Hardly Evil at All

I bet if you took all the evil people in the world and laid them end to end (but not in any dirty kind of way), you would be surprised to find that not one of them was Me.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Team Five Remains Undefeated at Field Trip!

In case you ever wondered, they DON'T screen field trip chaperones very thoroughly at all.

Serendipitous or Suspicious that the first school field trip I've been on since elementary school is traveling on a nice chartered bus?

Answer: Serendipitous!

My phone really skanked out on me for the duration of the field trip today.  Not ONE picture I took ended up ANYWHERE on the phone!
So, even though I PERSONALLY have no PROOF that Team Five WON at Field Trip, we TOTALLY did!

It's an un-commemorated victory, with a lower-case v.

I was COMPLETELY inflexible about my Field Trip Participant Rules.  I put a whole lot of thought into them, because I'm very strict like that, and these kids might not be used to that kind of discipline.

Once we wrangled the one AWOL kid back, it was time to lay down The Law.  The Law of Field Trip.

*Field Trip Law*

1. No Hitting
2. No Smoking
3. Stay with the Group

Then, even though all ten of my children for the day were very well-behaved, I made them take a ride on an Endangered Species Carousel, in order to provide them with a Priceless Memory. 

Which is where we found out that there are many colorfully decorated Endangered Species that we were unaware were endangered, including what appeared to be a Plain, Backyard Dwelling, Green Frog that inexplicably featured what appeared to be a Common White Pond Duck peeking out from under the frog's saddle in the back.  I was riding a Rhino and had a constant view of that duck, going up and down, in true carousel tradition, except that there was no music whatsoever.  

Peeking Duck?  I just got that!  Pretty funny, Audubon Zookeepers.  A+!  Score one for the Zoo!

But Team Five still WON!

Friday, February 22, 2013

Random Kitchen Drawer Surprise

Contents of The Random Kitchen Drawer This Morning:

1] plastic cup with lid/straw combo, missing the cup
2] Disposable utensils
3] The extra flatware
4] Various condiments that just happen to all be Taco Bell sauce packets
5] One empty plastic grocery bag

The End.  (I WISH) 

6] One snack size tube of Vampire Blood!

* I was only looking for a straw for my melty Frosty.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Pretendra Resigns, to Save HerOwnSelf

I find myself at work tonight, wondering why I am here.  My ridiculously outrageous, MakesNoSenseAtAll, assignment is about to become even more so.

My brain's Rational and Emotional centers re-enact a debate involving the legal ramifications of my just walking out NOW versus finishing THIS ONE LAST SHIFT and NEVER COMING BACK AGAIN EVER, AND THIS TIME I MEAN IT!  When did that argument become CONSTANT instead of occasional?

I feel my heart beating so much harder and faster than is healthy.  I recognize once more that this place is killing my body, and faster than I deserve.  I try not to think about what it's doing to my Soul.

I decide to stick it out tonight.  I am better than this place.  I am better than this job.  I am stronger, and I am worth so much more than they think.  But, when I leave in the morning, I really WON'T come back.
 
I hear a reassuring hum, and feel the gentle presence of a warm hand lying casually across my waist.  I realize my eyes feel a bit gritty, and reach for the contact solution on the nightstand to refresh them.

Although I'm pretty sure this old mattress would lose in a comfortability contest with most lawns, that's my One True Love beside me.  We may not OWN a roof over our heads anymore, but there IS one.

I'm hoping these particular flashback nightmares become less frequent, but I'm relieved that they're only nightmares now, instead of Real Life.

*...Sometimes, you have to Quit before you can Win.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

The Eleventh Commandment was Supposed to be about Ducks.

Setting:  Before I had digital access to millions of lyrics and other data at my fingertips, which are literally the tips of my DIGITS.  I wonder if that's why they call it digital, because you use your digits to get to it.  What about digital phones, then?  Because you used more digit effort with the old rotary ones...  Maybe the person who invented DIGITAL phones lost many of HIS own digits in a ROTARY saw (Those are real.  You can buy them at Lowe's) accident.  I bet the idea, and the name, of the invention came to him while he was still all hopped up on anesthesia!  And doesn't computer programming just involve varying combinations of TWO numbers, also called digits?  My mind is playing Boggle Checkers, and currently LOSING.

If there's one thing I think we can ALL agree on, it's that it's a GOOD thing that I never did any drugs.  Although several people have wondered aloud what ME on drugs woulda looked like.

NEVER do drugs, Children!  Drugs make smart people stupid and stupid people even stoopider!

I love the song Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones, but that one line ("I could suck a duck") always bothered me.  It raised SO many uncomfortable questions that I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers to.

My ex-friend (that I used to carpool with sometimes when he was between cars and/or relationships) and I tried to decipher the lyrics whenever it played, because they just COULDN'T really be singing those words.  Could they?  He said NO, but he couldn't tell what the actual words were, either. 

So we played it backward to see if Paul was dead.  Kidding.  Paul was alive and well, and perpetually on tour.  Besides, I don't think CDs work that way.  What we did was push the REV button and play that line over and over until we arrived at our destination, OR until it made sense.  But, it never did. 

WHY would the idea of sucking a DUCK cross ANYbody's mind, EVER?  Do DUCKS have any suckable parts?  Do ducks have external private parts?  How do ducks mate, anyway?  Did Mick Jagger have a duck fetish?  Do other people have duck fetishes?  (Please DO NOT write in to answer that question.  I could google it myself, but I won't.)  IF a duck COULD suck another duck, how, why, and under what circumstances would such an act occur?  Are duck lips/beaks capable of sucking AT ALL?  Cause I think not. 

What was wrong with ME, for loving this song despite its inexplicable, casual bestiality reference?  Like, I sure hoped nobody told God or my Mama on me.  (Moses ran out of room on the tablet before carving The Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt NOT suck a duck.  Guess he hadn't heard about Saving the Earth by using BOTH sides when you write.  I'm quite sure God had more than enough material to justify filling up both sides of the tablet, Moses!  Way to leave YOUR own favorite things to do off THE List.)

It's like Mick was bragging to his drinking buddies.  Mick:  I'm SO overly sexual and self-confident that I could probably suck a damn DUCK if I wanted to, but I just don't happen to find ducks attractive...at this time.  (Please don't sue ME- I gave all my money to charities that pledged to protect ducks against the unwanted affection of aging, and increasingly confused, Rolling Stones fans!)

*I'm sure every person who reads this knew the whole time that the lyric turned out to innocently be: I could suck it up!  
But YOU had the advantage of having the whole entire World Wide Internet to help YOU, didn't you?  And you may have been SOBER.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Bad Cat and the Change of Life

Somebody got neutered Friday.
Bad Cat, formerly known as the Biggest Balled Housecat in the Waaaaay down Soufth, is trying to figger out how to swagger without the extra weights. 

He could already jump about five feet straight up.  Once he's healed completely, and has you-know-what off his mind, he might even make it to the Cat-Olympics, if they exist.

I'm torn between feeling sorry for him and feeling optimistic about a subsequent transformation into, if not a GOOD cat, at least a REGULAR cat! 

And then the dreaded Cloud of Dread rears her ugly head.  As usual, in her role as the Oracle of NOT, she reminds us that we really aren't in control. 

She suggests that Bad Cat might instead become an evil villain, bent on destroying those he holds accountable for his brand-new, unnatural, anatomical arrangement.

You know you're in for a rough week when having a sore throat is already your favorite part.*

*Because you get to eat as many Luden's Sore Throat candies as you want (which is a LOT!). 

Sunday, February 17, 2013

I Was A Ghost Writer Protegee, Apparently

True Story:  I used to write all my Big Sister's high school papers, just because she didn't feel like it, I guess, cause she was definitely capable.  I don't remember being PAID, so there may have been some cat hostage situations involved. 
But, then, I VOLUNTARILY (I think) edited college papers. 
I should probably write a list of all the questions I need answered before I make my hypnosis appointment.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Have a Little Faith in Me, Bill Gates?

When my laptop's battery reaches 11%, it dings loudly and displays this message:
Battery critically low.
Please plug in now or find an alternate power source.
What kind of alternative power source does Bill Gates suppose I have access to?  Does he think his encouragement will be enough to inspire me to a greatness only HE knows I'm capable of?  IS it my destiny to be the one who invents microwave oven powered nuclear energy that charges all your home electronic devices while you heat up leftovers or make Jolly Time Blast o Butter popcorn (a.k.a. the Only Popcorn That's Worth the Three Minutes it Takes to Pop)? 
More than likely, he just wants me to harness the Sun's energy and tether it via Bluetooth to power my whole home.
Either way, it IS a bit of a morale booster to know someone out there has THAT much faith in me!

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Be(frie)st Idea EVER!

I just had the BEST IDEA EVER!

We CLONE ourownselves.  Who better exemplifies God's and Nature's best works thus far?

We then raise the Be-Clones in a carefully controlled environment (a Be-Commune, tentatively called The Be-Hive, residents to debate and agree to name at a later date), every aspect designed to optimize the development of our many talents, while minimizing and possibly even preventing the appearance altogether of any of our less attractive habits and attributes.  We won't spend much time on that last part, though, because, let's tell it like is, our faults are Few, and those we DO have are actually considered to be GIFTS in certain circles.

(I really wanted to insert some serious Theme music here, but I couldn't figure out HOW.  So, if y'all don't mind, please IMAGINE you are listening to the best theme music you can imagine.)

THIS is it, what we've been searching for.  Our One True Destiny.  We OWE it to the Rest of the World. 

P.S. My own existing clone, Ponytail (who keeps asking me to change her blogalias to The Instigator), may have to battle my new clone to the death at some point, so it will admittedly be a somewhat bittersweet experience for me. 

***Leave a comment and let me know what theme music YOU imagined.  Because I REALLY wanna figure out how to add music to a post.


The OTHER Chicken Egg Debate

(I did NO actual research on this)
My farmer friend started raising chickens and gave me fresh eggs on a regular basis for a while, which was awesome because I used the money I usually set aside for eggs on ammo, assorted bribes, and lip gloss.
Anyway, during our many "farm" talks, I learned two things.  One: if you don't make time for "farm" talk, you probably ain't gonna get very many free eggs.  Two: On average, a chicken lays one whole egg a day.  Every single day.  Unless they're exposed to extreme temperatures or stress.
This is the Waaaaay down South, so it's pretty much always HOT in all your OUTSIDE chicken coops.  And sometimes foxes get in there and kill some or all of your chickens, leaving the survivors suffering from severe Poultry Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (P.P.T.S.D.).  I learned all that the hard way, when I was forced to start buying eggs at the store again.  Farmer fed the survivors antibiotics and antidepressants, installed a ceiling fan and a window a/c unit, motion activated night lights, burglar bars, and piped in peaceful classical music, but it was too late for that raggedy band of chickens.  They died off peacefully, of natural causes (or Xanax overdoses, hard to say, really), one by one, never a one of them laying another egg after the attack.
I want to understand the Miracle of Chicken Eggs.  Or the MAGIC of it, because it's mind boggling.
There's NO way an egg can go from nothing to the size of an EGG in 24 hours.  How long does each egg actually take?  And, if there's a READY egg every 24 hours, how many other eggs are in various stages and sizes INSIDE a chicken at any given time?
My farmer friend could not explain, but he also couldn't stop crying when he fried up that last hen for dinner that night.  I suggested we sedate a healthy laying hen and X-ray her, but that's frowned upon in the hospital for some reason.  My next idea is to find somebody (Craig's List?) willing to smuggle a sedated chicken in under their shirt and obtain a "human" abdominal X-ray.  I've had MRIs, cat scans, and X-rays before, and I've not once been asked: IS THERE ANY POULTRY UNDER YOUR SHIRT? So, if they have a problem with it, just remind them that it's really THEIR own fault for not clarifying NO POULTRY in their rules and policies.
No, we don't know how to sedate a chicken, so please don't ask us how much Benadryl or whatever.  And, we are against the kind of animal testing that might involve dropping any chicken from a very high place and performing a poultrautopsy to see how many smashed eggs are in there.  Unless we're pretty sure the chicken died of natural causes prior to the experiment.  Then, we're IN!

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Bad Cat Gets a Newish Toy

Surprise!  I made Bad Cat a toy last night.  Because (1) I feel kinda bad about getting his b****s surgically removed next week and (2) I believe you should always keep the enemy guessing.  No way was he expecting a gift.  From ME!  (3) Also, there was this two and a half foot long light brown braid made of yarn that was lying around constantly reminding me of another incomplete project. 
I started on it last summer.  It was SUPPOSED to end up as a pretty Hair Thingie Holder for all of Sweet Baby's hair thingies.  But the face was made of a nude bra cup, and looked like Arthur's sister D.W. from the cartoon on PBS, making it very distracting and a bit disturbing to work on.
So, I cut up a paper towel cardboard and slipped the braid through it.  And I was able to use up a piece of that stuff that looks like ribbon that you can use when sewing to reinforce seams.  But the rings slipped off because there was nothing on them to block their path.
So I had to tie the ends of the fat braid to each other, which wasn't easy. 
I approached Bad Cat and we eyed each other warily.  I tried to give it to him, but he wouldn't take it.  Understandable, considering our history and ongoing feud.  So, I GENTLY placed it around his head like he had just stepped off the boat in Hawaii and I was a beautiful Native girl presenting him with an official, and completely innocent "Aloha, Kitty!" lei.
Bad Cat was either unsure of my intentions, or maybe he'd never heard about getting lei'd in Hawaii, because he immediately started trying to step OUT of his new toy/ fashion accessory, head first.  It was going smoothly until somehow one leg ended up encased in a piece of cardboard for just a moment.
A moment that was just long enough to change his life forever because I realized in a flash how easy and fun it would be to make cat boots out of empty paper tubes!
Then he left the room to collect his thoughts and contemplate life (just kidding- he was probably going to make sweet cat love to the giant stuffed frog!), and also I had asked him to think about what color boots he wants. I think he's gonna LOVE his new camo cat boots.  My first Pinterest PROJECT! (OH, yeah!)

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Zombies don't RSVP (*Zombies don't carry RSV either!)

Planning Ahead for Zombie and/or Vampire Epidemics/Pandemics, or, as I prefer to call them:  Zamdamnemics.  Yes, I do believe I've another worthy submission for Webster.

[you can never be TOO careful or TOO prepared!] (or CAN you?)
NO, Stoopid-you CAN'T!

It's essential to read the whole manual prior to using any of the tips and techniques included.  Promise me you will do that?  If not, STOP READING NOW. I can't tell you how I'll know, but I'll know.

1.   WEAR your heart on your sleeve!
Even Zombies and Vampires know instinctively that regular LIVE humans can't do this, and they will pass you right on by. 

2.  Do this step BEFORE attempting #1.  Associate yourself with as many Hunters, Farmers, Butchers, and (human) Serial Killers as you can.
*If you do this right, you can always have a deep freezer FULL of hearts that BELONG to you (see #1), but were never exACtly PART of your OWN personal, EXTREMELY vital internal organs.

3.  Gas and solar powered GENERATORS:  They're not just for hurricanes anymore! 
*see #2 re: Armageddon freezers

4.  If you drink heavily and don't bathe regularly, you can blend in with the Zombie hordes.  Just PRETEND to eat rotting flesh.  If you don't have a strong stomach, feel free to vomit, as this odor can only ADD to your Zombie allure.  Tip: Save old vomit in a small perfume atomizer and spray your clothing and hair whenever your Zombie scent wears off.

5.  If looting becomes necessary, hit the pharmacies FIRST!  If you wanna survive you're gonna NEED all the anti-nausea medication you can carry.  I advise procuring a fanny pack designed to look like some sort of dead animal.  You can keep your emergency supplies (meds, crayons, condoms, vomit spray, ear and nose plugs, Funyuns, cyanide tablets, tazer, extra body parts, etc.) in it, worn underneath your filthy Zombie costume.

6.  Loot liquor stores next (see #4).  Better yet, make your hidey hole in a concealed liquor store basement.

7.  Even BETTER yet again, build an underground shelter BEFORE the apocalypse.  Fully stock it with MREs, water, liquor, vitamins, chickens, Paula Deen, toothbrush, toilet paper, and your Meth lab supplies, because you're gonna need a pick-me-up every once in a while, those weeks when it's not safe to sleep.

8.  Human and Zombie decoys, plain and animated.  Self explanatory.

*Contrary to popular belief- RSV canNOT be transmitted from a Zombie to a Lifer.  However, Lifers may transmit sickness TO Zombies.  They can't be killed, but a Zombie who can't stop coughing can't bite as well, and a Zombie with diarrhea is so gross that his fellow Zombies will actually destroy him FOR you, tearing him limb from limb, burying his head twenty feet deep, and using the arms and legs as clubs with which they beat the torso until it is flat enough to use as a doormat.  Why?  Easy.  Zombies don't RSVP, but they always wipe their feet before coming inside. 



An Absolutely True Christmas Story (2012)

This is a DIFFERENT Christmas Story- no relation whatsoever to the famous movie where the kid may or may not have shot his eye out with a be-be gun. I wouldn't know because I've never watched the whole movie, and I don't find it funny when people get their tongues stuck to cold things because it hurts, and it can be dangerous and possibly embarrassing, depending on the specific circumstances. First Example: When he was but a wee lad, running wild and free-ish, Apache is rumored to have licked a free-standing metal Propane or natural gas tank and gotten stuck to it... by his tongue. The story always ends there, so I don't know if he pried himself off, or if somebody rescued him in a less-injurious manner. I also don't know what prompted him to act with such recklessness. You'd have to ask him about both, assuming his speech is understandable, considering the history of his tongue. Second Example: During super-busy times at work, one might find that one can accomplish much and still remain hydrated and sugared by simply using one's non-dominant hand for (oral, but I shouldn't have to clarify that, pervs) popsicle administration. One might discover the drawback to this one night when a popsicle suddenly adheres firmly to one's LIP. A grown-up woman (or man-not every story is about ME, you know) with a popsicle- related emergency in the workplace is something I don't believe many have experienced, witnessed, or considered. Obviously, one cannot simply rip the popsicle off because maybe she (or he) might be what is commonly referred to as a BLEEDER. Coworkers, formerly FRIENDS, had all developed whatever psychological or behavioral disorders that allowed them to see the humor, but NOT the danger, in the situation. (FYI: Sink, warm water, face under faucet, and a pact to never speak of The Popsicle Incident EVER again.) And NOW, for those of you still with me, here's the Christmas Story you were promised. I knew I was risking exposure to the elements when I decided to venture outside and into the coulded, shoulded, woulded wilderness back of the house a mere few days before Christmas. Some of the potential elements included a brisk breeze, the sight of the neighborhood riff-raff (Tommy), being struck by any number of unmonitored leaves being carried on the wind, minor smoke inhalation as all the stoopider people in the neighborhood insisted on using their fireplaces because the weather man (Tommy) issued warnings of the possibility of a severe light frost overnight. Also, you never know when it might sprinkle, mcflurry, or heck, it might even hail! All that being completely true, it is also true that this particular story has NOTHING whatsoever to do with the weather. Sorry, but I've found that often the detours are the most rewarding part of the journey. All I still needed (or so I thought) to prepare to be merry were 2 things I should be able to get for free (meaning: supplied by Nature, NOT stolen! Do you even KNOW me?!) right outside. Since I ended up spending the week in bed with the flu for Christmas, all my project planning ended in vain. Of course, pre-flu, I wanted, nay, NEEDED, to make my own, all natural, Charlie Brown style Christmas tree. For this purpose, I procured a suitably pitiful small pine tree limb, the kind that literally LITTER this area at all times. I also located a small, leafless branch, in JUST the right size, to decorate the dog to make him look like the Grinch's dog when the Grinch disguised him as a reindeer! These items were easy enough to find, but a bit damp from recent precipitation, being outside in a humid area, etc. I shook them out well (outside!), and examined them closely for signs of insect (or other) activity. None noted. I don't mean to brag, but I AM very nearly world-renowned in the field of Insectory, Buggery, Snakery, Rodentia, Spiderelia, and Other Disgusting Types of Nature, as Related to Their Inconvenience to Humans. Therefore, I was pretty confident bringing my treasures into my home. I turned the oven to its lowest setting, opened the oven door and placed "tree" and "antlers" on the open door to dry out. It's okay, I don't have small children. Once dry, they were removed and placed in the general vicinity of the massive amount of projects in various stages of completion that were accumulating on and around the kitchen table. "Projects in various stages of completion" is just code for: not one single project was done, and most were not even started yet. Several days into the X-Flu (it's like regular flu, except you get it at Christmas), I heard the sounds of panic ensuing on the other side of my sickroom door. Those engaged in the ruckus claimed my Charlie Brown Christmas pine tree limb AND my Grinch branch dog antlers were infested with some sort of insectory. Despite my weak protests, both were immediately discarded, back into the wilderness from whence they came. And that is MY Christmas Story. The tragic tale of how I spent a week in bed, deathly ill, and with NO homemade Charlie Brown tree or branch-antlered dog to comfort me. Not exactly the feel-good story you were expecting, huh?
P.S. If you gave me a present, Thank you. However, I don't remember what it was.



This is the artificial tree I had to buy because Nature was being a jerk.
 

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Do any of y'all know if somebody is currently plotting to kill me?

I received an unexpected package in the mail this week.  It was addressed to me, but merely bore the name and address of a retailer I had never heard of in the SENDER area of the padded envelope.
Instead of being delighted by what may yet prove to be no more than a well-intended GIFT, I was immediately suspicious.
I was first concerned that I had not received any instructions whatsoever regarding my expected role in getting the contents of this package to the rightful recipient at the intended destination, and by the appropriate deadline.
Also, no matter how beige and unexciting some of us (Me!) may appear on the surface, we have all cultivated some enemies along the way, am I right?  You don't have to answer- it's rhetorical.  We live in an exciting age of information and communication, as well as an age of fear and violence.  It is wise to take some basic precautions prior to breaking the seal on potentially dangerous packages.  Remember the Anthrax panics?  It doesn't matter, because the lethality of Anthrax, like the lethality of most other weapons of various degrees of destructive capacity, does NOT rely one bit on the memory skills or mental abilities of its target.
I handled the package gingerly, and studied it visually.  I broadened my search and went electronic, but no clues were to be found in any of my email accounts.  I had no memory of being involved in, or informed of, any current missions.  Just what kind of person am I anyway that suddenly finding myself on the receiving end of an assassination attempt, OR the "middleman" in an extremely complicated delivery scheme seems more normal than being the kind of person who might receive an unexpected gift in the mail?  Do I think I'm James (used to be, kind of) Blonde, or something?
After deciding that the contents were most likely benign, I opened the padded envelope and let its contents slide slowly out onto the sturdy wooden table.  I eyed the slick paperback book lying on the table, as I picked up the single sheet of paper by the corner, carefully searching for an explanation.  The only additional information that appeared on the (I guess I would have to call it this) invoice was the amount book's purchase and shipping cost.  I was listed as the customer.  My name was spelled correctly, a feat that even lifelong friends sometimes find difficult.  My mailing address was exact, slightly MORE unusual, considering we've had three different addresses in thirteen months, and complicated by the fact that the moron who was allowed to decide how to spell the name of this street lacked knowledge, respect, or both, towards the civility of American English Phonics.
I didn't appear to OWE any amount for the book, though payment method was not listed anywhere on the lone paper.  I questioned everybody at my house, fearing a young mind had discovered how easy it is to purchase items online with only a few numbers.  My interrogations were met with vehement denials all around, and it was even suggested that perhaps I had ordered this book myownself, IN MY SLEEP.
It also occurred to me that maybe I had been singled out as a reviewer of sorts, because of multiple blog entries regarding the youngest, and black-hearted-est, occupant in our home, a yellow boy cat named Jagger, whose primary agenda seems to be organizing a mutiny, usurping my power and replacing ME as the captain of our family ship.
Thinking about Jagger and his black-black heart led me to thinking about the depths of evil he was capable of.  Was it no longer enough for him to wait for me on the back of the sofa and haul off and PUNCH me as I walk by?   People never believe me when I tell them that this CAT punches me.  Could it be that Jagger himself ordered this book for me as a THREAT?  I mean, he HAS certainly overheard my appraisal of his complete lack of character more than once.
We have another four-legged occupant in our home.  In fact, I was the one pressing to get a cat in the first place, because I suspected the dog was bored and lonely.  I am reminded of my culpability whenever I suggest letting the cat "play outside" for a while. 
Scooter has become GOOD BOY, though I think it is our perception of his behavior that has changed, and not the behavior itself.  I must consider that Good Boy may be responsible for presenting me with the book.  In his relative innocence, he may not realize that I am already of the danger posed to me by Bad Cat.
Thank you, Good Boy.  I will carefully study the book: How to tell if your cat is plotting to kill you.