Givin' the Vampire Heartburn
Now I'm not sayin' Silly Human Female is a vampire, but she is livin' off the kindness of taxpayers, claimin' a back injury keeps her from workin' at anythin' other than takin' vacations and havin' fun. Probably just as well 'cause most times she's dumb as dirt—at least when it comes to animals. This article reminded the oldsters of one of her more spectacular adventures, a story handed down from pup to pup beginnin' with my great-great grand dam.
Ah, yes. There's just somethin' about fe-lyings and fire departments that warms the heart and brings to mind the tale of Silly Human Female and the Firemen.
As it was told to me, back in the long-ago days of my great-great-granddam's puppyhood, AHM actually had a fe-lyin'. It was a rescue cat, scared of most everythin', and spent all its time indoors living high in the bookcase. Guess everyone got along 'cause I've never heard any stories to the contrary. Either that or the fe-lyin' wasn't around long enough to start botherin' great-great-Grand Dam Bitch—thanks to Silly Human Female.
Durin' that time there came a day AHM had to go away overnight—leavin' early one mornin' and comin' back the next evenin'. Since SHF either had some time off or was between jobs, she said she'd take care of granddam and the cat so they wouldn't have to go sit in a kennel at the vet's.
So along comes SHF the first afternoon, openin' the door for Granddam to go onto the porch and play. She cleaned up a bit, then picked up the cat for a bit of a cuddle. It was at that point disaster struck. SHF started thinkin'—or not, as the case may be. (Whenever SHF did somethin' really, really stupid, her excuse always started with the words "I didn't think…" which pretty much summed up the whole problem.)
Continued in Read the Rest!
What happened next is still in dispute, but SHF claims she thought (?) the cat would like a bit of fresh air and sunshine—and put it outside on the porch. 'Course great-great-Grand Dam thought it was playtime and immediately frolicked over. The cat took off like, well, a scalded cat, clearin' the porch railin' and scalin' the nearest—tallest—tree.
And there it sat. No amount of coaxin' or wheedlin' was gonna' get that fe-lyin' outta' that tree. After a frantic hour of tryin', SHF had a brainstorm. She called the fire department and asked (accordin' to the story) "Do you really get cats out of trees or is that just part of your PR campaign?"
They really got cats out of trees.
Now AHM lived in a small, quiet community at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac bordered with lots of grass and trees. After makin' the call, SHF went back to beggin' the cat to come down. No luck. Granddam was penned in on the porch with a panoramic view of the whole scene and always claimed that fe-lyin' actually stuck its tongue out at SHF.
It must have been a slow day at the firehouse. From a distance came the sound of one fire siren. Then came the sound of two fire sirens—and a third. Then a police siren. Then screechin' tires. They got closer and closer until a whole host of flashin' lights careened up the hill toward AHM's house. The neighbors poured out of nearby homes. Kids raced to the scene on their bikes.
With a squeal of tires and a couple of final whoop, whoop's, two ladder trucks, a police cruiser, and the fire chief's car all landed at the end of AHM's front walk. A dozen firemen in full gear—from helmet to gloves to boots—leaped from the trucks and charged across the lawn toward SHF.
"You the lady who called about the cat?" the leader yelled.
With no more noisy sirens to drown him out, the question echoed all around the cul-de-sac, which by now was pretty crowded. First came one snicker. Second was a laugh. Soon the whole crowd was laughin' and cheerin' and urgin' the firemen on. SHF's jaw had locked into permanent gape so she could only point upward to where the cat was perched in a crook of tree limbs.
A squad of men trotted off and came back with an extension ladder. The policemen were handlin' crowd control and the fire chief was probably collectin' donations for the Volunteer Fire Department Welfare Fund.
By now the whole circus had moved to within ten yards of the tree with everyone pointin' and commentin' and makin' suggestions. Not a scene to encourage a scaredy cat to come down and join the fun.
Up went the extension ladder. Up went the fe-lyin'. The extension ladder extended. The cat extended to the highest branch that could bear its weight. The ladder was too short. After some discussion, the tallest fireman started up the ladder.
The crowd held their breath.
Closer, closer, closer… He reached out… The cat backed away and nearly fell. The fireman reached again. The branch sagged under the cat's weight.
Success!
"Ahhhhhhhhh…" The crowd released their breath, generatin' enough hot air to float a balloon.
There are professionals out there who study crowd dynamics and why large groups of people do stupid things they normally would not do alone. Guess they haven't figured it out since Kennedy and Kerry still keep getting' elected. The crowd that day apparently had similar mental abilities.
They watched silently as the fireman worked his way back down rung by careful rung, a squirmin', screechin' fe-lyin' clutched under his arm. Then, when he was no more than six feet from the bottom—the finish line in sight—there occurred the sort of mass brain freeze usually only seen among Demo-cat voters.
Every single onlooker let loose with a roar of approval.
The fe-lyin' freaked, twisted, and got its claws on the one uncovered part of the fireman's person: his face. Fireman promptly fell the rest of the way down, droppin' the cat.
When last seen, that fe-lyin' was doin' 75 mph in a school zone, headin' for the hills.*
*It should be noted AHM heard the full story from the next door neighbor, SHF havin' only related an edited version. For great-great-Grand Dam Bitch, however, it was a tale for the ages, passed along from muzzle to muzzle among the pack.
Oh, yeah. The cat was never seen again.
posted by Harrison at 8:40 PM
"[A]round 8:15 a.m.,…police received a call of a cat stuck in a drain… When police, fire and department of public works crews arrived, all they saw was a tiny black head sticking out above the grate. "The cat was just hanging under there," said Lt. Guercia. Crews blocked off the area and immediately set to work trying to free the young female. They didn't get far…
"When prybars, backhoes, liquid soap and coaxing all failed, rescuers opted for Plan B: Bring the cat, grate and all, to a veterinarian. They…lifted the whole mess up in one piece. [Then] they transported the cat and its heavy new collar to [a nearby vet]… "It was a pretty interesting scene," [Dr. Condon] said. "Its head was just peeking over the top." [He] sedated the cat, lubricated its neck and head, shaved its neck, and commenced tugging and turning. After a bit of coaxing, the cat finally slipped free. "If it was able to get its head in there, it had to be able to get it out of there."
Ah, yes. There's just somethin' about fe-lyings and fire departments that warms the heart and brings to mind the tale of Silly Human Female and the Firemen.
As it was told to me, back in the long-ago days of my great-great-granddam's puppyhood, AHM actually had a fe-lyin'. It was a rescue cat, scared of most everythin', and spent all its time indoors living high in the bookcase. Guess everyone got along 'cause I've never heard any stories to the contrary. Either that or the fe-lyin' wasn't around long enough to start botherin' great-great-Grand Dam Bitch—thanks to Silly Human Female.
Durin' that time there came a day AHM had to go away overnight—leavin' early one mornin' and comin' back the next evenin'. Since SHF either had some time off or was between jobs, she said she'd take care of granddam and the cat so they wouldn't have to go sit in a kennel at the vet's.
So along comes SHF the first afternoon, openin' the door for Granddam to go onto the porch and play. She cleaned up a bit, then picked up the cat for a bit of a cuddle. It was at that point disaster struck. SHF started thinkin'—or not, as the case may be. (Whenever SHF did somethin' really, really stupid, her excuse always started with the words "I didn't think…" which pretty much summed up the whole problem.)
Continued in Read the Rest!
What happened next is still in dispute, but SHF claims she thought (?) the cat would like a bit of fresh air and sunshine—and put it outside on the porch. 'Course great-great-Grand Dam thought it was playtime and immediately frolicked over. The cat took off like, well, a scalded cat, clearin' the porch railin' and scalin' the nearest—tallest—tree.
And there it sat. No amount of coaxin' or wheedlin' was gonna' get that fe-lyin' outta' that tree. After a frantic hour of tryin', SHF had a brainstorm. She called the fire department and asked (accordin' to the story) "Do you really get cats out of trees or is that just part of your PR campaign?"
They really got cats out of trees.
Now AHM lived in a small, quiet community at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac bordered with lots of grass and trees. After makin' the call, SHF went back to beggin' the cat to come down. No luck. Granddam was penned in on the porch with a panoramic view of the whole scene and always claimed that fe-lyin' actually stuck its tongue out at SHF.
It must have been a slow day at the firehouse. From a distance came the sound of one fire siren. Then came the sound of two fire sirens—and a third. Then a police siren. Then screechin' tires. They got closer and closer until a whole host of flashin' lights careened up the hill toward AHM's house. The neighbors poured out of nearby homes. Kids raced to the scene on their bikes.
With a squeal of tires and a couple of final whoop, whoop's, two ladder trucks, a police cruiser, and the fire chief's car all landed at the end of AHM's front walk. A dozen firemen in full gear—from helmet to gloves to boots—leaped from the trucks and charged across the lawn toward SHF.
"You the lady who called about the cat?" the leader yelled.
With no more noisy sirens to drown him out, the question echoed all around the cul-de-sac, which by now was pretty crowded. First came one snicker. Second was a laugh. Soon the whole crowd was laughin' and cheerin' and urgin' the firemen on. SHF's jaw had locked into permanent gape so she could only point upward to where the cat was perched in a crook of tree limbs.
A squad of men trotted off and came back with an extension ladder. The policemen were handlin' crowd control and the fire chief was probably collectin' donations for the Volunteer Fire Department Welfare Fund.
By now the whole circus had moved to within ten yards of the tree with everyone pointin' and commentin' and makin' suggestions. Not a scene to encourage a scaredy cat to come down and join the fun.
Up went the extension ladder. Up went the fe-lyin'. The extension ladder extended. The cat extended to the highest branch that could bear its weight. The ladder was too short. After some discussion, the tallest fireman started up the ladder.
The crowd held their breath.
Closer, closer, closer… He reached out… The cat backed away and nearly fell. The fireman reached again. The branch sagged under the cat's weight.
Success!
"Ahhhhhhhhh…" The crowd released their breath, generatin' enough hot air to float a balloon.
There are professionals out there who study crowd dynamics and why large groups of people do stupid things they normally would not do alone. Guess they haven't figured it out since Kennedy and Kerry still keep getting' elected. The crowd that day apparently had similar mental abilities.
They watched silently as the fireman worked his way back down rung by careful rung, a squirmin', screechin' fe-lyin' clutched under his arm. Then, when he was no more than six feet from the bottom—the finish line in sight—there occurred the sort of mass brain freeze usually only seen among Demo-cat voters.
Every single onlooker let loose with a roar of approval.
The fe-lyin' freaked, twisted, and got its claws on the one uncovered part of the fireman's person: his face. Fireman promptly fell the rest of the way down, droppin' the cat.
When last seen, that fe-lyin' was doin' 75 mph in a school zone, headin' for the hills.*
*It should be noted AHM heard the full story from the next door neighbor, SHF havin' only related an edited version. For great-great-Grand Dam Bitch, however, it was a tale for the ages, passed along from muzzle to muzzle among the pack.
Oh, yeah. The cat was never seen again.
posted by Harrison at 8:40 PM
Post a Comment