AFTERMATH: The Fallout of Hurricane Katrina

I shouldn't even really say this. But I will, anyway. What's the point if there's no truth in Free Speech?

There's a lot of ill will down here towards the refugees from Hurricane Katrina. Not all the refugees, mind you -- but a very large percentage. The refugees are seen by local Texans as lazy, money-grubbing, ill-mannered, and a definite drag on the local economies. One of my wife's friends (who is black and live on the southeast side of San Antonio -- where the government housing projects are here) stated flatly that "These damned refugees make our Projects people look downright civilized! At least our people hold down jobs and clean up after themselves -- not just get drunk all day and moan about their luck."

Specific Example: One of my wife's friends at work took a refugee into her home to live -- an early-twenties girl from New Orleans. She collected over $10,000.00 in govenment aid and had spent most of it by early December (when she moved back to New Orleans) on drugs and alcohol, as well as a vaction to the Caribbean and a new wardrobe. She never started college like she promised her host she would; nor did she pay any kind of room or board to her host, although that was part of the agreement.

This is by no means to imply that everyone from New Orleans was lazy or drunk. I met a refugee family in New Orleans thatg were from Eastern Europe. They were tugboat pilots on the Mississippi and anxious to get back to work. Their home was gone and all their possessions, but as the father of the group noted, "We've lost everything we had leaving Poland. We can rebuild again." I think I saw him on CNN last week piloting a tugboat towing barges up the river.

I'm just saying. I seriously doubt I'll ever go to the Big Easy for anything -- let alone Mardi Gras.

If a disaster were to happen again and the shelters were to fill tomorrow, I'd be back in a heartbeat. But I'd be less gullible and starry-eyed about it,

~~JD~~

The Cats of Casa Largo II: Flurfy the Norwegian Forest Cat

Flurfy was (and still is) a Norwegian Forest cat.




Norwegian Forest Cats are similar to Maine Coon Cats, in that they look like a regular housecat in the face, but lack the "smooshed" in the face look that Persian cats have. And, while Maine Coon Cats tend toward dark browns and stripes, Norwegian Forest Cats tend to be solid colors.

Flurfy believes this means he is related somehow to the cousins of this people who own him. Their family name ("Gertsmeier") is Norwegian in origin, and since so was Flurfy, it seemed a logical step for him.

Flurfy had mysteriously appeared in the parking lot of a burned-down Piggly-Wiggly store in Waynesville Missouri one dark drizzly morning. How he got there he never said, preferring to let the mystery linger, like bad cheese on a summer afternoon.




Which, coincidentally, was what Flurfy smelled like occaisonally.

His newly-adopted mother Ariane had originally mistaken him for a female cat; a fact Flurfy had never forgotten. In fact, It may well have factored into the day he bit Ariane. The story everyone told was that "a stray Siamese Cat" had bitten her, but whispered stories told of Ariane trying to break up a potential fight between Flurfy and another cat . . . so, he bit her. Although Otis, his sidekick and protege, just couldn't imagine Flurfy ever being so naughty as to bite somebody, really. What a terrible thing to say about them!

Flurfy liked to think his having actually bitten a human added to his air of mystery and respect among the other cats. The other cats, however, weren't quite sure if Flurfy was vaguely dangerous or slightly deluded.




Flurfy was a world-class napper. He could sleep for hours at the drop of a hat, and frequently did. Flurfy slept everywhere; on pillows, on beds, on the floor, on chairs, and frequently in the bathtub -- which the other cats thought was just weird. Flurfy said it reminded him of his ancestral home in the fjords, where the naughty Polar Mousies play, and are the natural prey of Norwegian Forest Cats.




Flurfy had a dream one night that he was sailing the fjords in his kayak. The Northern lights shimmered and danced above his little kayak. He shifted his weight so he could raise his parak-covered paw clenching his harpoon high over his head. The silvery scales of thousands of sardines reflected the Northern Lights as they swam under the nose of his kayak. (FLASH! FLASH!) Flurfy skillfully guided the kayak one-handed as he gently crept up on his prey, and raised the harpoon for the kill.




Flurfy like to tell this sdtory to the dog, because not only was she a good listener, she believed everything Flurfy said.




The dog, however, had her own opinion of Flurfy's tall tales.

The Cats of Casa Largo

Otis was a Junior Prince of Cats in Casa Largo, which was a very important position, indeed.

Junior Prince Cats at Casa Largo are in charge of pouncing on Mousies, and generally making sure that those very naughty mousies don't do anything nefarious. Otis wasn't sure what nefarious meant, but it sure sounded naughty to him -- which was good enough. Otis was also in charge of catching flies and other naughty flying insects. He was quite good at it, but being a Junior Prince of Cats he had more than his fair share of curiosity, and when he would open those fat little paws of his to just peeka little tiny bit at his catch of the day . . . . that naughty flying insect would fly away, laughing at him (he thought.)

And when he wasn't catching those very naughty flies and very naughty mousies . . . .


. . . . he liked to keep his napping skills sharp. Otis was not quite a world-class napper yet, but he was learning under the instruction of his Uncle Fluffy, who was able to sleep almost 28 hours a day; which is quite a long time indeed. (Uncle Fluffy was a Norwegian Polar Cat; and had a long, luxuriant, warm fur coat, which encouraged him to sleep a lot.)

Unfortunately Otis had something of a handicap to his being a Prince of Cats; besides not having a long, luxuriant, warm fur coat:


His mother was a dog.

She wasn't his real mother, actually. He didn't really remember his real mother, or how he had come to the new house. But he did remember the first time he had met his new mother. Samantha (the dog) had walked happily over to Otis and sniffed Otis' nose, which is the Traditional Form of Greeting in the Manner of Her People.

Otis had greeted Samantha in the Traditional Manner of His People; First by swelling up to five times his own size (apparently by swallowing a great deal of air) and then releasing that air rather explosively through his teeth in a very painful sounding HIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSING sort of sound.

And being a very small sort of cat, he had punctuated his HIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSING sound with an explosive release of his bowels. Twice, in fact; and much to everyone's surprise.

But that had been a long time ago; years ago, in fact, and Samantha had never mentioned it since. She was a very motherly type of dog, and loved her little Otis very much. Even if he did smell a bit too much like fish for her tastes.

Otis stomped his little furry feet like a dog. He licked his fur like a dog, which made a very loud noise when he did it that made the other cats giggle. (Dog lips are a very different sort from cats lips, you know.) Otis wagged his tail like a dog, thumping it about like an epileptic kielbassa on a leash; rather than suavely giving it a swift flink from side-to-side like other cats.

And Otis was big, like a dog. He had a solid tomcat's body with a dog's solid bulk, which made him very handy as a doorstop when he had a mind to be (which was not often) or equally useful as an enforcer for the King of Cats (which was less often, but more fun) as well as quiet noisy.

That bulk made Otis the subject of more than a few jokes as well. One of the cats thought Otis bore a distinct resemblence to Shamu the Killer Whale at Seaworld; partly because of his bulk, and partly because of his small fluffy black-and-white markings on his cat-tummy.


Which is how he got the nickname "ShamooOtis." Being a cat of very little brain, he didn't mind in the least.

~~JD~~

Memos to Self For next Year

1.) Try to avoid drinking an entire six-pack of Guiness in one sitting next New Year's. It's a damn fine beer, but hard on the upper level brain functions the next day.

2.) Try to avoid mixing beer and Champagne next New Year's Eve, for the same reason.

3.) Remember that post you did last week about "apparently I can't eat like I used to"? Well, apparently I can't drink like I used to, either.

4.) January 1st is the perfect day to take down Christmas decorations. Don't forget that.

5.) January 1st is also the perfect day to finish off the Christmas Cookes, the Fruitcake, and the Buche de Noel -- all the great stuff leftover from Christmas.

And the sugar rush helps with the New Year's headache, too.

~~JD~~