Big bag o' crazy

Beans has a new, fancy imported cat toy: a paper grocery bag, sent all the way from the States. I don't know why people spend a lot of money on cat toys--this one was free, and it hardly took up any room in the FedEx package it was sent in.

As you can see, this bag is nearly destroyed. The reason is because it's actually two toys in one--little bits can be torn off, and then can be swatted around the living room floor like a kitty hockey puck.

I'm hoping that moving to the Land of Paper Bags Aplenty will ease Beans' transition to life in the U.S. Maybe if he has a few dozen bags to hide in, to jump out of and terrorize the dog, he won't hate us so much for the traumatizing move.

Beans had his final visit from the veterinarian two days ago. For the move, his vaccinations all need to be current no more than one year and no less than 30 days before the move. Dr. Diah, our wonderful vet who makes house calls, came and updated his shots and carefully recorded everything in his little official kitty passport. Beans used to love the vet because she has a big leather bag he could climb in. He didn't even mind the shots. Then, one fateful morning in May 2005, she took him away in a green plastic kennel and brought him back a few hours later, a little less of a man. Now no amount of convincing will get him to believe that she won't do it again. We have to wrap him up in a blanket like a furry, angry little burrito. Once the shots are over, he retreats to either under the table or the landing on the stairs, where he blends in with the shadows and appears only as a big, frightened pair of bright green eyes. Then, for the rest of the evening, we're treated to the Nobody Loves Kitty Show. Poor Beans.

On a completely unrelated topic, I had a seriously entertaining Abbott and Costello moment with some of my 10th graders the other day. They're reading To Kill a Mockingbird, and they're working in reading groups a large amount of the time. The exchange went something like this:

Boy: Mrs. Erin? What do you call this thing? (He points to the cover of the book, which is an illustration of various objects sitting in the knothole of a large tree.)

Me: Knothole.

Girl: See! I told you it was not a hole!

Boy: So what is it?!

Me (confused): A knothole!

Girl: It's not. A. Hole. I'm right. Told you so.

Boy: But Mrs. Erin, if it's not a hole, then what do you call it? What is its name?!

Me (laughing): It's a k-n-o-t, knothole. Not "n-o-t."

Later in the same period, the students were supposed to be in their groups, reading out loud to each other. One kid, notorious for being a little...different, started out by shouting. His group members were more confused than alarmed, and shushed him quickly.

"No! No, I'm supposed to do like that!" he insisted.

I looked over at him. "What exactly are you doing?" I asked.

"Reading loud!" he told me, in complete seriousness.

I tried my best to ignore the giggles and eye-rolls from his group members, and avoided eye contact with them so I didn't crack up.

"You're supposed to be reading out loud, not loudly. Out loud means you read to your group instead of silently inside your head. You only have to read loud enough for them to hear you."

"Oh..."

I honestly don't know what I'll do with myself when I don't get to teach these kids anymore. I try not to think about it. I'm formulating a massive, heartfelt, outpouring of a blog in my head, but I have to wait until I'm ready to write it. That might not make sense. If you're a writer at all, even just in journals, it will. I have so much I want to say but it's still in my head, getting itself together. The words have to be just right. I can't sum up the enormity of leaving with just any old words, so I have to wait. In the meantime, I'll keep posting random, everyday stuff like usual.

For now, please enjoy the photo of His Royal Loudness in his Big Bag of Crazy.