Why was Tigger lickin’ the toilet? Cause he was lookin’ for Pooh!

What did the whale say to the dolphin when he pushed him??? I didn’t do it on porpoise!!!

DAY 752 – My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from shredding on the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant and cough it up on the carpeting.

DAY 761 – Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair… must try this on their bed (again).

DAY 762 – Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.

DAY 765 – Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in
attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was …Hmmm. Not working according to plan…

DAY 768 – I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called “shampoo.” What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth and the tiny bit of flesh under my claws.

DAY 771 – There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of “allergies.” Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774 – I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant. He has mastered their frightful tongue (something akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured.

But I can wait; it is only a matter of time….

If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome including toilet-flush burials for dead goldfish It’s a long story but one that will have you laughing out LOUD!!

Overview: I had to take my son’s hamster to the vet. Here’s what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was something wrong with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room. “He’s just lying there looking sick,” he told me, “I’m serious, Dad. Can you help?”

I put my best hamster-healer look on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do. (Call my wife.)

“Honey,” I called, “come look at the hamster!” “Oh, my gosh,” my wife diagnosed after a minute. “She’s having babies.” “What?” My son demanded.

“But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!”

I was equally outraged. “Hey, how can that be?! I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce!” I accused my wife. “Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?!” She inquired. (I actually think she had the gall to say this sarcastically.)

“No, but you were supposed to get two boys!” I reminded her (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together). “Yeah, Bert and Ernie!” My son agreed. “Well, it’s just a little hard to tell on some guys, ya know,” she informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, ya think?)

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. “Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,” I announced. “We’re about to witness the miracle of birth.”

“OH, Gross!” They shrieked.

“Well, isn’t THAT just great! What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little hamster babies?” My wife wanted to know. (I really do think she was being snotty here, too. Don’t you?)

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. “We don’t appear to be making much progress,” I noted.

“It’s breech,” my wife whispered, horrified. “Do something, Dad!” My son urged. “Okay, okay.” Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.

“Should I call 911?” My eldest daughter wanted to know,” Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.” (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

“Let’s get Ernie to the vet,” I said grimly.

We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in hislap. “Breathe, Ernie, breathe,” he urged.

“I don’t think hamsters do Lamaze,” his mother noted to him. (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to ME is one thing, but this boy is of her womb.)

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass. “What do you think, Doc, a c-section?” I suggested scientifically. My son appeared impressed by my observation.

“Oh, very interesting,” he murmured. “Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?” I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

“Is Ernie going to be okay?” My wife asked. “Oh, perfectly,” the vet assured us.

“This hamster is not in labor. In fact, that isn’t EVER going to happen Ernie is a boy.”

“What?”

“You see, Ernie is a young male AND occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um …. er … masturbate, just the way he did, lying on his back.” He blushed, glancing at my wife. “Well, you know what I’m saying, Mr. Cameron.”

We were silent, absorbing this.

“So Ernie’s just … just … excited?”! My wife offered.

“Exactly,” the vet replied, relieved that we understood. More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And laugh. And then even laugh loudly!

“What’s so funny?” I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears were now running down her face.

“It’s just … that … I’m picturing you pulling on its … its teeny little …” she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.

“That’s enough,” I warned.

We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

“I know Ernie’s really thankful for what you’ve done, Dad,” he told me.

“Oh, you have NO idea,” my wife agreed, once again collapsing into laughter.

Enough said.

A baby turtle was standing at the bottom of a large tree and with a deep sigh, started to climb. About an hour later, he reached a very high branch and walked along to the end. He turned and spread all four flippers and launched himself off the branch. On landing at the bottom in a pile of soft, dead leaves, he shook himself off, walked back to the bottom of the tree and with a sigh started to climb.

About an hour later, he again reached the very high branch, walked along, turned, spread his flippers and flung himself off the branch. Again, he landed on the bottom, shook himself off, went to the bottom of the tree, sighed and started climbing.

Watching these proceedings from the end of the branch were two little birds. Mummy bird turned to Daddy bird and said, “Don’t you think it’s time we told him he was adopted?”