Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Have been a dog guy since day one. I can't remember anyone having a cat when I was a kid. Most of my friends and all of our family were campers and when you go camping you best have a dog. You certainly can't take a cat into the woods with you for three weeks. In our neighbourhood now there are pussies galore, in most Toronto neighbourhoods actually, but in Sudbury with its wide avenues and pickup trucks and brutal cold winters people didn't have outdoor cats. Plus folks don't like seeing them outside because they get at the baby birds. Seriously. My Dad would have shot any cat he saw snooping around the robins who nested every year outside of our house.
So I didn't know cats forever and that was fine by me and then I met the Girl from Rawlins Cross. She had a big furry cat that was about as dumb as you can get. We're talking brain smaller than a pea, so dumb that if it could spell it would spell dumb without the 'b'.
And of course the fucker loved me. Loved me. The feeling was not mutual.
One of the reasons it loved me so is that it was an early riser and when I was staying over, which was often, it could rely on my attention whilst my girl slumbered on, oblivious to the meowing of her mentally handicapped ward. We'd close the door to the bedroom to no effect, it would butt its head against it until I reacted in some way, which was usually to replenish the bowl she emptied overnight.
So up I would get and feed the cat and back to bed I would go and after a number of months the Girl from Rawlins Cross remarked that the cat was looking good, not so fat I mean. Now at this point we might have figured something out because the cat wasn't exercising or anything. It was an indoor cat and I swear the most exercise it ever got was banging its head into the door (and of course this might explain its stupidity, brain damage and all) but somehow we figured that it was doing laps when we were out or some damn thing. Maybe it had a membership at a feline gym or something, who knows what we were thinking.
And now she continued to lose weight and the Girl from Rawlins Cross began to worry. Perhaps this was cancer or cat AIDs or some such thing. And as the cat wasted away before our eyes she made plans to take it to the vet.
Until one day she happened to catch me feeding the cat. How come you're only putting that much into her dish, she said.
One cup it says, I said, brandishing the little cup I used to scoop the chicken flavoured cereal from the bag. (I always wonder why the big fellow didn't take out one of the kids for the taste of good red meat. I mean seriously, chicken flavoured cheerios for the descendant of an animal that kills deer and elk. Good god.)
One CUP, she said, brandishing a measuring cup, which held three of the scoops at the very least.
Like pie is to cake for me, so to are dogs to cats. I can't say I mind our little one too much but its all rather pointless. I had a boon companion. Now I have, well, nothing is too harsh because she is an affectionate little thing and about as good a cat as one could have I guess. But she is mercurial and prone to hissing and swatting at the kids and at those times I think I probably could punt her over that house across the street no problem. My old guy wouldn't even dream of looking sideways at the kids, even when he was riddled with cancer if the baby came a calling he smiled nad put up with her abuse.
Plus the cat has a habit of getting up around six am and coming looking for me or one of the kids. Must be related to that other fool somehow. Maybe I'll start cutting back on her meals as well, until lethargy and weakness prevent her from climbing to the second floor.
Not cool. The cat I mean.
Saturday night we had a gathering of Oiler fans here in Toronto (Oiler fans plus E. from The Theory of Ice) and a grand time was had by all despite the result. And as we watched the game there was a bit of a sense of disbelief. We looked at each other in wonder and as the game wore on the general consensus was that this team is a better team than many of the recent incarnations of Edmonton hockey clubs, certainly better than the motley crew from the past two years. There were some pretty cynical dudes amongst us, this wasn't a bunch of fanboys, but there were some smiles even with the result. Something may be happening as long as Tambellini and Lowe don't fuck it all up.
Its early, its oh so early, but despite Whitney and Gagner not playing a game and Hemsky only playing just over one, this club has outchanced their opposition in three games so far. For the most part the defensive zone fire drills have been few and far between. Renney has been linematching which has helped a ton. Last night the kids did not get a defensive zone faceoff all night, that heavy lifting went to Horcoff, Smyth and Jones.
Horcoff and Belanger are winning faceoffs. The powerplay has featured players and pucks moving and chances being created. The penalty kill has been very good.
Tom Gilbert has been fantastic and Ladislav Smid has been good, especially on the PK. Potter has been a find and Sutton has been better than expected. If Whitney comes back and stays healthy and can carry a pairing, perhaps with Petry, then the blue may be ok as long as Smid keeps it up.
The goaltending has been good, if not great, but in a lot of cases their workload has been minimal, which I think nobody saw coming.
And the kids have been good. At times they have been very good. Ted has been better than expected, especially in the defensive side of thing. And of course the hattrick, which Tyler especially enjoyed. ;)
I joked with Little Fury on Saturday that Ted was going to break ground on the new arena on Sunday morning, just for something to do, and that he would have it completed within a week, at no cost to the taxpayers. Kid does it all.
Its weird shit to see. Its a completely different animal than last year. And suddenly with the return of Smyth this club has become a lot easier to cheer for too.
Its nice to enjoy Oilers' hockey for a change.
Posted by Black Dog at 1:15 PM