SJ, Erachet, and the Devil Squirrel

I seem to only be able to write blog entries at strange hours of the night/morning or when I'm feeling, well, not all there. True, I fell asleep for a few short minutes on the flight home last night, but really, I haven't gone properly to sleep since Monday night. I am wiped, man.

Anyway, this story is meant to be read in conjunction with SJ's wonderful retelling of our driving escapades yesterday (was it really yesterday? I have no idea what day it is anymore).

So once we reached our destination, after quite accomplished driving by SJ through all means of traffic and weather conditions, and after much heroic navigation by yours truly, we decided that seeing an immense, majestic waterfall in the midst of gorgeous, wintry frost-covered pine trees and regal mountains must be accompanied by lunch.

Now, it is generally accepted that lunch-eating is not exactly the meanest of feats, especially when you come prepared for the noon meal and are greeted with a variety of empty picnic tables upon which to arrange everything.

The term generally accepted, however, does leave room for there to be the occasional exception. Yesterday's lunch was such an exception.

SJ and I had been in search of a dry picnic table to eat our lunch at since many of the outdoor ones were all covered in snow. Luckily, we noticed a large overhang which protected several picnic tables from snow and we headed in that direction, thinking it to be the perfect place to consume our midday meal. While entering the overhang, I noticed a particular squirrel sitting on a large rock and watching us intently. It did not seem at all bothered by our ever-approaching presence as we came closer and closer to the overhang. The woodland creature merely stared and licked its paws. This behavior seemed a bit odd to me, since I'm used to New York squirrels which run when people get too close. I was a bit unnerved not to witness similar behavior from this out-of-towner squirrel.

I soon forgot about the strange animal, however, as we selected our picnic table and put down our things. I quickly made a phone call to my mom and, while I was on the phone, I heard SJ comment, "it's on your foot!"

Now, I do like animals, but I have to admit that I'm not the biggest fan of wild ones being on my feet. I started and looked down, discovering the same squirrel as before. It jumped up onto the bench and then onto the table, completely fearless of us. SJ and I tried to shoo it away but it was not very impressed by our efforts. It proceeded to sniff our food and look in our bags. I, meanwhile, had been on the phone with my mother this whole time and was somewhat distracted, which is why SJ was able to grab her things and all our food and run. I merely ran, leaving my things on the table.

The frightening part was that originally, before I ran, I started to back slowly away and the squirrel began to chase after me. This was not normal squirrel behavior. So I ran. SJ and I tried again and again to sneak back to the table and retrieve my things but each time, the squirrel was there waiting for us! Only when the Devil Squirrel became distracted by much sillier humans than us taking its picture and exclaiming and cooing over it and how close it got to them that SJ and I were able to dart quickly under the overhang, snatch my things, and dash like lightening back out. We literally threw ourselves in SJ's car and shut the doors firmly closed against any squirrel intruders.

Thus concludes this particular tale of the Devil Squirrel. However, I doubt this is the last time humanity will have heard from the evil rodent. Any sightings should be reported immediately to Agents S. Jay and E. Rashay.

In which Cicero needs an ego check

Some of you may remember my previous post about Cicero, my brother's goldfish. Well, all the new, little fish that we got to keep Cicero company died within a day. It was really very depressing. After that, we decided to clean the tank - but this was no easy affair. First of all, there is this suction tube thing that we have to use to suction out a lot of the dirty water from the tank (this way, we don't have to take the fish out). What you do is you put one end in the tank, one end in a buckey, and, voila, bye bye dirty water! Easy, right? Nope! In order for the tube to start getting the water out, you have to start the suction by using your mouth and sucking on it like a straw. Now, it's a very long tube and there shouldn't be any problems - but, well, this is me we're talking about. There always seem to be problems. The very first time I did it, my mom was in there with me and I kept sucking on the tube but not hard enough because I kept getting scared that I was going to suck up the actual water. Well, finally, I sucked really hard - and got a mouthful of dirty fish water! I quickly spat it out and ran to wash out my mouth. It was so gross!

After we got the water out, I started to put clean water in but, since there was still some dirty water in there, and since the gravel was still dirty, it just clouded up all the clean water. So finally Trademark decided we should take out the fish and redo the whole tank. And this was after I had, by this point, gotten two mouthfuls of fish water. Nasty.

So, fine. We took out the fish, poured out the dirty gravel, scrubbed the tank until it was spotless, and then realized we didn't have enough new gravel to cover the whole bottom of the tank. So we had to go to the pet store and get new gravel. There, we decided to look for some bigger fish to put in the tank with Cicero, since he was probably very lonely all by himself all day (so we figured). The guy in the pet store said it probably wasn't a good idea to put another fish in the tank with Cicero because he was probably very territorial by this point. But we all thought, a goldfish? How nasty could a goldfish get? I mean, it's just a goldfish.

Little did we know, let me tell you.

We didn't end up getting new fish then, but today, my parents and siblings went out to do various errands and came back with a new goldfish, but this one wasn't teeny tiny like the other one had been (who had died along with the itty bitty swordfish and two other fish from my previous post). It was pretty normal sized, a bit smaller than Cicero is now.

Well, as soon as my mom put the new fish into the tank, Cicero went nuts! He started darting around, all agitated, and then began chasing the new fish. I actually took video of it on my camera. It was insane!

Oh Cicero, Cicero. What are we going to do with you?

Little Fish of Horrors

Okay, before I start this entry, I would like to give nicknames to my siblings so that y'all can know (sort of) who I'm talking about - sort of like characters in a story! And also, everyone else seems to be doing this and it seems like fun. :) So here they are:

Straight Man - brother, 18 years old, studying in Israel
Trademark - sister, 16 years old, in eleventh grade
Mavis - brother, 13 years old, in eighth grade

And that's everyone! Well, besides me, of course :) And my parents.

Anyway.

So Straight Man (hee, now I can stop saying things like "my brother" "my sister" "my other brother" - okay, on with the story). Yes, so, a few years ago, Straight Man decided he liked fish. And finally, last summer, while we were in the Berkshires, we went to a fair and he actually won a goldfish. This was exciting for him, because it meant he could now get MORE fish and then get a whole fish tank and put it in his room and be very happy. It was a small goldfish and, to be honest, most of us were skeptical that it would last the rest of the trip, let alone make it home all in one piece. But, to my brother's delight, the fish did make it home. It even survived the long car ride back. So it wasn't long before Straight Man got a tank and a few more fish, one of which was a Beta fighter fish.

Now, something that I knew about Beta fighter fish (I shall have to write a post about Shammai and Hillel the Beta fish another time) but that Straight Man didn't know is that male fighter fish eat other fish. They have to have their own fish bowl. But, as Straight Man only had one tank, in it went with all the other fish.

And, one by one, the smaller fish started disappearing. They wouldn't just die. They'd be gone. It was clear to all of us what was going on. The Beta fish was eating the other fish!

Soon, all who were left were the Beta fish and the little goldfish from the Berkshires. I think Mavis might have given him a name, but I'm going to give him a second name - Cicero. Cicero, as you may or may not know, was an Orator from Roman times (I think. At least, I read his stuff in Latin class) and he gave great, somewhat pompous speeches. Well, this little goldfish from the Berkshires soon became a big goldfish who was the dominant fish in a tank with a fighter fish! How did this happen, you ask? Well, it happened one dark, stormy night, when zombies and goblins were roaming the streets, and SUDDENLY....er, yeah, I have no idea. But somehow, it did. It grew and grew and grew and grew into a giant goldfish and now it swims in front of the tank, especially when one of us in there, pacing back and forth and back and forth, its mouth opening and closing and opening and closing and it really looks like it's giving some sort of aggitated, grand speech! Therefore, his name is now Cicero. At least, it is on this blog.

So, one day, the fighter fish died. That meant that Cicero was the only one left in the tank. And we decided he was lonely. Here he was, this huge fish, always trying to speak to us, it seemed, and we figured that if it had some other fish to make grand speeches to, it would be happier.

Meanwhile, Straight Man left for Israel and my sister and I decided that we were going to be the ones to get new fish. So, this past Friday (yes, erev Yom Kippur - this was how important it was to us!), we went to the pet store and got one goldfish, two little fish that were clear with a pink highlight at the top, and one swordfish (a small, freshwater one, not the kind you're thinking of from the ocean). Now, two days later, the small goldfish and both highlighted fish are dead. Just the swordfish remains. Oh, and Cicero.

The interesting thing is that the other fish when they were alive, and the swordfish now, would hide behind things in the tank - almost as though they were afraid of Cicero! My dad suspected Cicero of eating the smaller goldfish when we couldn't find it yesterday, but last night I found it floating behind something. I don't think Cicero would actually eat any of the smaller fish. But it is definitely the dominant fish in the tank. It still gives speeches, although now I think it's a bit confused as to why there are other fish (well, one other fish, at this point). One major problem, though, is that since it's so big, it gets all the food. It's ALWAYS hungry. And I mean ALWAYS. And it just keeps growing. I feel bad for the swordfish! It's going to have to learn to be more assertive.

I think we just need to get some bigger fish.

Hey Diddle Diddle, The Cat And The Fiddle

Today I would like to tell a story. This is something that happened to me two years ago, but it is still fresh in my mind today and I still cringe about it.

Somewhere near the endish of my year in Israel, we came back from a tiyul and I saw a couple of my friends and a madricha crowded around a certain part of the Rova. Curious, I made my way over to see what the commotion was.

It was a kitten. But not just any kitten. It was a little baby kitten, not much bigger than both my fists put together (and I have small fists. Well, comparatively, anyway, since I have small hands). It was pure, pure white with a little pink nose and little pink eyelids that clearly had just recently opened for the first time to reveal bright black eyes.

"Are you sure we should be touching it?" I asked my friends who were petting it and smoothing its fur.

"Oh, yes, it's fine," I was told. "This kitty's too young to be diseased yet. It's probably only just opened its eyes!"

Finally, I got my turn to pet it. I lifted it up and it nestled against my shirt. As I stroked it, it purred with contentment and I knew then that I just had to keep this baby kitten. How could I leave it out in the wild, to brave the streets of the Rova, to survive among all the bigger, scarier, meaner Rova strays? It was precious. It was pure. And, God, it was only a baby! Where was its mother? I asked if anyone had seen her but no one had. I asked if we could save it and bring it to a vet, but the madricha who was with us said we can't. We would have to leave it.

Sadly, I started to put the kitten back down, but when it realized what I was about to do, it dug its little claws into my shirt and started mewing desperately. It looked terrified. I panicked a little, because its claws were surprisingly long for a baby kitten and I suddenly got this image of it climbing up my face (since it was progressively climbing up my shirt towards my shoulder) and clawing my eyes out. Of course, that was ridiculous, but I suddenly didn't want it in my shirt anymore. Not if we couldn't keep it. I finally got it off me and placed it gently back down. There was an adult cat nearby, so my friends and I decided to try and have that cat adopt our kitten. The poor kitten would follow our every move carefully with its eyes, so we used this to our advantage and when we slowly started walking towards the adult cat, it followed. But the adult cat backed away from the kitten. We had tainted it. We had touched it, so now it had our smell. Human smell. We had, in a way, doomed the kitten to a lonely existence. That's when it really became clear to me that it probably wouldn't survive.

The madricha with us finally said it was time to go. We started walking back to the dorms with saddened hearts. Each of us felt bad for the kitten. As we walked, I could hear it mewing with fear behind us. It wanted us back. It wanted me back. Me, who had separated its claws from my shirt, who had put it down to be left, abandoned. I took a deep breath and made myself put one foot in front of the other. One foot, then the other, then the first again. Walk. Just walk. Don't look back.

Eventually, we were back in the dorms. The kitten was left. It was over. We all talked about how sad it was, how bad we felt for the poor motherless kitten. I don't know how many of them still think about it occasionally, but I know I do. I was just thinking about it the other day, I'm not sure why, but I can still hear it mewing pitifully after us. I still cringe about how we abandoned it there. I should have stood up for it. I shouldn't have listened to authority. Authority told us to leave it, to sentence it to a horrible life, maybe even death out there. Who knows how long it survived after that?

So I decided that when I finally get a place of my own, I want to get a little kitten just like that one from a shelter, so that at least I can save one kitten, even if I couldn't save that one.

Of course, I also really want a dog, but that's another story.