The Ridiculous/Terrible Things That Are Happening To Me

The Animals Have Taken Over…Again

It was midday, hot as hell. I sat at my kitchen table with a fan an inch from my face. I was working on a lesson plan, sipping iced coffee, when I heard footsteps in the shed area on the side of my house. Keeping in mind that I have been mugged twice so far, I grabbed a kitchen knife from a drawer. Moving as swiftly and silently as possible, I made my way out the front door toward the side of the house. I scaled the wall like James Bond, thoroughly entertaining all watching neighbors. I turned the corner and saw something truly puzzling.

I put down the knife and stared for a while. Sitting in a circle, facing each other, was a group of six cats. I had intruded upon a kitty party. They may as well have been holding cocktails and wearing nice shoes. Among them was my cat, Negro, who looked at me like an embarrassed teenager. “Dave! Get out of here; you’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!” his eyes communicated. I took a few steps back and left them.

These were clearly the cats that had been stealing Necio’s food and pissing all over my house. And since Negro didn’t even ask me if he could have company over, I went into my room and grabbed my soccer ball. Running at them full force, I heaved the ball at the group, completely missing them all. They scattered, fitting themselves through thin cracks in the roof. Feeling vindicated, I grabbed my ball and turned around to head back into the house. I blushed when I found that I had an audience of about five neighborhood kids. They were dying on the floor, laughing. I threw my ball into my room and looked at Negro, who was thoroughly disappointed.

I hate these cats.


The Second Plague

In an earlier blog, I explained how a frog couple decided to move into my shower drain. I must admit, it was cute at first. They would hop around my kitchen, my shower, my feet while I was in my shower, etc. I like frogs. They are cute. At least that is what I felt before the shit came.

For such small animals, frogs have the biggest shit. They must shit about a third of their body weight. And it is not like scentless rabbit poop; it stinks up the entire room. One of the reasons why I agreed to take Necio (I had no choice regarding Negro), was that there would be no touching of poop of any kind. The cats are good; they trek out to the bushes to make their deposits. But I have become fed up with cleaning up these frog messes. Therefore, I have declared war on the frogs.

It has been going like Vietnam. Every time, I catch a frog, I throw it out of my back door. Every time I kick one, it just sits there as if to invite more kicks. They are so stupid, that after I launch one into a bush, it hops right back to where I’m standing. They are like the Jesus Christ of amphibians, always turning the other cheek. While I have made significant captures, the loads of shit keep coming. And I keep cleaning it up.

I once held a can of raid to a frog, but found that I could not pull the trigger. I was not ready to use chemical weapons. I could not cross that line. I was hoping that Necio could help me get rid of these frogs. Turns out, he’s got bigger problems to manage.


Necio’s Got An Eating Disorder

Living up to his name, Necio is the most annoying cat ever. He doesn’t cuddle; he doesn’t like to be around people and is generally worthless. All he ever approaches me for is food. Food, food, food. Let me take you through a typical day with Necio as a roommate.

I am dreaming. Scarlett Johanson is making out with me on a mansion in the clouds. She stops kissing me for a second and gestures toward the bedroom. She leads me by the hand, and we start walking. Just as we are about to pass through the doors, the dream slowly melts away and I open my eyes.

Necio is sitting on my face. He is meowing at full volume, and scratching my chest. When he sees that I am awake, he stands on my chest, looks me in my eyes and starts yelling at me. He scratches my arms and shoulders. If he could ball his puny little paws into a fist, he would punch me in the face. He does not stop this until I get out of bed.

Before I can feed Necio, I must do what all men do when they wake up: go to the bathroom. Since I have the house to myself now, I leave the door open, as all bachelors are obligated to do by law. Necio does not respect the concept of bathroom privacy and jumps at my legs while I relieve myself. Necio does not know how very dangerous this is for him, and that one day, I may accidentally lose my aim.

Finally, the moment he has been waiting for: I pour his food into his bowl. He attacks it like a linebacker attacking a QB. Negro watches this with disgust. He is lounging on the floor with his cocktail, waiting for his date to arrive. After clearing out an entire bowl, Necio begs for more. I give him more. He vomits on the floor. I hate this cat.

No matter how long I’ve been out, he always begs for food when I return. His bowl may be completely full, but no matter to Necio. He wants to be fed. My psychiatrist friends have diagnosed him with Reactive Attachment Disorder, because he has moved homes so many times. I just think that he’s an asshole.


The Admirer

For some strange reason, the women in this country find me attractive. It may be the light hair and blue eyes, it may be the enormous biceps; I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. So a very strange thing happens when I walk down my street in gym attire: I get cat calls. Lots of them. At first, I was very flattered. As time passed, I became used to it. Most of the ladies are just joking around, having fun with me. I’m pretty good humored about it. I tell them how beautiful they look, and ask when they are going to turn twenty so that we can finally run away together. These women are fat, unattractive and old. We have a good time with it.

There is one woman who is not kidding around. She has always been a bit more serious with her cat calls than the other women. One day, she called me over and I abided. Very casually, as if she was offering me a cookie, she said that since I am alone, and she is alone that we should get married. Now, in Tico culture, I am sure that this is how many relationships start. I laughed and told her I couldn’t. Serious now, she demanded to know why not. Did I have a girlfriend? No. Was I gay? No. Than why not? I just told her that I didn’t really want a relationship and got out of there as quickly as I could.

A few weeks later, her friends called me over to their porch where my admirer was sitting. Again, I humored them and sat down with them. “Listen,” said my admirer’s neighbor, “why don’t you want to be with her?”

“I don’t want a serious relationship right now!” I responded.

“Well how about this,” she said, looking devilishly around to her friends and my admirer, “just one night together. No strings attached.” My face flushed, and I immediately became super uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t” I said, starting to get up. “I’m too romantic.”

My neighbor sat me down with her hand, and smiled. “Well then, she can cook you a romantic dinner, then you can have one night together.” I laughed. She was totally serious. I looked at my admirer. She was nodding her head vigorously.

I thanked the ladies for their offer, and escaped to my house. I concluded that the only way to fend the women off was to tell my admirer that I thought she was a total dog. Not wanting to do this, I decided that I would have to simply tolerate the hilarious harassment.

Now, every time I pass her house, my admirer offers me coffee. I have come up with every excuse in the book as to why I can’t drink coffee. It keeps me up all night. It gives me diarrhea. I am allergic and it will kill me. Still, she offers a cup daily.

Last week, she waved me over, and said that there is something that she needed help with in her house. This is actually not unusual for my neighbors to do; they often need things translated. I walked into her house, and her friends on the porch immediately closed the door and locked it. I was trapped inside with this lunatic. I looked her in the face and said “you have a beautiful house. It is very clean. Now please let me out.” She did. I laughed it up with the ladies, and told them that it was a hilarious joke, but not to ever do it again. They all roared with laughter. I walked away. I’m having trouble deciding in my head whether or not this is something I will miss when I return to the United States.