Kat Tales

I didn’t have to see Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds to develop an intense dislike or fear of birds. Everyday bird encounters make me detest the creatures. I thought moving to Hawaii might change my view of birds because when you think of tropical Hawaii don’t you imagine brightly colored exotic birds? Sadly Hawaii has the same pigeon problem as Boston, except pigeons here are the size of chickens. The only exotic birds I’ve seen were on the shoulder of a half naked man riding a bike. I think they were parrots–or of that same family because they had long beaks and bright blue, red and yellow feathers. But that was once in three weeks. The birds I see everyday are gray and white, and occasionally a red-hatted bird. But mostly they are fat, lazy pigeons and doves. Yes, doves. I know when you think of doves a majestic white creature descending from heaven comes to mind, or a a white dove returning to Noah’s ark is recalled. I’m not talking about those kind of doves. These Hawaiian doves have developed bad habits from the pigeons. They are lazy scroungers. They’re probably even more lazy than the pigeons. At least when I run pigeons move from my path as quickly as their fat little bodies will allow them to wobble–why they don’t fly I do not know. No, I do know. They’ve gotten too heavy for their wings to support their over-weight pigeon bodies. But back to the doves. These doves don’t move. They expect land walking creatures to step around or over them. On my runs I find myself dodging in and out of these birds. Tomorrow I think I will just run straight and see how many birds I take out. Would that be considered animal cruelty? Normal birds flap away, but not these doves. Weren’t birds made for the air? Why don’t they find some tree branch or power line to perch their lazy selves? These birds are not normal. So, tomorrow I will attempt to teach these birds a lesson—the lesson of survival of the fittest. Birds if you don’t want to get stepped on I suggest you take flight—that is what you were made to do after all! Fly, you fat birds, fly!

Pigeons are one of nature’s ugliest, nastiest birds. I’m just saying that if Mother Nature made a mistake it was in the pigeon–the beggar bird. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood I grew to detest these squabblers. When I was young I used to love chasing the pigeons around–actually looking back over the joy it brought me to chase the little creatures maybe I had already developed a disfavor for pigeons. They were easy to scare and chase even for a child–about the only living thing a child can feel superior to. What is a pigeon’s purpose for existing besides pecking at the sidewalks? I guess I can be a little nicer and think about pigeons as nature’s vacuum. Pigeons do clean up after humans–jabbing their little beaks at everything from food to paper to cigarette butts. Some natives of Boston  have told me to be more sympathetic to their only beloved wildlife. Bostonians may have special attachment to the pigeon but I certainly wouldn’t miss the little fat hobos. Yes, hobos. They’re lazy, fat, wandering birds whose profession is mooching. They are too lazy to even build nests. They just perch themselves on wires at night, waiting for the humans to drop their next meal. And where do they come from? Have you ever seen a baby pigeon? I think pigeons are born full, fat birds ready to join the ranks of professional bums. Actually it is hard for me even to think about pigeons as being sexual creatures. It’s spring in Boston and it isn’t uncommon to see other birds twitterpated, engaging in reproductive activities. I never see pigeons wildly squawking after one another. Nope, they just bob their fat, little necks, tottering around like a little toddler who is learning to balance on two legs. How do pigeon’s skinny, little bird legs support such a colossal body?! Anyhow, there is nothing sexual about pigeons therefore they must be asexual which means maybe pigeons are a fallen species of bird–they’re like the ugly duckling who never turned into a swan, but had the unfortunate fate to remain an ugly duckling forever. Tragic!

“Consider the flowers of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like on of these…” (Matthew 6:28-29)

If I was going to be a flower I would definitely be a tulip, blooming in the spring with my face always pointed to the sun. Tulips are simple, yet in their simplicity is a vibrant elegance full of color and life. How easy it is to imagine these flowers alive and breathing in rythm with you and me. I can imagine a spontaneous ballet of tulips stepping from their rooted gardens as their long, delicate necks sway gracefully in spring’s cool breeze as they lightly sashay barefoot down a green lawn. I want to join their dance, moving to the beat of the gentle breeze, finding freedom in an impromptu, careless dance.

So, I’ve been thinking about my short trunk. What sort of blessings come to one with a smaller than average torso? Well today one answer came to me in a very unexpected way. I went to the doctor for an x-ray of my back, and I was asked to remove my pants. After the x-ray when I went behind the curtain to put my pants back on I noticed in the mirror that my “shirt” hung low enough to be a dress. So, I decided to try it out. Seems to be working. I’ve gotten many nice comments on my pretty dress. Shirt or dress it doesn’t matter when you have a short torso. Now when I shop I can double dip—shirt on cool days and a nice sun dress on hotter days. And with our unusually warm Boston weather today was THE perfect day to slip off my pants to don my cute summery dress. My dad would be so proud of my frugality—especially during these hard economic times. Two-in-one outfits! Genius!

Short torso people: 1
Rest of the world: 0

Vegan and cheesecake are not two words one would think would go together—in fact they should never be together. Vegan cheesecake is a wolf in a sheep’s cloak. It masquerades around as a healthy option to cheesecake when in fact it tastes NOTHING like cheesecake. It looks like a cement block, and it tastes like grainy dirt. Actually there is not taste except for a hint of ginger. I think it’s because our tongues do not have taste buds that recognizes the awful wannabe cheesecake. Vegan cheesecake does not deserve to bear the name cheesecake. It is a disgrace to the delicious cheesecake family. Why do we even pretend to have vegan cheesecakes when everyone knows vegans do not eat cheese?! I tasted the so-called vegan cheesecake and it isn’t even something I would feed to my dog. Give me the real stuff any day–that good ol’ fattening 400 calorie slice of creamy smooth cheesecake topped with cherries.

I went shopping for an ergonomically friendly back pack today. It should have been simple. Try on a couple of packs and pick the one that feels the most comfortable–and yes taking color into serious consideration. But, no my trip to REI was not that simple. I was very nicely and lovingly informed that I have a very short torso for a person of my height. I have the torso of a five foot person–a bit of a problem when you’re 5’7″. Now it  is certainly no secret that I am leggy; when you see me that is quite apparent. I’ve always had long lanky limbs, but I never thought about my long noodlely limbs compared to my torso. I can’t believe no one has ever pointed my short torso out to me! I guess I have my parents to thank for their short torso genes. Now that they’re getting older and shrinking  it is very obvious they’re part of the short torso population. Does this mean my torso is getting smaller every day?! Is this what I have to look forward to one day–being a head on top of boobs, practically all arms and legs!? Hmmmm…this does not bode well for me. And I have no hope of finding an ergonomically correct back pack! Now I must find a way to stretch my torso out—can you still grow in your mid-twenties? Is there any hope for my short torso? I think I need to start a support group for those unfortunate souls with short torsos. Obviously the backpacking companies discriminate against those with short torsos? Aren’t there laws prohibiting such discriminations?! This new realization of my short torso makes some things very very clear—like why shirts are always way too long on me, but way too short on my arms. Oh, short torso, short torso, short torso!  Will you ever grow?!!