Minneapolis Adventures

Once upon a time, Arbusto introduced me to a certain coffee shop in St. Paul. Over time, it has degenerated from a laidback, pleasant place to study into an indie Twilight Zone. On a mild night, there might simply be a group of noisy and idealistic undergraduates. One night, while sitting in the back room, I kept hearing a strange noise coming from the front part of the coffee shop; it sounded like an unintentional Wookie imitation.

However, the strangest group by far to frequent this coffee shop is the gaggle of women who gather to knit, talk about dismembered pets, and randomly sing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

Tonight, as I sit here trying to enjoy a cup of coffee and a chicken sandwich and focus on my stats project, the knitting group has convened at the next table and is talking loudly amongst themselves. Topics covered tonight have been LiveJournal, how none of them want kids (thank God, we've dodged a bullet), and how one of the women knows someone who BREASTFED A LITTER OF PUPPIES.

I decided I might need to leave and never return.

A friend pointed out that a human breastfeeding puppies is farfetched at best and is probably a physical impossibility.

However:

1. Apparently someone tried this.
2. These people associate with that person.
3. These people are in the same room as me.
4. I have now had the unfortunate image of a woman breastfeeding poodles seared into my brain.

I might need to leave and never return.

Zach, IrishTenor's big orange cat, lives only for his next meal. On most mornings, he will do his best to turn on the cute and con someone into giving him an extra breakfast. This morning was no exception. IrishTenor woke up an hour after I'd fed Zach and Thundercat, and Zach seized the opportunity to try for a second helping.

Zach: "Meow? Meow? Meow? Meow? Meow? ..."

IrishTenor: "SouthernCanadian, did you feed the cats already?"

Me: "Yes, an hour ago."

IrishTenor: "So Zach is lying to me."

Zach (hopefully, upon hearing his name): "Meow?"

Me: "Yes."

IrishTenor (to the cat): "Zach, that's a nice try, but you need to realize something. SouthernCanadian and I have a little thing in our relationship called communication, and she has communicated to me that you have already eaten. You're out of luck."