Watchers by Dean Koontz

Watchers by Dean Koontz
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Dean Koontz was one of my favourite writers for a couple of decades, and Watchers was one of my favourite books - hence the old 5-star rating. Heck, I've had several print copies of this book (including a replacement for the copy my dog ate), so that I could share the magic with friends.

It's almost 20 years later, and upon a re-read, the problematic aspects of the book are far more obvious, the storyline isn't as engaging, the characters are rather flat (Nora's a bit of a bore, though the utterly obnoxious handyman sounded a little too realistic for my liking, based on social media interactions), the situations are seriously dated (they made sense almost 20 years ago, but need some serious updating).

But then, who cares about the human characters when there's Einstein and The Outsider? Einstein! World's smartest dog! The book does do a decent job of showing exactly why The Outsider hates itself - and Einstein - so much. There's no subtlety in the depictions of how "normies" view "others", although amped up to a degree that makes The Outsider more than just different and actually malevolent - albeit sympathetic in the final climactic scene.

So, for Einstein and The Outsider, the five stars remain, even though the book is just no longer my cup of tea; my tastes have changed and that's okay. This book was great for what it was, when it was written; viewed through today's lens, it's nowhere close to as impactful, but I won't throw away my well-read copy because it still speaks to some of the best times of my life.

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The sweetness of pitties

Danger (Pay?) Mouse

So there was this mouse, see. In the house. And when MadCat went to save it from the (useless) clutter of cats, it ducked and dived and then ran up his pants leg. 

Fortunately, MadCat's much calmer than I, so wee Danger Mouse was walked outside to be released. 

I didn't get a pic of the pants shot, unfortunately. But here's our squeaky friend having a ride on the Big Friendly Giant.

He liked it so much, he didn't want to hop off. Peekaboo!

WO-OAH! I'm slipping!

Saved! Let me just catch my breath and ...

BANZAI!

See ya - wouldn't want to be ya ...

And that is the epic story of Danger Mouse. well, apart from where he jumped out of MadCat's pants and made a beeline for the house. Where I was standing, on the steps. I didn't jump on a chair, but I did hop up several stairs rather quickly. I'm an animal person, but I also have a fear of skittering things. So sue me!

Baby Laughing Hysterically at Newfoundland Dog

Man, I miss my big old Bastian! This is just how he acted when Deafboy's nephew B was a toddler. They'd sit and share jelly tots and other tiny sweets - one small hand and that giant slobber mouth! One day I'll get another ... life's too short not to share it with such amazing animals.

Animal antics

I had the opportunity to take the work camera home this weekend - a Nikon D90. My new toy! Of course, since I only received it on Thursday, I had to practice with it - right?

I started off with the lovely John Shepherd. He's such a sweet dawg.



I played around with all these pics in Photoshop, by the way - a bit of dodge tool in the eyes, some burn tool in the pupils, Mojo's red collar below, a touch of smart sharpen and a hint of blur where needed.Though I may have overdone the latter in the pic below.

It's hard getting a decent pic of Mo; she's always on the move, unless she's sleeping, and even then, her legs are in motion ...

Eskarina Witch's Cat decided she wanted to Go Unders. She was not best pleased when I arrived to disturb her slumber.

Then I had the nerve not to take the hint. She had no option but to sulk, and plot my demise.

That's it for now; I'll play with more photos tomorrow, I hope. And put up soem of the Sundog pics I managed to snap this morning.

Welcome home

John Shepherd has finally come home.

Our beautiful new boy was one of two choices from FORA - Friends of Rescued Animals.

We eventually took John Shepherd because he's smaller, seemed quieter, and had been in the kennels virtually all his life - so we wanted to give him a forever home that didn't involve concrete and cages.

We'll still be sponsoring Ronin, until we can afford to get him next year - at this point, we can't afford three dogs and six cats. And we'd prefer a much bigger property so they can run around and have fun!

Mojo went ballistic when we brought home a new friend for her. She'd been pining over the loss of McGee, and her back was covered in huge flakes of stress dandruff. Ever since Shep arrived, nary a speck.

I am Kitteh, hear me meow

She's been with me for eight years now; I got her when she was only three months old, a wee black thing with one white whisker, who reached up to smell my face and then kissed my nose. She was female, so I didn't name her Gobbolino, but Eskarina suited her down to the ground.

I call her my little dog, because she likes nothing better than being around her people - even though she doesn't like being stroked (the hunim touch must be avoided! Well, most of the time). If I'm sitting on the couch, reading, as I did most of today, she wants to snuggle up against my leg and stretch out so I can stroke her soft tummy. Her lips are going grey with age now, as are the hairs on the inside of her legs and across her ankles.

She's still one of the most agile of my six cats. And she still drapes comfortably when slung across a shoulder. She has the most pathetic mew in the world, and she's not above pretending to be injured to get an extra tidbit. She looks like a little meerkat when she stretches up on her hind legs to see what I'm holding in my fingers, and the look of disdain she shoots me when she discovers that my fingers are empty, makes me laugh every time.

She's the best hot water bottle I could ever ask for, the quietest sleeping companion when MadCat's away, the bitchiest kitty matriarch ever spawned and the friendliest of my felines - the only one to use when introducing a new cat, a dog, or kids.

I love the way she wanders into the computer room if I've been away for a while, and climbs onto my monitor, rests her head over the top so she can look at me, then goes to sleep.

Love you, Pesky one. Some fishy food on the way for treats.

Mine, all mine!

So it turns out one of the houndlings is a klepto. Guess which one?

No, not Mojo. THat's right! Our sweet, cuddly, beary boy is a shoplifter.

We took them to Twisted Whiskers pet spa today, for shampooing and clipping and trimming and all sorts of fun stuff. (As an aside, McGee is actually a pale wheaten lab. Who knew, under all that dark muck?)

We left 'em there, having decided to finally get my drive(s) - now I can finally say thanks to the gang for my 2008 birthday present! Got a bit of a talking-to from the spa lady when we fetched the muttskis, given the incredible size of Mo's gnawed-away hotspot; not that we haven't been trying, as we explained, but she's licked off the ointment, the Allergex is too weak and come on! She managed to rip off the cone and chew it to bits! So, back to the vet tomorrow.

Anyway, managed to get them into the car without McGee slipping off the back of the SUV - it's pretty high for his old bones - back up to the steps at home so he has an easy exit, turn around to put the seats back - and there's a chewie. Couldn't be Mo, she gets so excited she runs around with her mouth open.

No wonder he put his head down and bulled his way out of the shop!

New name: Criminal. Not that he looks ashamed. In fact, he laughed at me when I phoned the shop to confess! Then he got all cute and rolled over to show his nice, clean belly.

He's still not getting the chewie, though.

My spider-sense is tingling

Let me preface this post with an acknowledgement: I am arachnophobic. I am so freaked out by the thought of anything creepy, crawly and specifically, spider-y, that I would rather go and sleep in my car than face the thought of that eight-legged creature walking over me in the dark, should I happen to spot one in my bedroom when MadCat's not around.

I've been trying to change my spidey-killing instincts since I met him, given that spiders are his favourite creature - so quiet and industrious. I have been known to dangle lengths of toilet-paper into the bath so that spiders trapped in its white expanse can get a grip and climb to safety (as long as I'm not in the room). I don't automatically swat or grab the Doom - although I do shriek like a girl - when I spot one in the vicinity.

But on Friday, I went past all that.

We've been running an adventure challenge at work all week. Eating gross food (not that I would have a problem with roast sheep's head, brains or eyeballs - hey, I'm coloured, I grew up eating that shit!) and pulling keys out from underneath an annoyed tarantula.

I mean, I couldn't take part in the competition, given that I was running it, but. But. I have a horror of creatures being mistreated in front of me. So, naturally, I got all protective about Miss T, snarling at the people who tried to provoke her by banging on the glass of her box (seriously, people, WHAT THE FUCK? Leave the freaking spider alone! How would YOU like to be in a glass bowl with moronic giants banging on the walls and sending vibrations through your head? It'd be like standing in the church tower of Notre Dame while the bells rang! People just DO NOT THINK, the fuckers.).

And then I met Raul, the spider wrangler, and we chatted. He took the keys out from under Miss T. Then he put them back under neath her. Then SHE decided she'd had quite enough of this crap, thank you, what with people kicking the table and screaming as they crowded around, and went off to the back of her tank to have a good sulk. The winner pulled out the key and drove off in his prize. And I stayed behind to guard Miss T from idiots trying to open the tank and pull her out while Raul was inside.

From Spidey

Finally things quieted down, and it was just Raul, Shopgirl and myself. All this time, I was thinking of MadCat, and how stoked he would be if I managed to actually allow Miss T to touch me. Lubabalo came outside and allowed her to walk all over his hands. Shopgirl did the same, making sure I took pics so she could show her son there's nothing to fear. And finally I allowed Raul to put Miss T on me.

From Spidey

Only on my sleeve - I couldn't quite bring myself to actually allow her onto my skin; after all, still FREAKED OUT BY SPIDERS ARGH!; but I did it without shrieking or swatting. She crawled up above my elbow and settled down without trying to reach my shoulder (THANK ALL THAT IS MERCIFUL).

Let me tell you, a tarantula the size of my hand? Is freaking heavy.

From Spidey

Shopgirl went so far as to allow Miss T to crawl across her bare shoulders and cleavage. Actually, I think I could have handled that; but every time I thought of taking her onto my hands, my heart started pounding and my breath grew short. Minor panic attacks.

Still, I did it! I'm proud of me. And MadCat is, too.

(Click pics to embiggen. Will pop up in new window)

Who's your daddy?

So much for a quiet Sunday.

Shot off to Dischem for baby shopping (good thing I'm practical, AND have attended a fair number of baby showers over the years; Bin Journo received mostly clothing for her baby shower, which is cute, but not really practical, I'm thinking. So we got her a newborn bottle set, a steriliser, nail clippers (with magnifying glass! Cute AND geeky!), medicine dispenser, set of teeny tiny toothbrushes, and Gripe Water - a MUST-have!

Jewels is as crazy as ever, she of the big eyes and always-laughing mouth; unfortunately she couldn't stay long, but we'll be meeting up with the rest of the journos on 28 November, before Bin Journo pops. I cannot WAIT to see my peeps again! It's been far too long since I've had a decent dose of The Crazy. Not that The Circle is completely sane, you understand, but it's a different kind of Crazy to the journos. I miss them, and their irreverance, and complete disregard for anything that might be construed as politically correct.

Inter-racial couples are the norm in the journo group, which might sound completely pointless - I mean, why should race be a factor amongst friends? - but even in The Circle, well, I'm the only coloured (the fact that I'm paler than 90 percent of them is completely beside the point.) No; race, while it's not actually an issue to many of my friends and co-workers, is still noticed and, sometimes, commented on (that's when we're not dealing with the people who feel they can go ahead and make Those Kinds of comments). And I can joke around with "my sister" at work, and we can laugh about our various cultural differences; but it's still A Topic, and often, when people talk about "whites" and "blacks" or "Indians", or whatever, they drop their voices on those words, as if they're afraid they'll get caught. 

But amongst the journos, race and culture are such non-issues, I think they'd be gobsmacked should anyone bring it up. And I find it incredibly relaxing to be in that environment.

Anyway, back on topic! Bin Journo made one of her fabulous chicken curries, and I called MadCat over from Iaculus' place (just round the corner) so he could share in the deliciousness. Then we looked over Biggie's room, which Cameraman had been painting (shirt off, and a nice little six-pack he had going there, I might add). Then MadCat begged the leftovers off Bin Journo, for Iaculus and friends, and headed back for more gaming. And I sat, and nattered. Until the storm broke, and I realised I'd left the houndlings outside, in the garden, no kennel. Oops.

No wonder it smells like ass in here. Whew! McGee sure needs a bath.

You're on my shit list

These early, early mornings have been a boon with the massive project I have going at work (which ends tonight, yay!) but ... not so cool on the getting-out-of-the-door front. Especially not when one's runt of a Great Dane decides to expel steaming piles of shit in various spots in one's lounge.

Yeah, see, that gets old really, REALLY fast. Sometimes it's Madcat who deals with the clean-up; sometimes it's me. Oh, and just for added fun, there's usually a warm puddle the size of the Atlantic, too.

I won't go into too much detail because ... it's just too gross. Okay, I started, but I decided to spare my one reader the ookiness. My pleasure, Madcat.

Suffice to say, it involves a) swearing at the dog, who slinks off and looks appropriately ashamed that lo, she could not hold it in ONE SECOND LONGER even though she'd woken you up at midnight to get outside and empty her innards; b) the use of lots of plastic, not to mention Vicks under the nose to keep the smell at bay; c) swearing; d) mopping of slate floors, lovely!; d) SWEARING, did I mention?

Oh, and in the trek to get rid of the mess in the outside rubbish bins, we have to go through the front door instead of the back, so that we don't set off houseguest's annoying little yappy Satan Spawn ("affectionately" known as Fucker). I cannot wait until HIS whiny trap is no longer a hazard when going out the back door!

Yes. My first blog about poop. I bet there'll be many more. But hey, at least I'm not alone!

I'm working late tonight (and blogging). It's been a freezing day, with the bonus of rain. And with both MadCat and I at work - the dogs have been given free rein in the lounge and on the patio, behind the security gate.I don't want to know what was waiting for MadCat when he got home tonight ...

Meow

Torturing Pesky is so much fun. She gets rubbed and loved and hugged and kissed until that tail of hers is in full lash, then she runs away and sulks on the end of the bed like a big, black tumour (or threemour, as the case may be). Poor Pest. The things she has to endure! So much hunim love!

Insolent is becoming much more outgoing, now that she is isolated from the other cats. She's still terrified of her own shadow, but now she comes to me and demands love, rubbing her head against any available part of me and licking exposed skin (which is rather uncomfortable, given that she has a cat's rough tongue). Still, it's worth it, to have my little terrified loner, constantly beaten up by the other cats, be content.

Ten is bemoaning her fate yet again. Honestly, that long-drawn-out whine drives me mental! There's no reason for it; she just likes complaining, and it gets right inside one's brain. Her feral nature really comes to the fore, even though she's been in human company for over seven years now; the hissing and shouting are ingrained in her, I'm afraid.

Shake your booty

Second session withe the belly-dancing DVD. I didn't sweat as much (maybe the chilly weather had something to do with that), and I'm getting a little better with my timing. My joints aren't aching as much, though I can feel that my back is going to be stiff tomorrow. Still not up on the arm movements, and those two left are definitely around for a long while!

Heheh, MadCat is considering teh Comrades! Well, he wasn't - he just wants to be able to sprint 10 000m - but being the little obsessive that he is, he's getting that gleam in his eye ... only if he's able to win, though!

Run out of dog food for Mo, and only get paid on Saturday. Guess the girl's going to have to eat rice, lentils and giblets for a while!

Floating

Oh dear. My dog is high on catnip.

That'll teach me to believe in the evidence of my eyes when buying dried sausage treats without checking the label!

Meow

The Pesky is a sick kitty. No, not just in the head; physically, at least this week. She's normally the one who follows any available hunim wherever they might be going in the house (they might be in the vicinity of food, see?).She's vocal, and annoying - especially when watching movies on the laptop, since her favourite occupation is striding across the keyboard or sitting in front of the screen to wash her nethers. Lovely.

On Monday, she stopped bleating. Then she lay on the bed and refused to eat. Then, in her lethargy, she refused to speak to us, or clean her fur as obsessively as normal. So off she went to the vet, on Tuesday (not even a peep in the car - highly suspect!) to be prodded and have her temperature taken (a most undignified pursuit, let me tell you).

Eskie hates the vet; she's even worse than Grumpy. Normally it requires three strong men, closed doors and windows, and possibly a lion-tamer's whip to keep her in line. This time, she meowed half-heartedly a few times then consented to being slung over my shoulder.

She had to stay overnight, unfortunately; it was most lonely in bed without my little tumour. MadCat says that when he fetched her, she told him in no uncertain terms that she was unimpressed with her time in the concentration camp.

She's slightly better now, and her vocalisations have changed from their normal pathetic air-bubbles to full-throated yells of outrage at being locked in the bedroom. And she's extra loving.

It's kind of scary, actually.

BastianFrom Jay

Bastian

From JC, my brother-in-law

Things I will never forget about Bastian
1) Slobbered up to me more than any other dog in the World!!! Sometimes had more slime per square inch on me than the average Joe and sunscreen.
2) Being HIGHLY protective of his big bone - stoof the rest of the house, his bone was important-dammit
3) Doing a "Sebastian" charge and knocking Tat off her feet, and I'm the one getting the blame and smack for it...
4) Just sorting out the cats - boy I'm gonna miss this one!!! Also looking chuffed with another successful "negotiation" with dogs walking past in the street.
5) His little "chummy", all of 15 cm tall giving him the lip when he first moved in.
6) The lying on his back and scratching the shyte outta them pesky fleas - quite a sight!
7) Just being there.
8) Him and the kids, especially with Barry and his Smarties!!!
9) Looking prancy and mightely pink after a visit to the poodle parlour and had a ribbon in his hair.
10) Him arguing with Dad over his supper - MINE NOT YOURS!!!
11) The pure size and beauty of him - fark he was BIG!!!

Goodbye, my Boo

You were my biggest boy, my gentle giant , Slobber Monster and the one who chose me. I'll miss you. Here's hoping that on the other side, you find out about the joys of chasing girl dogs!

Love you
Mom

Dogs. Vet. Kid and college.

Man. How is it possible that animals can cost so much? It's as bad as having human kids, I reckon. Just when you think it's safe - wham! Another huge vet's bill.

Mojo hasn't been eating for a couple of days, and has had a couple of rather explosive incidents of diarrhoea in the wee hours of the morning. Naturally, she's starving. So when McGee expressed an interest in her daily chewy, she went beserk. Those two have never fought with intent, especially over something as arbitrary as a chewy. This battle left McGee with two huge wounds in his right front leg - ironically, the same place Mojo was hurt.

Off we drove, bleeding dog and poo-ing dog in one car. McGee had to have stitches, so he was hustled off to the kennel. Poor Mo had the leash wrapped around her dainty muzzle and was lifted - oh, indignity! - onto the examining table where, to her horror, a thermometer was shoved places no self-respecting Dane would tolerate. Unfortunately for Mo, her confidence is not the greatest at the best of times, so she suffered in silence, not even a whimper, just great big sad eyes slathering on the guilt.

One blood-smear and a few injections later, the verdict: Mojo has hookworm. A lovely parasite most often caused by eating poo. Brilliant.

We shall have to find some way to raise the cat-boxes where Danes and Labs can't reach, and install a high-level waste area outside. Le sigh.

Best part? Hookworm is contagious to humans. Oh, bloody great big steaming balls of joy.

Life sucks if you're grumpy

Poor little Grumpy Bum. She's gone and hurt her leg on the razor wire at the side of the house, and is in isolation yet again. And that damn leg just won't stop twitching! Take a step - twitch. Get picked up (indignity!) - twitch. Be placed on the ground again - twitchtwitchtwitchtwitchaaaarrrrggghhh!

Fortunately her face is perfect for a pissed-off expression - it's the black stripe down the side of her nose, which gives her a permanent frown. And the 'tude, of course. There's a reason she's called Grumpy Bum, you know.

Even more irritating to the Thuglet (as we call her when she is safely out of hearing range) is the fact that McGee, the lab she beat up all by her little self, is now coming to offer sympathy instead of remaining cowed at a distance. Unthinkable! How dare he! And he licks her face!

It's embarrassing, is what it is. The terror of the household, laid low by a stupid paw.

Of course, this would not be a problem, Miss Bum, if you didn't wander around the razor wire as though it were your friend. Perhaps slicing off a pad wasn't the brightest idea you've ever had. Just a thought.