I got bored of trying to look for a job so I made up my own and posted it on Craigslist:
I am a Lion Enterprises specializes in pet management and nearly all areas of love, affection, discipline training, daily face-to-face interactions, and routine feeding through our family of volunteers. I am a Lion Enterprises is proud to provide assisted living and nurturing to all of our employees. The popularity of our work place environment has seen several of our employees spend their entire careers with us, though, regrettably, on occasion, careers have been cut short by accidental death due to vehicular interference, abduction, and straight-up “wandering away.” So, we're looking for an enthusiastic individual with the right skill set and a can-do attitude to join our team.
Job Title: Feline Companion
This is a full-time, on-call, on-site requirement at our office in Victoria, BC.
SUMMARY
Responsible for the development, support, and maintenance of various family relationships
PRIMARY RESPONSIBILITIES
1. The use of a litter box with minimal supervision.
2. The killing of small animals as required.
3. Providing a warm, friendly presence when the family is sleeping and/or watching television.
4. Other duties as assigned.
ADDITIONAL RESPONSIBILITIES
1. Avoid the dinner table during meal times.
2. Be able to let oneself out in the middle of the night.
KNOWLEDGE AND SKILL REQUIREMENTS
1. Basic behavioral traits associated with being a cat. These are normally acquired through genetic disposition.
2. Ability to maintain composure in the presence of dogs.
3. While it is understood you may not know the difference between a mouse and a bird, we’d appreciate it if you kept the bird slaughter to a minimum.
4. Ability to not get stuck in a tree.
5. Work well with adults and children of varying skill sets.
6. Skill with the following is encouraged:
• Meow Script v. 2.3 (minimal requirement)
• Knowing when dinner is and to not start asking for it three hours before it is served
• Cleaning one’s “privates” in private
• Linux
• Keeping corpses outdoors
• Ability to discern the scratching post from the couch
• Recreational use of Catnip is okay
Thank you for your interest in I am a Lion Enterprises!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Robo Lasagna
I like to cook. I'm not fantastic. But I'm okay. Amazingly, today was the first time I had ever made Lasagna on my own. It reminded me of a story I wrote for a contest a while back. It was for M&M Meats, the idea to write about a family cooking memory. I only found out about the contest an hour before the deadline so I whipped something up. I didn't win the $200 worth of free meat. But, whatever, you can only have so much ground beef at once:
Robo Lasagna
Growing up, meal times were a very routine process. Dinner was always at six and preparation usually started around five. My younger sister would help with chopping veggies for the salads, and, over time, she would learn the basic cooking skills that allowed her to contribute to the meals with my mother’s supervision. I was trusted with some lighter tasks, such as setting the table, doing the dishes, and entertaining the dog.
There was a lone bar stool that overlooked the counter and I often hung around on it watching dinner be made. I sat slumped, my head resting in my hands, my feet kicking together. My father would not be home from work until just before dinner, so I would gaze away at my sister and mother chatting. I felt left out. It was like I was the lone audience member for a community cooking show. Monday to Friday, it was like this for years.
My mother and sister were making Lasagna one day. I was sitting on the bar stool as usual. There was a basket on the ledge between the counter and bar stool and I was rooting through it. In it I found a box of staples. Eventually, my mother put the lasagna noodles in a casserole dish beside the kitchen sink, which was right in front of me. She went back to the stove to help my sister with something, and while they were there I showered the cooling lasagna noodles with staples.
I have no idea why I did this. I still don’t. A cry for attention? To be a part of the process? Like, in some way, throwing staples into a pan of lasagna noodles would contribute to the meal making process. I didn’t say anything and the lasagna was cooked ala staples. I must have dropped about fifteen in.
We sat down to eat, the four of us, and before we began, I told everyone what I had done. My father was outraged, calling me a Doorknob, a Ding-a-Ling, and a “right fucking asshole.” My mother looked on the verge of tears. My sister didn’t know what to think because she was only seven, but I think she copied my father’s reaction and started repeating his insults.
I’m not sure why I decided then to mention it. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe I knew that eating staples could ruin our intestines thus creating the potential for ulcers. I’m not sure. I was only ten. But all that is irrelevant to what that meal would eventually mean to us as a family.
My father would go to his toolbox and grab a large circular magnet. Each of us would be plated with a piece of lasagna and we would take turns hovering the magnet over it. It didn’t really work, as a tiny staple is not going to get pulled through mounds of melted cheese. But it was hilarious; we were in hysterics. We chewed each slice slowly, making outrageous faces towards one another.
We recovered several of the staples and no one ended up knowingly eating any, and, if they did, nothing serious happened. But it has had a lasting effect. It’s a memory that bonds the family. And still, to this day, someone, inevitably, when at a family dinner, will say, “Excuse me, can you pass me the Magnet?”
Robo Lasagna
Growing up, meal times were a very routine process. Dinner was always at six and preparation usually started around five. My younger sister would help with chopping veggies for the salads, and, over time, she would learn the basic cooking skills that allowed her to contribute to the meals with my mother’s supervision. I was trusted with some lighter tasks, such as setting the table, doing the dishes, and entertaining the dog.
There was a lone bar stool that overlooked the counter and I often hung around on it watching dinner be made. I sat slumped, my head resting in my hands, my feet kicking together. My father would not be home from work until just before dinner, so I would gaze away at my sister and mother chatting. I felt left out. It was like I was the lone audience member for a community cooking show. Monday to Friday, it was like this for years.
My mother and sister were making Lasagna one day. I was sitting on the bar stool as usual. There was a basket on the ledge between the counter and bar stool and I was rooting through it. In it I found a box of staples. Eventually, my mother put the lasagna noodles in a casserole dish beside the kitchen sink, which was right in front of me. She went back to the stove to help my sister with something, and while they were there I showered the cooling lasagna noodles with staples.
I have no idea why I did this. I still don’t. A cry for attention? To be a part of the process? Like, in some way, throwing staples into a pan of lasagna noodles would contribute to the meal making process. I didn’t say anything and the lasagna was cooked ala staples. I must have dropped about fifteen in.
We sat down to eat, the four of us, and before we began, I told everyone what I had done. My father was outraged, calling me a Doorknob, a Ding-a-Ling, and a “right fucking asshole.” My mother looked on the verge of tears. My sister didn’t know what to think because she was only seven, but I think she copied my father’s reaction and started repeating his insults.
I’m not sure why I decided then to mention it. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe I knew that eating staples could ruin our intestines thus creating the potential for ulcers. I’m not sure. I was only ten. But all that is irrelevant to what that meal would eventually mean to us as a family.
My father would go to his toolbox and grab a large circular magnet. Each of us would be plated with a piece of lasagna and we would take turns hovering the magnet over it. It didn’t really work, as a tiny staple is not going to get pulled through mounds of melted cheese. But it was hilarious; we were in hysterics. We chewed each slice slowly, making outrageous faces towards one another.
We recovered several of the staples and no one ended up knowingly eating any, and, if they did, nothing serious happened. But it has had a lasting effect. It’s a memory that bonds the family. And still, to this day, someone, inevitably, when at a family dinner, will say, “Excuse me, can you pass me the Magnet?”
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