November 21st, 2005

satyr, drool you bastards, bosom

On the perversity of cats

I give my cats sparkle balls, squeaky toys, and about a dozen furry mice. What do they long to play with? The twisty top of a milk jug.

At the last place I lived, the cats loved, loved, loved the sheepskin. One of them had a torrid relationship with it. I brought one home proudly, and the cats went, "IT'S ALIVE! RUN!" If I put Murphy on it, he pooches all his feet together and pushes back against me until I move, and then he scurries away looking horrified. (No animal is as good at looking horrified as a black cat.) This is the same cat that thinks my egg-crate mattress topper is his mommy. AGH.

For a year and a half, I've thought that Murphy was almost molarless, and that he insisted on small-kernel cat food and ate it whole because he couldn't chew it. Now the vet tells me that the people at the cat shelter got it wrong, and Murphy has plenty of teeth. He just eats his food whole for the cussed fun of it. Meanwhile, Buffy, the cat who doesn't have many molars left, chews his food.

Cats. Can't live with 'em, can't noogie 'em because they like it.
satyr, drool you bastards, bosom

(no subject)

An article about a set of kids who are part of a movement of highly gifted and very Special children said this:
The peculiarities of Jake and Jan (their families asked that their real names not be used) were apparent from an early age. As a toddler, Jan sometimes spoke using her own language. Instead of "cookie," she would say "cookah" and refused to call a sandwich anything but a "phonic." Odder still, she didn't begin speaking until she was three years old. For Jake's part, he had trouble grasping the concept that he was not in charge. "He has to be told," Jake's mother says. "He doesn't think he needs permission." Spence noticed a similar idiosyncrasy in her granddaughter. "You have to coax her to do her homework," she says.
Have lost respect for the grandmother, the parents, the reporter, and the movement.

Later, the article says:
Jackie Brahm, a local "medical intuitive" who counsels Indigos, says it's not uncommon for their parents to have no control over them. Because they're so advanced, the kids don't feel like they have to obey. According to Brahm, this is why many Indigos get misdiagnosed as having ADD or ADHD. "They don't know how to process all the energy that's coming through, so they overload and react fairly badly to it."

Through her practice, Brahm has been able to hone her abilities for spotting these special children, and says she's been seeing an increasing number of them in public places.
We all have, ma'am. We all have.

I don't mean to be snarky and nothing but snarky, but the real problem I see keeps eluding me. It seems that parents of these children--Indigo children, if you haven't heard of them before--decide that their children are special, then use everything their children do to prove it. None of the children in the article agree with their parents' or grandparents' assessment of them. One of them sounds like he's making things up to keep his mother happy. The ostensibly cheery, supportive article paints a grim picture of the psychological underpinnings of the movement.