Do cats hunt cans?

Before being trapped in houses and city apartments, when tabby cats roamed the forests and the streets, marking their domains and fighting amongst themselves like mini tigers, how did they nourish themselves? Beef? Turkey liver? Seafood? Any of these aspic? I think not. They ate mice!

How did cat food manufacturers decide that cats like to eat seafood in gelèe? Or perhaps roast beef? And if they would prefer rare or well done? Nature seems to dictate that cats like their meals raw, like mince, but you don't find mince-flavored cat food, do you? You don't find that, just like you don't find mouse-flavored cat food. Or even bird-flavored cat food, except for chicken or turkey, which is too big for a cat to stalk and kill anyway.

Good things come in small packages, and Garfield got a small package this afternoon. He felt like a real cat today when he received his little box. Upon smelling it he went wild, as a real cat should.




















I'm sure you can picture what happened next.












As with the gladiators in ancient Rome, there were spectators to watch this brutal sport. But rather than being bloodthirsty supporters of the violent game, one spectator boycotted the event, and even claimed that the event organizers are "mean" and "cruel". This particular individual must be of the popular opinion that cats are natural canned food eaters who are unable to look after themselves, instead dependent on a third party to open their cans for them. If this were the case, wouldn't cats be long extinct? Anyway, were the creatures that are processed into canned food prepared in a friendlier way than a cat hunting a mouse? Either way they get dismembered and disemboweled and discombobulated. But that's the topic of a whole different blog.












Audience or not, nature took its course.




















Should we allow nature to take its course on a grander scale, breeding adorable, fresh, organic mice for Garfield to eat daily, or should we continue to serve him up smelly canned food that's full of chemicals and strange slaughterhouse leftovers? Not to mention this canned stuff gives him gas that can stink up a whole room in a matter of a fraction of a second. Or should we go a step further and create mouse-flavored cat food, in canned and dry varieties? Somehow I think cat-owning city dwellers would just wrinkle their noses at this choice which is not appetizing to humans, picking out instead some sort of liver pate in a cat shaped can, rather than giving their cat what it really wants: sweet mice!

Garfield was on holiday in Pirna.


















Someone is staying inside for a while.

Word on the street has it that the problem cat Garfield was out causing lots of trouble in the neighborhood last Friday, going into other people's apartments and even the school around the corner. Janitors chased him away, and finally, a teacher took him to her home. In Pirna. This is outside of Dresden, far away. Come on, if you find a cat that you can see has had an operation, would you just take it to your far away home? Or would you maybe think "Perhaps someone around here owns this cat which has had an expensive veterinary treatment."? Following an intense search effort by people in our house and neighborhood with help of the "Garfield ist weg!" signs, we had several tips as to the possible location of Garfield, and finally the teacher's attention was brought to the fact that she had stolen our cat, and she brought him home yesterday. Really, I think we're pretty lucky she took him, he was in good hands, as she is a cat owner herself. And she's an honest person, she did return him, she could have just kept him in his far away hideout, and we never would have known. Thank you friendly teacher who works around the corner!

If you have any information relating to the whereabouts of Garfield, please notify us by comment or email a.s.a.p. Anonymous tips also accepted.

O Tannenbaum

Yesterday a small group of us went hiking to Schrammstein in the Saxony Switzerland with little Willy. In the throes of our wanderlust, we adapted a new wanderlied:

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.
Er ist so upset jetzt,
dass er gleich einen puke absetzt!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.

and I just thought of a new verse:

O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.
Er ist so sehr aufgeregt,
seine Eltern sind durchgedreht!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
simmer unseren Willy down.

Actually, Willy remained quite calm on the hike, it was when we crossed the border into the Czech Republic for dinner that he freaked out. I think it was because of the translations on the menu that he got upset. At this restaurant, you could order "Chicken Gordon Blue" (and it was "Gordon Blue" in all 3 languages, Czech, German and English), or "Indiana Styled vegetables" (really Indian-style vegetables). But the best funny English we saw was in Decin while searching for a gas station that was open past 9 p.m. There was a shop called "Dog Ham"! So I guess someday if nobody needs English lessons in Germany any more, I could probably find a job just on the other side of the border...

Barefoot in the city?




















As a child, I loved to run outside directly following a rainstorm and splash in the puddles in the crisp, post-rainstorm air, barefoot naturally. As my age increased, my love of walking outside in the soft green grass in the summer with no shoes remained, and even sometimes I would relish the feeling of wet sand squishing between my toes at the beach. But this was all in the country, in places where going barefoot was acceptable and rather safe, excepting the occasional sharp rock that poked my foot. The rule of "no shirt, no shoes, no service" in public is common knowledge in the United States, and if you don't know it, it's posted on the doors of most convenience stores and other shops. And honestly, I don't know of anyone who would really want to walk around on hot, dirty pavement or into stores with no shoes...but here there seem to be plenty of people who incredibly do have a taste for walking around on hot, dirty pavement littered with broken glass. Is it religion? Is it some sort of test of will? I can't imagine that it's pleasurable, but it seems like each summer there are more and more people hitting the sidewalks and the gravelly paths in the park without shoes. And it's not like the sidewalks of Dresden-Neustadt are any cleaner or less hot than sidewalks elsewhere, it's likely that the opposite is true. Here's just a sample of some of the delicacies you can find on the sidewalks here: all forms of dog waste, broken glass, vomit, unfinished meals that people just drop, dirty diapers, prophylactics (used and unused), assorted fireworks, German flags... Plus, these people are not just hitting the streets shoeless, they venture into stores lacking footwear as well. Amazingly, they are not sent away, they are allowed to go about their shopping, tracking their foot and street germs everywhere. A former boss of mine back in Beaverton accosted a small child in a supermarket who was not wearing shoes, and forced the child's mother to put her in the shopping cart, because not only is it dangerous for a child to be walking around a supermarket with no shoes where perhaps some jar broke and there's still a tiny shard of glass on the floor just waiting for a tender little foot, it's dangerous for the supermarket as well because they could get sued for the injury to the child. Here people really do get injured on the sidewalks, even though they can see the giant shards of broken beer bottle on the sidewalk from the night before, but they never seem to learn. I've seen more than one person here on crutches with a bandaged foot from stepping on a piece of glass. Plus, don't feet turn to incredibly unappealing leather-like appendages when not protected by shoes? I guess I just don't get the whole barefoot in the city thing.
If you've made it this far into this blog entry, you can participate in a contest! My first Remember White Rabbit contest! Tell me who the person in the picture with this post is in a comment. If you're right, Little Wee the bunny might let you pet her tilted head.

More Garfield News...

No, we haven't just thought of a new way to torture Garfield. As you may remember from a previous post, Garfield had a hernia, induced by his toothless mother at birth. After consulting the veterinarian, we decided to go through with surgery, because without surgery, Garfield could die a terrible death with his intestines spilling out of his belly. So we chose the less painful route, hernia surgery. I think it was quite simple, just a little cut, tucking the intestines back in, and sewing Garfield's belly back together. He was able to come home the same afternoon, still drunk on anaesthesia. At the moment Garfield is confined to the kitchen, where he can hurt himself the least, limited to pacing around like this and colliding with the furniture. Maybe this weekend, after the collar is off, he can venture into other areas of the apartment, and perhaps even onto the balcony, where he can hiss at the much larger neighbor cats.

The Tables Have Turned




















Waboose used to only take on animals much larger than him, such as humans.
But now, after just a couple days of fear and irritation, Waboose has started venting his frustrations on little Garfield. I've known cats in my life who stalk deer, and scare the deer, I even read an article last week about a cat that chased a bear up a tree (and interestingly, all of these cats have had gold fur like Garfield), but now things are a little different. In the first days of Garfield's presence at our house, Waboose's keen bunny instincts told him "this animal = danger!" But now, his attack bunny ways have prevailed, leading to aggression against the little cat. It's really quite cute. If Garfield comes within about one foot of Waboose, Waboose charges and grunts. Garfield tends to back away slowly from Waboose, or run away quickly, depending on how surprised he is, all the while hissing and puffing out his soft kitty fur. Especially adorable is when Waboose creeps up behind Garfield, sniffing the tip of his tail. Garfield notices only after this has been occuring for a good amount of time, and upon noticing, springs up, runs away, and from a safe distance, turns back hissing fiercely. The best action must have happened this afternoon, however. Waboose chased Garfield in circles on the rug in the living room! This is getting better every day.















Wee finds all of this very curious.
















Waboose stalks Garfield...














...Garfield hisses angrily.










Garfield goes bunny hunting.

Kitty!, Part II














Kitty, whose official name is Garfield, is now home in Dresden. Unlike his half brother who moved to Leipzig, he did not vomit in the car on the way, much to our relief. He did, however, urinate in the bunny cage upon discovering it. Fortunately, the bunnies weren't home at the time, they were lounging on the rug in the living room. Their introduction was prior to this event, and it wasn't much better. Wee reacted coolly, just looking at the new addition to the family with her crooked head, while Waboose immediately fled to the nearest sheltered corner. Wee is taking the new addition very well, following him around and sniffing him when he least expects it. Garfield hisses at the bunny when he notices her attention. He's more interested in Waboose, because Waboose is rather high-strung and stamps his foot if Garfield even looks in his direction. The two haven't come much closer than a few feet apart. Wee has already ventured nose-to-nose with the cat, which doesn't seem to bother her as much as it bothers him.

















Wee and Garfield seem to get along already!













Here you can see crazy Uncle Waboose hiding under the sofa.

As seems to be a trend with the animals at my house, Garfield has a medical condition. He has a hernia, probably caused by his toothless mother gnawing off his umbilical cord shortly after his birth. This condition can be very dangerous for a cat, but the good news is, this can be repaired. According to what I found in my research on the internet, it shouldn't even be too expensive. So we'll see what the good Dr. Fischer says sometime this week.

Rock'n'roll baby















Research shows that babies recognize music after birth which was played before their birth outside the womb. In addition, babies in some intensive care units are played rock music to calm them because the drum beat is like a mother's heartbeat. Using this knowledge and my raw nerves yesterday evening due to a certain crying baby at my house, we rocked to some AC/DC yesterday evening. Sure enough, after hearing "Big Balls", "Girl's Got Rhythm (Backseat Rhythm)", and "Whole Lotta Rosie" and dancing along to it, baby Willy was out like a light. I don't know if I could sleep to AC/DC, but it did the trick for Willy. At the moment, true to his Michigan roots, he's listening to the Raconteurs, and it seems to be quite pleasing even to a wakeful Willy. But of course he's predisposed to Jack White's music, he was at a White Stripes concert back in October when he was probably only about the size of a walnut or so.

Degenerate Toys

When two people have a child, friends and acquaintances are often led astray by the best of intentions and bestow upon the child degenerate toys. Degenerate toys are those toys which do not reflect a reasonable system of values and which will ultimately lead the unknowing child down a lifelong path of trials and tribulations. With this list, we would like to spare baby Wilhelm these trials and tribulations. If any of these degenerate toys are found within a 50 meter radius of Willy, they will be immediately seized and destroyed most completely.

-Police-related playthings: Any figures, be they in human or animal likeness or in the likeness of any mode of transportation with any police markings of any color and sort and in any language are unacceptable.

-Winnie the Pooh and friends: This bear and his friends should be so extremely cute that it has the opposite effect, plus he can't spell. This is a bad influence.

-Dogs: We don't like dogs.

-Anything baby blue or pink: We don't feel the need to declare Willy's gender or fashion sense with either of these colors.

-Things that make noise: Anything that generates a noise for no reason. For example, stuffed animals which speak, vehicles with engine or honking noises, percussion instruments.


Acceptable Playthings

While there are playthings that can lead little Willy down the false path in life, there are also acceptable playthings which can help to shape him into a sensible young man. For example:

-Motorcycles: Fast and fun, plus they promote motor development.

-Real cars: These are the size of a sedan, minimum. American models preferred. Hydraulics optional.

-Leather clothes: Only black, pants and jackets. No fringe, no cowboy style.

-Kitties and bunnies: These animals are superior to all others. But please only likenesses, we have enough of the real thing.

Kitty!




















We're getting a kitty, and here he is! He still lives with his mom, because he's still nursing and learning how to hunt. But in just a few short weeks, he will enter the domain of Wee and Waboose and probably forget entirely that he is a cat. Preparations for kitty have been going on for months, the whole reason we took this apartment back in January is because it's on the ground floor, facilitating easy cat exit and entry via the balcony. Consultations with the vet have also already taken place, and cat-bunny relations should be no problem.


















Isn't this the most precious kitty you've ever seen? So precious, in fact, that he may be stolen. Word has it that here in Dresden-Neustadt, gold cats are often stolen because they are rare and desirable. And having a look around the neighborhood, there are an awful lot of gray, black and strangely patterned calico cats, ranging from pretty to horribly ugly and strange, but I only know one handsome gold tabby. And to support the cat thief rumor, we did spot a missing cat sign yesterday evening from the sad owners of Leo, a little golden kitty nearly as cute as ours.

Deutsche Riesen
My trip to visit the German giant rabbits.



















A couple years ago, one of my students told me about German giants and I thought it was some kind of fairy tale, but yesterday I saw with my own eyes that these rabbits really do exist. And they are fantastically giant! My bunnies weigh in at about one and a half kilograms, these guys are small at 5 kilos, and can weigh up to 11 kilograms or so. The big mother rabbits I saw yesterday were about 5 times the size of my bunny Waboose. Imagine, a rabbit the size of a medium dog! And the ears of an adult are longer than one of my whole bunnies!

The real reason for this trip was to go to a birthday party about a half hour drive outside of Dresden, and it was just an added bonus that the farmer next door has a 3-story stall of German giants. It's possible to buy one for just €5, but what would I do with a rabbit the size of a beagle? They are really exquisite, with their size and giant floppy airplane wing ears, but it couldn't live with Wee and Waboose, it would probably beat them up and eat them. And there's no way I want to raise one of these adorable guys and then let a certain someone eat him or her for Christmas...they are, after all, intended for eating. So I guess I'll just have to wait on getting my German giant until I have a house or at least more space for bunnies.















Some of the babies we saw yesterday (and the one I wanted) looked like this, already the size of my regular dwarf rabbits! Others were all black, gray or brown.

The pictures above aren't mine, they are from these sites where you can learn more about or buy Deutsche Riesen:
http://www.deutsche-riesen.com/html/galerie.html
http://www.dhd24.com/archiv/index.php?anzid=4320637

PEZ!































Here's how my German PEZ collection looks. It's finally on display! It's really nothing compared to my real PEZ collection, which I think now resides in boxes at an undisclosed location, but nonetheless impresses visitors with its strangeness.

Grill Test




















After a mega shopping spree on Saturday, we just had to test out the new grill. Somebody seems to like this particular placement of Waboose, and claims that the next time he eats the plants on the balcony, this'll be the last place he sits...















...but if you were a little bunny, wouldn't you want to sample those delicious greens, too?

Will I look like this soon?
Probably. Now that the weather has gotten quite summery, all the babies who live in my building are hanging out in the yard and screaming for no apparent reason. It scares me a bit, considering my own impending arrival.

The other day at work, a male colleague was asking another colleague of mine and me how exactly one knows when to go to the hospital when expecting a baby. His take on the situation was that it seemed like a good, safe idea to go a day or so early. My first thought was "hasn't this guy seen any films where people have babies?" My second thought was "how are you supposed to know which day is the day before you're going to have the kid?" Okay, so films aren't the most reliable source of information on this subject, for example, the water doesn't usually break right around the time you need to head off to the hospital to have the little guy. But in films they do show people timing contractions, and when they are a certain time apart, that's when you should start on the way to the hospital (or wherever you want to have the kid).

Enough on that subject. Here's a little something from Germany that cracks me up every time I see it. It is a real catalogue for baby stuff, and that is the real name.

All we can do now is remember you, White Rabbit















It was clear that it was just a matter of time. White Rabbit's demise had been impending for a time, but he held up for longer than expected. I was informed a couple weeks ago that the inspiration for this blog's name had been sandblasted away, and after having a look for myself, I must confirm that this is true. This building or renovating or whatever it is they are doing to those buildings up off Tannenstraße opposite the MDR buildings has been going on for at least a year, and the outer plaster has now been removed from the buildings, and in the process, so has White Rabbit.

But there are still other rabbits to see out on the streets!

















like Schoko...




















...or Drunk Bunny...














...or if you're really lucky, you might just find a Bunnee on the street!
(okay, so this one I ripped off from Found magazine...)

Goats don't like garlic.













"You're not allowed to feed the goats!" scolded an old lady who'd been hovering around, and then with incredible speed came over to me, swatted my arm 3 times, and then informed me of this half-truth. You see, at the Dresden Zoo, you are allowed to feed the goats, but only with feed from the feed machine, for which you have to pay. We just happened to have some garlic with us, and wanted to see if they would eat that, too. I mean, they are goats, and goats eat everything, right? Well, not these ones. They took the garlic all right, as they take everything from an open hand, chewed it approximately twice, then screwed up their faces and spit the garlic right out. Hm. You would think garlic tastes at least better than a tin can, but apparently not to a goat!

Wer zu Ostern mit den Eiern spielt, bekommt zu Weihnachten die Bescherung.

The somewhat less charming English translation of this bit of German wisdom would be:

She who plays with eggs (what's really meant is "balls") at Easter gets her present at Christmas.

My students told me this yesterday and said "You were playing with the eggs too early!! hahaha!!"

I HATE DOGS















Yesterday I was just out for a quick hop in the yard because the sun was shining. You will note my adherence to the leash law (which is really for dogs, they're the ones who make trouble). Then along came this guy,







no leash, sniffing in my face. My keen bunny instincts told me he was bad news, so I took off, slightly disadvantaged by my harness and leash. Fortunately, it was a cheaply-made leash which promptly broke and I took cover by the trash cans. I think my owner was more worried than I was, she said some expletives which she normally doesn't, and came looking for me, after risking her own safety by restraining the dog until the owner showed up with the leash. I let her catch me, because she seemed pretty wound up. After that, me and Wee retreated to the safety of the balcony for a bit more fresh air. The good thing that came out of all this was that I got a cool new 5-meter long retractable leash!

My Favorite Thing About Easter






Call me a heathen, and you wouldn't be too far off. You know I'm not religious (or if you didn't, you know now), so I can't make up any hokey stories about the meaning of life or anything here, my favorite thing about Easter is really the Cadbury Creme Egg. I love the font on the packaging, I love the little chicken on the foil, I love the Cadbury bunny. When I was little, the creme eggs were the most exciting thing in my Easter basket, because they were always a little bit hidden because they are so heavy that they sink into the Easter grass. They were something that I saved. I first savored the different colored jelly beans, always searching to the bottom of my basket for the best ones (definitely red, orange, purple or white), always leaving the weird tasting colors like green or yellow and the bitter black ones for last. Usually the marshmallowy things were next, and the chocolatey things, and the creme egg was always saved for a special moment, when I would carefully peel off the foil (the best creme eggs are the ones where the foil doesn't stick to any sticky creme egg juice seeping from the egg, this means the fondant filling will be runny and soft, not hardened). Mmmm. I remember holding the heavy creme egg in my little hand, and how heavy it was compared to the other candies. This was clearly a sign of its goodness.

Now that I've gotten older, I think I've experienced some Easters with no creme eggs whatsoever, but I've blocked these from my memory. My mom knows what's important in life, and she sent me a box with a four-pack of creme eggs this week. My youthful savoring of the creme eggs has changed to a ravenous devouring of them, but I still enjoy them in the same way. But before I got my hands on my delicious creme eggs from over the ocean, I encountered a person with no reverence for creme eggs whatsoever: the postal delivery man. I'm sure he threw my creme eggs on the floor. The corner of the box was clearly dented, and I witnessed him throwing down an armload of packages for other people in my house when he came to my door. Actually, he didn't just come to my door, he ran to my door, as I've since seen him do in other parts of the neighborhood. Plus, I've heard the telltale crash of boxes when he enters a house. So this is normal practice for him. Is this guy crazy? Does he not know what precious cargo these boxes could hold? You can't buy creme eggs in this country, so obviously he has no idea what kind of blasphemy he is committing, but still, it isn't right to mistreat any package that way. Anyway, as soon as I saw him throw down the boxes, I thought "This can't be good". And then I saw on the customs slip on my box that it contained creme eggs. And the first thing I thought was "They're cracked." In my mind's eye, I could see their cracked chocolate shells and fondant running out, others with the foil sticking to the egg, a telltale sign of horrible disappointment. And sure enough, the top of one was broken, so broken in fact, that there was a hole, allowing air to reach the normally pleasantly highly viscous fondant, making it slightly hard. You see, the best way to eat a creme egg is to bite off the top, and suck the fondant out. But this isn't possible with a creme egg in which the fondant has experienced this kind of air exposure. You might as well just throw it away. But I forced myself to eat even that creme egg, because, let's be honest, I can't just go out to the store and buy some new ones, peeling them one by one until I find the best. And I'm certainly not in England, where they have vending machines in the train station selling creme eggs!












And now you can even knit clothes for the creme egg. OK, this person didn't put a creme egg in the picture, but if you go to the pattern for these, you will see that the name is "Cadbury Bunny Pattern". Obviously, this is a person with a passion for creme eggs. A passion so great it has driven this individual to dress the creme eggs. I think that's fantastic.