Mokey and Her Beloved Tub

Until now, I could only assume Mokey enjoyed her playtime "time-outs" in the bath tub. Lately she has been scratching at the gate which has lead me to believe she actually is trying to tell me she'd like to have tub time now. So this evening I picked her up and took her in there and placed her in the tub. As I went to drop the blanket in, she started hopping & squeeking - dooking all over the tub! I played with her with the blanket for a minute and then left her happily attacking the drain. Looks like this situation is working out for the best for both of us. :)

What Are Your Shoes For?

I often feel bad about the state of my shoes. When I enter someone's home I remove my shoes and place them near the collection of shoes from the other guests and those who live there. That's when I notice how worn and dirty mine look. I'm always embarrassed. Why do my shoes look so bad. I walk around the city just like everyone else, but mine look so much worse. I buy pretty decent shoes. Most of them aren't very old. I store them properly on a shelf, not on a crumpled pile of fellow dirty shoes. But my beloved shoes never fail to embarrass me at gatherings.

Recently, as many of you know, I had the privilege or reorganizing and relabeling 5, 500+ pictures my genius brother was able to recover for me. Thanks, bro! Anyway, during this two week long journey with many 18hr. days scrolling through photos and videos, I came across this video.




Then I didn't feel so bad about my shoes being more worn and dirty than everyone else's. Look what joy they bring!

Stop Digging!

So I got out the water basin for the ferrets to play with and put a few of the usual Easter eggs in it for added entertainment. Mokey chose to dig at the towel I placed under it. Why does she dig everything but the scratching pad I got for her? That she poops on. Ugh! This is a picture from a previous water play.

What's the Rest of the Story?

I seem to have a need for more details than most. Whenever someone tells me a story, I begin asking questions. "What was the Uncle's name?" "What happened to the dog?" "So what happened after that?" My questions are often greeted with that grimacing look and a snarky, "I don't know?" Then I know I've apparently asked inappropriate or unnecessary questions. I don't mean to be digging for minute details, these are questions that immediately pop into my mind from genuine interest that I feel are important to the story.

I was watching the news -briefly-this morning when this story came on. The newscaster tells of an 8 year old boy who was playing with friends in his front yard when he was shot in the stomach. He was taken to the hospital where the bullet was removed. He is expected to make a recovery. Then she moves to the next story. Are you satisfied with this information? Are you thinking, "What a good job that newscaster has done! I feel fully informed." Because I'm thinking, "Was there a gang fight that broke out down the street and this little boy got caught in the crossfire? Was it a drug trade gone bad?" I'm assuming the 8 year old wasn't shot purposefully by one of the friends he was playing with in the front yard over a game of marbles gone wrong. But I don't know, do I?! This news wasn't meant to inform the community on what type of violent crimes are occurring and why, or what social, economic, of family issues are involved in these frequently occurring situations in so arming the general public with the knowledge of their fellow violent citizens in order to have an intellectual conversation about what the real problems are and perhaps how to help.

No, all this newscast wants you to hear is "Eight year old shot!" They want an uninformed, enraged public response. An angry ignorant public is not ideal. But how much do we or can we care anymore hearing these quick flashes that say "killed, shot, died, child, teen, gang?" Are we not hardened to it? Do we not just file this story (or rather quick flash of limited information) into the category of "Another kid got shot on the Southside" or perhaps some people may hear "Another black kid shot another black kid." Could this newscast actually end up being filed as "Don't go to the Southside and I'll be fine."

Why was this little 8 year old shot? If you're going to tell a story, commit to it or don't bring it up. Watching the news is like when someone starts to tell you a story and then when your interest has peeked, they say, "Oh, nevermind."

Sleeping Arrangements

With my parents coming for a visit, I managed to have fresh sheets on the bed, plenty of pillows, and a tiny fold out couch for myself in the living room. Never did I imagine that Mokey would be the one who ended up needing rearranged sleeping quarters.

Exhausted, I put the girls to bed around midnight and planned on putting myself down immediately after. Mokey, however, had other plans. She wanted to play. When Mokey wants out of her cage she rattles the doors. It has the same effect on me as nails on a chalk board for most people. I actually think this action/sound has a direct link to my blood pressure. I let the Mokster out to play. And after running her ragged -or so I thought-I tucked her and myself in.

Some time around 2am Mokey decided she still wanted to play. Que intense shaking of the cage doors! I try laying really quietly like a kid who closes his eyes and thinks that no one can see him. Mokey proves smarter than a small child. She persists. I bring her out for another play. Then I return her to her cage with ferretone in her water dish and start to drift off to sleep...and..then..."SHAKE A SHAKE SHAKE!" I pass her a treat...pause...."SHAKE A SHAKE SHAKE!" I'm contemplating putting her in the bathtub at the exact moment my mom comes out of the bedroom and suggests, "Maybe we can put her in the bathtub?" (No one would ever doubt that the basis for my child rearing techniques stem from my mother.) Apparently I was not the only one Mokey had kept up for the past hour.

So in the tub she went!

I grabbed the Mokster, a blanket, and two toys. I tied the bathroom cabinet shut with some lace provided by Mom, plopped the noisemaker into the tub with her meager belongings and closed the door tight.

And everyone slept peacefully. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I used this method the next night around 3am, but implemented it with immediate response to the first "SHAKE!" with military speed and precision.

I am continuing to use this method during the night and once during one of Mokey's freak outs. (A "Mokey Freak Out" refers to when Mokey engages in very bad behavior, usually involving some kind of destruction via digging. When put in her cage to stop this behavior she goes crazy throwing a fit, upturning her toys, throwing things down the stairs, and pushing litter paper everywhere - yuk.)

Now she just gets the tub. She seems fine with it. I've never heard her digging at the door. She can get in and out of the tub and now I have a bucket in the bathroom with her sleeping and playing supplies. She seems to play outside the tub for awhile and then climb back in and snooze in her purple towel. She seems to enjoy the adventure during her bored/frustrated time, and I enjoy the peace and the lessening of the chest pains she frequently causes.

I don't think Mokey will ever grow into her name, being named after the kind, peace and friendship loving Fraggle, but I did notice in writing her nickname "Mokster" that it does resemble "Monster" at quick glance. Hmmmmm?

This is what I found the other day when I went to get Mokey out of the bathroom. She had gotten creative.

Mokey sleeping in the trash can