Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Boredom Enthusiasts


Famous French Sculpture by Auguste Rodin

You aren't gonna believe this. I didn't. I got up the other morning, measured 2/3 of Boost Protein/Vitamin drink powder, poured it into my milk and swallowed a Probiotic by Align the Santy Claus brought in my stocking.

Whipping the WSJ in front of me in old man fashion I began to read. When to my wondering eyes should appear, but an article justifying my case for boredom, clear!!

In a recent post I said the sign: "Only boring people get bored", was balderdash. But I didn't have the scientific evidence, the stats of studies done from when Adam was sitting in Eden til I was blogging the other day. No, I only had a gut feeling and the confidence that I hit moments of boredom,I am not boring, and that's when I really shine as a boredom enthusiast.

After going in circles with my parents about the meaning of the boring vs. boredom and the point teachers are trying to make with that statement, Padre quipped: "If a wood chuck could chuck wood, how much wood would a wood chuck chuck?" We all sat silently thinking that one out.


Thinking woman made of Ape Wood.

It leaves the topic open for further debate, which I welcome from all of you.

The article emphasized that there are actually people who Relish the Pleasures of Under stimulation. I came to the conclusion that I am one of them. I am as the author of the article points out, A Boredom Enthusiast.

Now don't get the misconception that we are bored in our boredom or think that what we are doing is boring. On the contrary. Does Thinking Man up there look Bored? Exactly.

Gautam Naik had me laughing the whole way through his article as he described the key note speakers that addressed a group of such enthusiasts about the pleasures of under stimulation.

Before I lose some of you I will quote Journalist and author, Naomi Alderman.

"When we learn to TOLERATE boredom, we find out who we really are." She was able to come up with this great quote by growing up in a Jewish family and enduring the Sabbath Day.

Mom helped me tolerate boredom with needlework. I learned to cross stitch. I have yet to pick up my ancestors art of tatting- now that is some tediously, tough tolerating of time right there, now just entertain myself with words and writing.
(After doing a seriously complex Cross Stitch pattern, making a mistake and having to find it in all the subtle changes of color and counting squares in black and white on the instruction sheet, then unpicking all that I had done to get to the mistake, it really whiped me out. Enthusiasm wise.

My point for this post: "Only boring people get bored," is a farce.

All people, from Adam til today, have faced boredom-those moments of aloneness where you have a choice to let your brain turn to mush or you revel in those silent moments meditating on... whatever. It's like the Professor who took his kids in his office, slapped a fish that had been floating in formaldehyde in front of their startled eyes and said: "Look at the Fish." It was their first assignment.


Fish School

So if you run across people still believing that there is such a thing as a boring person, tell them:

'Boring is in the eye of the beholder!' Then get busy looking "at the fish".

THE Gift



I love to give the perfect gift. One that can make the recipient light up in surprise, as if they themselves didn't know it was their favorite gift either! See the above picture of Madre.

It takes thought, searching and sometimes stumbling upon that perfect gift. For kids, it's a whole lot harder. What is it that will be that One gift?? I can see Toy companies sitting in big offices around tables mulling over this same question.

This year, The Torment won for Best Gift Giver Response from Recipient.



The recipient is always mom. One, because she is the most deserving of all gifts and two, Padre gets his gifts throughout the year by himself so he is sure to get what he wants.

So Christmas Eve Night, Madre opened a seemingly humble gift from the Torment



and his wife, who is able to look beyond his ways and deserves a medal, too. Inside: a DVD. The expression on her face was like she had just won a million dollars. Well, as if someone else had won a million dollars, cause I honestly think she doesn't care.



The Gift?



Michael Jackson's This Is It video. ????? Are you kidding me? ( I washed the front window, but she got mad at me for 'over doing it'.) That was all it took to get her "thrilled"; MJ's video. Who knew?

As you can see, The Torment is tickled



he could find The Gift, without much money.
That is just the point, not much money is needed to find that one thing that lights up the face of the recipient.

So here is the list of gifts that would make an Oprah Favorite Things List:

Squirmy Worms. Fuzzy, Caterpillar worms attached to an invisible string. Hours of fooling folks for the recipient.

J also loved the Bionicle Snow machine I got him. It is tough enough to go over Real Snow. And I could almost put it together without his help. Legos. Is there any way to make them less chintzy? So they can bring them into the tub or outdoors over the snow and really play with them. Sure it's fun to put them together, but I feel like gluing them when I am done. With strong glue. For reinforcement.

C. O. Bigelow's Apothecary lotion in Lemon-Lime Souffle.




Divine. Putting on the pudding lotion is like eating this:




Some scents can be seriously over powering, the souffle is not. Of course it is not being made anymore. They only have Lemon or the delicious Lemon Pomegranate at Bath and Body. But at Bigelow Apothecaries online store I am sure you can search for it. Their company established 168 years ago and sits in a posh spot of New York, has Chemists working at products that will "amuse" us. (see their site) I have to admit I love their old school, druggist packaging.

Coach's Poppy Perfume.



Wow. But we are talking about reasonable gifts. And I didn't get that one, but I did go through the perfume department every time I went shopping and sprayed it on me. While looking for a pic of it, found it is a "summer" fragrance. So I am off a season. But I say it will make it look like you took off to balmy islands to make the rest of us jealous.

That cute pen and Thank You notes with a vintage typewriter upon it. Bull's Eye, Care.

Chips. Not the potato kind that is Padre's life blood. The Italian made little circle throat lozenge, Chips.


The kind with licorice- can't even find the ones that are just for sore throats online! Call the Sweets Cottage if you so desire. Or visit, it looks cute.

This gift was an anonymous gift. It was easy to track who gave it to me when I opened it, because the lady who gave one to me in church, is the only one I know who orders them online.

I get sore throats quit a bit and she handed me some of these life saving throat lozenges while I tried to croak out a hymn, and I asked where she got them. Little circles of menthol relieved-ness.

So when I opened a huge plastic tub full of Chips, from the anonymous giver...
Sister Higgins, nice try, but I got you! Thank you so much. I know you don't read this but I am so grateful for them. Oprah would dig them. She probably can pick them up when she visits the country.

The best gift, that comes free, is when you feel content and grateful for what you have and you don't NEED anything. When that feeling of peace



comes over you during the holidays it can be as surprising as receiving, 'This Is It' like Madre above. And hopefully, you felt the true meaning of this season and can manage to carry a taste of it through the new year!

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Mom, I'm bored


For me, the whole days leading up to Christmas Day, are what make the Season. The sights, sounds, anticipation of gifts under the tree and a waffle iron fire can make the month exciting.

After baking cookies, seeing lights and making a quick, reminiscent Christmas Eve ride to Shelley, this is what I heard from the back seat of the car.

"Mom," long drawn out sigh. "I'm bored."

BORED?????????????????????????????????????? My eyebrows crinkled like they'd been tossed in the waffle iron.

I didn't tell him the classic teacher comment to this reply:

"Only boring people get bored."

that I've heard and seen on signs at the schools.

It was Christmas Eve and I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and Ya Know, I think that saying is Balderdash, anyway. It does take some creativity and huge amounts of discipline to not get the post Christmas "let down."- Even if you are not a boring person.

For instance, Christmas Eve was going along about as casual and mundane as a child waiting for Santa to come, could expect.

The youngest Grandkid was on the rug,



playing with J's old Thomas the Train set with Papa.




All the grandkids got to open a gift:









We'd consummed a meal in moments that took all day effort to prepare. It was as boring as you could get, right?

After everyone convinced Padre that it was Christmas and Jack needed to come in and feel the love, Lil Brother went out to get the poor guy from the freezing cold. We promised the newest addition would sit on the rug by the door.




That didn't happen, Jack has had a Major turn around in health since his being saved from euthanization. An antibiotic and being loved has turned this once calm, collected dog into, well, a typical lab. Totally took us by surprise.

We all felt sorry when he slept like a newborn after being saved from the chink, sneezed and wheezed while playing catch with J, and looked at us with eyes that seemed to echo every sadness, ever felt, on planet earth.

It must have been the excitement of the whole family together, cause Jack came in and before we knew it, raced passed the front rug pulling his owner with such strength he about knocked me over onto the hearth. In my defense, I was crouched down taking pictures. If Lil Brother hadn't reigned him in the tree may have come down.

An otherwise snoozer of an evening went to high octane excitement. Especially for Padre. Jack was rassled away from the Christmas tree, pulled across the center rug over to Lil Brother and moderately calmed down with a treat.

As you know, "we", I mean Padre, is NOT an indoor dog person. He isn't an outdoor dog person either, unless it is located out someone else's back door.




Padre disappeared down to the shower where he stood under a dribble of water for a good 45 minutes while the rest of us sweated it out. Grandkid K wasn't worried cause he had Woody to entertain him



and J was just glad Jack was there.

But at that point we all were pretty much convinced that Padre was just running the shower to throw us off as he climbed on the roof, put Santa in the locker like he'd been threatening us the last couple days, and took all our presents back for a refund.

He must have tried to do it in his bathrobe because he came upstairs wearing it and donning a fake shower appearance. Before blow drying his hair in the upstairs bathroom, he mumbled something to the effect that 'that was the last time he'd cuddle up on the rug again.'

Sugar plums ricocheted in our heads that night, Santa escaped Padre cause the goods were under the tree come morning and Padre forgave cause he even pulled out the camera to commemorate the event.

We basked in the glorious, sunny day streaming through the windows sitting on the couches and chairs next to our stuffed stockings. J rifled through all his gifts and contently played with them well into the afternoon. Finally, it was Christmas Day.As I pondered the meaning of Christmas, J broke the silent reverie:

"Mom, I'm bored."


Jack huggin' Lil Brother for saving his life.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Waffle Cookie Recipe



K- here is the ruthless recipe. I handed J the cam to take pictures of me.



I don't know why he would think taking one of my bum was what I wanted. Maybe it was of the stool- which you'll need to sit on to make these.

I am about ready to tear off the wool, Christmas sweater and make these tedious things in the buff. Because I am sweating.

If you are a Chemist or like to solve riddles, do Sodoku, Crossword Puzzles; try this recipe on for size.

I will include my instructions later in the blog.



My first is don't make them if you are in a hurry, in fact, just wait till you retire and take your time perfecting these cookies.

1 Cup Sugar
1/2 C Butter (let this sit out and come to room temperature. my hint gathered from the Pros)

2 Eggs
2 Cups Flour (sift this, I guess)
1/2 C Cocoa
1/2 Cup Milk
1 tsp. Vanilla
1/4 tsp Baking Powder


In her cursive hand writing she has written: Mix together and drop by Teaspoon onto hot waffle iron. Bake about 1 1/2 minutes to 2 minutes.

Frost with Philadelphi Cream Chees frostin- Cream Chgees - Butter and powder sugar-mix to right consistency.


???? Grandma, where are you?

Okay folks. My version:



1. Do the frosting earlier. Put in fridge and pull it out along with the butter to thaw to room temp.

2. Do your nails or something to waste time- No use this time to get a reliable waffle iron. Medium heat.

3. Once butter is thawed, beat it into the sugar.

4. Switch beaters.

5. Add eggs and SIFTED flour, little by little add the flour.

6. Mix this for a bit. Then add SIFTED Cocoa

7. Add the vanilla baking powder

Use a Tablespoon to dig the cement-like concoction from the mixing bowl.

Ball it up or flatten it like the Indians make flat bread. Tell me which works best.

Set a stool right by the iron. Play your fav. music.

Spray generous amounts of Span on the iron as you go.

Good Luck! If you have any, they will turn out like Grandma Nellis' and live on in your children's memory, or yours, for eternity.

8. Go buy a Presto Waffle Maker- my neighbors have one and that may just be the trick to evenly cookin these things without going crazy.

Gift Wrapping 101


If you are like me, you love to wrap presents.

Even if you narrowly passed Geometry, forming right angles and straight creases on the toughest shiny paper, can be fun. Adding frilly bows and whimsy curls is icing on the cake for your gift giving "brew-ha-ha".

However, if it is preceded by a tight budget, cutting coupons/printing them off the computer and setting alarms to go off for when they expire, moving shoulder to shoulder like sheep with other shoppers, leaving a store in snow, sleet or hail,at dinner time can make wrapping the last thing on your list.

I have arrived at a simple solution. Have your kid(s) do it.



Watching J wrap a gift, after such a blizzard of activity, I learned a few tips that will come in handy next year.

J taught me that perfect creases, designated 'front' and 'back',



clear versus cloudy tape, are unimportant in the gift wrapping fiasco. It's the wrapped box that counts.




I know many of you are already prepared, home baking cookies, playing games with your luvies and wassailing. For those of you who are doing last minute shopping and facing the dreadful wrapping task later tonight, when Santa is already hitting the road... Let J's wrapping tips help you.




It will save you plenty of stress, sudden memory loss to Christmas carols and tics while trying to tuck in your tinies Eve Night!

Merrry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! May your day be wrapped in joy and a family feud or two!

Now to mastering those waffle cookies...



Tuesday, December 21, 2010

To Mt. Krumpit To Dump It




We have several holiday traditions. The ones we do best aren't necessarily heartwarming, but we have in the past, and tried, in the present to recreate some holiday magic.

Donning an apron and a frilly pen, I tried to do just that by making Grandma Nellis' famous Waffle Cookies. (The pen in my pocket is simply to add to the picture and take note of any spectacular events if they should happen.)

Isn't it festive? Your letters were written with it,if you received one from me, if not, sorry. We've had a lot goin' on as the next few paragraphs will show.

So, I,, in my apron, pulled out the recipe and our old, on its last frayed wire, waffle iron.

Memories of visiting the old, white gingerbread-fashioned house in Shelley on Christmas Eve came over me. Our family would pile into the car, drive over the slick Snake River bridge, to Grandma's house. There she would have the traditional cookies in the clear, square Tupperware. Inside were cakey, brown cookies shaped like stars and drizzled with creamy frosting. Each year they were a bit different simply because Gma didn't always follow the recipe.

As I looked at the recipe and started making them myself, I found that you did need to play around with the ingredients for a smoother consistency. Otherwise, the whole batter wrapped inside the beater and I had to shovel it out with a spoon, and somehow scrape the sticky, thick 'dallop' from my fingers onto the fire hazard.

Luckily, Baby Brother was present when the waffle iron sparked, a nice flame erupted, and I stood there like the Grinch on Mt. Krumpit stumped that the Who's were singin' without presents at all!

Seconds earlier, I had cleaned grease from our deep fryer because we'd had a shrimp fest earlier that week. Conveniently I had put it in a Sam's Club sized syrup bottle just a few feet from the old iron.




For that split moment I looked at the flame, measured the distance from the syrup bottle, eyed the outlet I'd need to pull the cord and recalled being shocked one year by another faulty outlet. All this took place in Olympic- quick fashion. Millionths of seconds.

If anyone knows the outcome of uplugging a cord, that is on fire, let me know. Cause I let Dan blow it out before I pulled it. In that millionth of a second decision I referred to earlier.

Thankfully, the Holiday Cheermeister, Padre, was out of town. Not that there was any damage, but who wants to put a damper on Christmas with a "I almost burnt down the kitchen trying to make waffle cookies" story over dinner? Not me.

So I packed up the hot iron and put it in the frigid, Idaho cold on the steps to cool until I could take it to Mt. Krumpit. Went dowstairs to the fruit room and extracted my Belgian Waffle Iron.


This made the cookies look quite different. Bigger. A lot of milk required. After the commotion I didn't have the energy to frost the cookies before an urgent errand.
So I wrote a little note, left it next to the cookies and frosting and headed out into the wind and rain that is Idaho Christmas.

When I came home I found this:



So I sat down in a chair up to the table and frosted the Begian Waffle Cookies.

Needless to say, I had a lot of empathy for Grandma's efforts making all those cookies for a zillion grandkids that visited in shifts on Christmas Eve.

I've thrown the idea around to the siblings to recreate a "Nellis Eve", where we go to Kings Department Store and try to find a gift for each other and open them Christmas Eve. We'll have to borrow my mom's siblings and their kids, which I'm pretty sure they are all over the country; to rotate being at Gma's house until our turn came.

And The Cheermeister heard about my small spark while making cookies so we've had to limit the time ANY Christmas lights are on. Despite the lecture on the proficiency in holiday lights versus an old, on its last leg waffle iron, I continue to plug tree lights back in whenever I notice Padre has turned them off.





Thursday, December 16, 2010

Pups, Past and Present


It's almost hard to see, but if you look hard- you'll see our pup. He's there on the sled, asleep. In fact he doesn't wake up. Which mean he doesn't need to be watered, walked, or otherwise worried about at night when neigbors are kept awake with barking. Cute, huh?

This pup is the kind that Padre wanted all through our growing up years. And the only kind we ultimatelygot to keep. We successfully smuggled dogs into the back yard, begged to keep 'em, and he relented, for a time. Then somehow they were smuggled back out of the yard and poor Madre had to do the dirty work.

All it took was 'lil brother, coming home the other day with his new hound, for the ghosts of all our dogs to resurrect, right there in our back yard.

I stood looking out the kitchen window in my apron and my jaw dropped like Ebenezer's dead co-worker clunking outside his door in chains and a kerchief about his head to keep his jaw in place. (Thank goodness for the mortuary techniques we now have!)

Jack, he got named, and you know what that means; by law you have to keep it. Jack is a pure bred lab and was hanging out at the Pound. They don't call it that now, in an effort to make the euthanizing of abandoned pets less cruel, it is now referred to as An Animal 'Shelter'. Like a lowly manger and barn kept Joseph and his young wife 'shelter' when there was nowhere else to stay in Bethlehem.

Jack showed up in our back yard much like all the pups that graced the lawn, by the same sweet, child: Baby Sis. B. Bee picked this guy out with the Torment as a surprise gift for 'lil brother.

Jack was saved in the nick of time.



So, gazing out the window, a Charles Dicken moment. Every pup unraveled before my eyes.

There was Sticks. The black dog that spent maybe 4 or 5 days with us. Nevertheless, my first dog. I recall being on the swing set and being somewhat scared of the thing. Luckily, we had pictures to engrave my first dog moment. So maybe it isn't a memory but a picture of me at 3 on the swing, The Torment playing with Sticks and a black dog.

I don't know if that was a foster dog situation or if The Torment got it and Padre had it expelled like the rest of the dogs we'd bring home. And Padre isn't here this second to clarify for the record. Sticks was black, like Jack.

Jack's eyes



were Scampers, unburied from his humble little grave in Blackfoot. (30 minutes south of where he lived with us.)

One bitter cold day in late fall, a man pulled up to our bus stop. Jumping out he asked us kids if anyone wanted a dog.

Duh. We all wanted one. And my guess was he had kids at home that wanted it, too.
But he was doing the Dog Sneek, to get rid of it before the kids and mom found out. Sly devil.

Through the back car window a small, black and white dog peered out at us kids. Hands shoved in my quilted maroon coat,I kept my hands warm and tucked my chin in close to my chest as the scene unraveled.

Back then we weren't up to date on Stranger Danger, and just watched the guy grab the dog out and hold him in front of us to better seal the deal.

The Torment spoke up, grabbed the dog and hauled off running for home. Half amused I heard him yell "Tell the busdriver to wait!"
I stood at the huge black console and tole the bus driver the predicament we were in, that the Torment would be back shortly and if she'd wait. Mid-explanation, The Torment rounded the corner, his breathe making puffs of smoke in the sky.

From TempleView Elementary, he used the secretary's phone to call mom. The yellow haired secretary, Mrs. Waddoups, let him inform mom of the little animal in our back yard.

Quite the strategy, if I do say so myself. By the time we were home, the dog had escaped, and it took The Torment and I searching a bit until we found it huddled in, Neva's yard. Shout out to Neva in Boise! At 98 she is still going, albeit she isn't square dancing with Bud, or taking care of her yard, or laying out on her deck sipping iced tea but she is still playing games with the other residents at the community center she lives in! WOW! I think Square Dancing is the trick to longevity. Seriously.

Well, Padre caved for awhile with Scamper. We named and fed it how could he not? He had to, mom was sold on the dog, too. Besides, we were older and complained, whined and begged better than with Sticks.

Padre even helped The Torment make a dog house so we wouldn't be tempted to let him inside. Scamper chased us over the lawn, nippedat our jeans, climbed over the huge pumpkins we used to grow and were covered with old blankets and burlap sacks to avoid the frost.

Once spring rolled around signs of dog became visible in the yard and Padre's acceptance thawed out. It was decided that Scamper would enjoy the country life; Aunt Annette's farm. 30 minutes away another dog would keep her company and she would have lots of unfenced room to roam.

Tears were shed. But ultimately, we were slacking off on our vows to take care of its excrement. Trying to do that and deliver the papers, well we reluctantly accepted the visitation terms. WE made sure our cousins understood it was OUR dog. So they couldn't take ownership or become too attached.

It was dark outside when I saw Scamper for the last time. She was peering in at us through the white screen door. I'd been upstairs with my cousins and gushing at my cute cousin, Tony, 7 years older than me wearing a jersey and talking with my older brother. Gosh, I wished they lived closer I'd thought sitting on the Jobi's twin bed in the cool attic bedroom of the farm house. And it wasn't just get greater visitation time with Scamps.

Reluctantly, we left. Whining to Padre the 30 minutes home at how mean he was to take our dog from us.

When I found out about Scamper's death, it was a sunny day. I can recall meandering home from the bus stop that day walking into the kitchen to see my sister sitting on the counter. She was wearing an apron, helping mom make chocolate chip cookies. I put my bag down and walked toward them. Madre broke the news.

"Scamper ran into the street and was hit by a truck." Mom said as bravely and consolingly as she could. I sat there for a brief, stunned moment and let the news register, deep in my young heart.

"Is he still in the road?" I asked horrified. Jared the cousin one year older than me, had scooped up her little body and carried her to the farm house. With tears in his eyes he informed my Aunt. And he was buried in a field by their house.

There was no solace! I walked back outside into the sun. Stunned.

Padre kindkly drove us to Blackfoot to say 'good-bye'. I remember riding in the truck(in the back of the camper) jostling around in silence, playing the scene out in mind. Scamper running into the road, getting hit and Jared carrying her bloodied body to the farm house.

We got to Aunt Annette's and Jared took us out to the spud field. Amarker indicated where our little dog was decomposing. Flashes of the truck hitting our dog and her racing around in heaven with our grandparents and ancestors waiting for our arrival was the scene that played out in my head. It re-played nightly until other things took its place.

Although I'd lost family members this event was the first time I really started thinking about death, heaven and that it would be worth being good so we could make it back to play with our dog!

'Lil brother brought home an array of cats that had to be sent to the Pound, cause CATS were a whole other story! (the famous cat story will be told later)

It wasn't 'til B. Bee, that another dog graced Padre's green lawns.

Maddie was a homely Mutt with a lot of personality. She, too, was black. She could escape the fence by climbing over the fence. All the neighbor kids loved her. WE'd be driving down a busy street and all the sudden there was Maddie running along side our car with a big grin on her face.

She did this for sport and was laughing as she cruised next to us until we rolled down the window and bawled her out for doing that- "you could get killed out here doing that!"

Maddie just grinned, jumped in the open car door, panted heavily and happily watched out the window at the rest of the cars driving on the busy road. All the while thinking she'd beat 'em next time. She was one competitive and lively dog.

However, Maddie also barked. Which was her down fall. Finally, our neighbor broke down and gave her a collar to keep her reigned in at night. Thank goodness for that.

Madre was determined to not let Maddie face the same fate all our other animals faced; a trip to the pound. She was the one that had to do the driving to the pound with all those pets, so really you can't blame her.

Eventually, us older kids were complaining and suggesting a nice home in the country where she could really spread her wings and fly.

The days of rounding up Maddie were done when someone offered to take her. She was given the gift of freedom somewhere on the outskirts of town. And Madre was somewhat at peace about the ordeal, at least on the outside.

Months later word got back to us that Maddie went missing. Of course we thought the worst. Don't know if it was ever confirmed, but I am guessing she went up against some faster cars out there in the country and just couldn't keep up.

I picture her dying happy though, doing what she loved to do; race.

So when Jack showed up with his sinus infection, sad droopy eyes,



and trying to recover from malnourishment; well, I just about fell apart.



With a trip to the vet and playing with a boy, Jack rebounded.



And its sweet the way he looks up at 'lil brother. Initially mute from shock, etc., Jack lets out some healthy barks.

Yes, there are tears later that day. I explain to J, that we can't have a dog. That he needs to be with Uncle. But, get this, Jack can come on camping trips. Visit at Christmas. He can walk him when Uncle comes! I encourage.

This doesn't go over well until a few hours and tears later.

"Yeah, Uncle Jake needs him. Jack needs to be with him." J responds in similiar brave fashion we exhibitied with each dog sent off to boarding school.



It's appropriate that Jack stay with Uncle, cause it was Uncle that brought home all those stray kittens and cats and the way Jack looks at him... you know it's puppy love.

I can see all our pets up there in heaven, stoked that Jack will be part of the family- heck he looks like all of 'em.



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