Anti-Cat Defensive Measures

The southwest, northwest and northeast entrances have been sealed off.



Plastic forks stuck into the earth to discourage the cats from walking in these areas.

A month after they were originally installed, it's been more or less proven that they're much less effective than advertised. While I'd love to introduce a frightening animal like a tiger, monitor lizard, dragon or griffin, I'm quite unwilling to introduce that animal's droppings into my garden to deter the cats. Really, I should set up welcome mats that catapult (no pun intended) the furry feline menaces when stepped on; automated super-soakers on motion detectors; and some sort of convoluted Mouse Trap-like device that will cage them when an old man does a back-flip into a bucket of water.

I HATE Cats

Reported by a reputable news source, April 23rd, 2008 -

On Tuesday it was announced that President for Life of His Own Bedroom, L Bo, has gone ahead and passed legislation authorizing the construction of a border fence to keep out illegal immigrant cats. The bill has met with some resistance, especially from noted feline friend James Cash Penney, who claims we should adopt these cats and keep them in our apartment, rather than "throw jelly beans at them early in the morning." In my defense, it was only the orange ones, which nobody wants to eat anyway.

"Clearly," said L Bo, speaking to a sold out crowd of well-wishers, lovely ladies and the occasional protractor throwing detractor, "the measures I've taken so far to keep these no-good furry beasts out of the yard have not worked. Despite creating what I thought to be an impenetrable blockade by sealing off every entrance way I saw with plywood and cinder blocks, these clever cats keep finding ways to get in. When chased out, often they find themselves running in circles trying to find an escape route, but can apparently contort and collapse their entire bone structure to fit through quarter sized holes. In one susceptible corner, I created a 6 foot high wall to keep them out. Yet when pursued, Whitey McKittenhead was able to scramble up the 90 degree angled plywood and leap to safety. Despite my hatred for Felis silvestris catus, I couldn't help but be impressed by it's feat of daring and climbing ability."

"How can we hope to win against an enemy like this, one willing to do whatever it takes to crap in my vegetable bed and meow loudly at obscene, single digit hours of the morning? All I know is if we don't fight them, they will follow us home. This wall MUST be built, and hopefully afterwards the extra measure of a moat filled with fearsome sea monsters, but not of the cephalopod variety. Thank you for gathering today, and together, we can eradicate this menace."

On the pro-cats disrupting life side are L Bo's neighbors, pentagenarian Ana and her man-child son, Squeaky Von Pubertybergsondale. When asked to stop feeding the cats due to their violation of his raised bed garden, Anna replied, despite knowing they weren't her cats and were feral and annoying as all hell, that "I have to. If I don't, they'll starve." When pressed about the dead kitten found outside L Bo's window last year and the kitten head discovered in the yard that later disappeared this month, Anna stood their dumbfounded. Her son later complained to L Bo about being kept awake by pitiful meowing late at night and around 4 AM, and about how hard it was to keep the cats out of the yard no matter how many plastic forks are buried up to their pointy hilts to discourage entrance. When informed they might come in less if his mom and him stopped feeding them, Squeaky said "No, I don't think so. They'll come in anyway. I'm pretty sure I'm right and not at all stupid; there's obviously no connection between me leaving food for them and them trying at all costs to come in for the food." Indeed Squeaky.

Old McDonald Had An...Orchard?

Today, I bought an apricot tree. Well, a dwarf apricot tree, to be exact, of the Blenheim variety. Blenheim apricots are noted for their superior taste when compared to other apricots, even gaining the nickname "King of the 'cots," as well as their poor shipping record due to thin skin. Rarely will you find these treats outside of California...unless, of course, you come to my home in Brooklyn in 2 years.

Today was not just a day reserved for the purchase of immature stone fruit trees that shan't bear produce for a couple of years. In addition, I'm also the proud owner of 15 forty pound bags of topsoil. Boo-ya!

Update This, Microsoft Windows!

Nobody reads my blog anymore. My theory is not because it's gotten significantly less interesting, but probably because it's not called Stuff Liberal Minded Poor White People Named L Bo Like. Whatever.

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My sister was accepted into NYU's graduate program for super cool people who want to study sociology cause she's really smart and awesome. Plus, she could kick your ass, if it came to that.

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In a super democratic election at the non-secret apartment meeting involving the super, the current treasurer, the man who was to become director and me, I was voted secretary of the newly created Board of Directors for the condo. Unanimously. Especially if you don't count the 5 other apartments who weren't represented at this meeting, and I don't. Better go dust off my stenography machine and long skirt.

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My work was accepted to sell on PhotoShelter.com. This is good news for everyone. It means you can finally buy my photos of boats on Lake Michigan or shorebirds on the Santa Monica beach for that travel brochure/huge advertising campaign/calendar/article in Time magazine about me that you/your boss/your friend/your mom/anyone you know with multiple dollars to spend is putting together. Obviously, it's good news for me as I would get said multiple dollars.

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Jamie "James Cash" Penney moved into my apartment as my brand new roommate recently, which meant I could finally end the countdown clock I had started after he committed at New Year's. It was analog and accurate to the minute, updated by turning over the pages like an old baseball scoreboard every 15 minutes. We're both about the same level of messiness, which is good. He likes things neat, but doesn't want to clean every day. I like things neat too, but want someone else to make them that way.

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I went to see Avenue Q with Dynamo and some others last weekend. It was super good. There's something about puppets watching porn and being racist that soothes the soul, especially when that soul just received, and promptly lost, 8 delicious chocolate chunk cookies from a cookie shop in Jersey City.

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While attempting to cross into Jersey via the Holland Tunnel, I noticed a man on 6th Avenue selling glow sticks. He didn't seem to be doing brisk business, unlike the pretzel and hot dog guy who delivers to your car. Why would I need a glow stick to drive through the tunnel? Was it that dark in there? Was the circus performing? Was the whole awful traffic mess actually caused by a giant rave inside? I had many questions.

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A photographer I just started working for asked me the other day what I wanted for lunch.

"There's a lot of choices around here. Is there anything you don't eat?"

I replied: "I can't handle spicy food, and I don't eat squid. I'm actually rather frightened by them." Noticing the blank look on his face, I figured it was a story better left for another time.