'm fairly certain none of my offspring would end up Catholic, let alone nuns. And secondly, my children could just as easily end up Hitler. Not that I would raise them to be evil or anything, but I'm not exactly a great example of good-person-itude, and also there's only so much nurturing you can do before you run into the whole nature bit. My children won't necessarily be magically nice or smart or good. Plus, I have a genetic history of mental illness.

"Yeah, but you always said you weren't going to get married either."

Getting married and having a child are two very different things. Yes, I'll admit that I was pretty sure I wasn't the marrying type, and honestly I'm still not sure I would describe myself as wifely. Some of Daniel's students called me "Mrs. Winsor" the other day, and it took me like ten minutes to realize they were referring to me, and then it made me feel all weird inside. If anyone ever called me "Mommy" I'd probably puke on them. Plus getting married to Daniel hasn't made me throw up every day or destroyed my body beyond repair or taken up every millisecond of my time. Okay sure, I've gotten a bit pudgy, but I could fix that. Plus, if something terrible were to happen and (heaven forbid) Daniel and I didn't want to be married anymore, we have that option. Not that we would ever get divorced, but you can't divorce a child. 

"It's a commandment! God said we must multiply and replenish the earth!"

Pretty sure he meant "we" as a species, not me personally. And also I think the breeders of the world have that about covered and a half. Frankly, I think we could replenish the earth more easily if we multiplied less. Overpopulation is a real thing, people.

"It's different when they're your own children."

Maybe it is, but that's not a risk I'm willing to take. What if I have a baby and find out that I hate it? What then? There isn't exactly a return policy on those.

"But you were so cute when you were a baby! Your babies would be adorable."

There is no way to know that! Attractive people have ugly babies all the time. Daniel and I could easily make a baby that is a combination of both of our most unfortunate traits, even if we both were beautiful babies. I always worry that if we were to have an ugly baby, either I wouldn't realize that my baby was ugly and everyone would talk about it behind my back, or I would realize how ugly it was, and I'd have to live with the fact that I thought my baby was ugly. Also, even if we had a freaking Gerber model for a baby, I still don't think babies are cute, so that's irrelevant.

"You're so awesome, though. People like you should reproduce so there are more of you."

Once again, I will refer to the nature/nurture argument. Sure, kids do tend to take after their parents in some ways, but there's no telling how they'll end up. I could spend 18 years teaching my kids to be awesome, and they could still suck. Besides, if you think I'm so great, why don't you train your own offspring to be more like me? I'll write a guidebook or something if that helps.

"But your parents will want grandchildren!"

I have two sisters, two sisters-in-law, and two brothers-in-law. That is a total of six perfectly healthy siblings that are totally capable of reproduction. Neither my parents nor my in-laws are lacking in options. Besides, I opted to change my name when I got married, so it's not like I would be carrying on the family name at all. And Daniel has two brothers, so they can take care of that side of things.

"How will you ever be fulfilled knowing that you don't have children to carry on your legacy?"

As I mentioned earlier, I almost sort of feel like reproducing will prevent me from being fulfilled. I don't like children and I don't want to have children, so if I had children just because I let friends/family/society pressure me into doing so, I will most likely end up resenting them for the rest of forever. Plus, I would much rather be remembered for my OWN contributions to society, rather than for being the vessel for the creation of someone else who contributed to society. Alexander Fleming's mom didn't discover penicillin, and Marie Curie's mother didn't win a Nobel prize.

"You'll change your mind eventually. Watch, I bet you have a baby in like two years."

You know what? Maybe I will change my mind. Maybe I won't. Right now, I really really do not want kids, and it is none of your business to tell me otherwise. If you said you didn't want to go skydiving, I wouldn't sit there and say "You don't really mean that. How can you even know if you've never tried it? Maybe you have a crippling fear of heights, but everyone has to go skydiving eventually, or you mean nothing as a person." 

Once again, I'd like to reiterate that I don't have a problem with other people who have had children or would like to do so. I feel for those women who do want children but aren't able to have babies of their own. If I could trade reproductive organs with you, I would do it in a heartbeat. Children aren't for everyone, and it's sad that some women want them but aren't able to have them, but that doesn't mean I'm a bad person for not wanting them. Some people are allergic to shellfish, but that doesn't mean that I am heartless for not liking it even if I could eat it if I wanted to. 

A lot of my friends are married these days, and a few of them are thinking about babies themselves. I will gladly support them in their desire to procreate, but that doesn't mean I want my own babies, or even that I really want to touch theirs. I am just the kind of person who looks at little baby clothes and thinks "That would look so cute on my cat!"

Lastly, I don't want to have children because they are SO EXPENSIVE. 

Soon, Daniel will get his degree in Music Education. I think that's amazing and great, and I gladly support him in his desire to do something he loves and share the wonders of music with youth. However, anyone who knows anything knows that teaching music isn't exactly one of the top paying careers in the world. 

I only have an associates degree in general studies right now, which is basically the equivalent of graduating high school twice but paying $24,000 for the second time. Maybe someday I will go back to school and earn another degree, but it is reeeeeally difficult to go to school if you have a baby. Plus, even if I did get a big-kid degree, holding down a career and raising children is tough for women. I could never do the stay at home mom thing, because I would go crazy, but daycare is hugely expensive too.

A recent report from the U.S. Department of Agriculture shows that the average cost of raising a child in a middle-income family to the age of 18 in the U.S. is 

$241,080/child

If you break that down, it's would be almost

$13,400/year

and as much as

$1,120/month

That is enough to buy...

A new 128GB iPad Air every 3 weeks.

A Disney Caribbean cruise every 4 months.

A brand new Chevy Camaro every 2 years.

A bachelor's degree (for two people) from the University of Utah every 4 years.

A decently sized houseboat every 6 years.

As for myself, I'd rather have the time and money.

Pillow Talk