Three stories about my week

Anderson and the fire

I worked late last night. Again. This week has tried to kill me, with its late-deadline stories and slow reporters. After a brief break tonight, I pulled back into work around 8:15 to see my sister, brother-in-law and nephew pull in right next to me. They'd stopped for a visit, and since it was after hours I invited them in so we could watch Anderson run chaotically from cubicle to cubicle. His first order of business? Next to my desk, he picked up a full edition of today's paper, threw it on the ground and made the "fire" sign in sign language over it.

Sign language is trendy for kids, but it's also useful for the 18-month-old who won't talk much. He says please, thank you, more, outside, a bunch of other stuff, and recently, of course, fire. Which he actually signs upside down since he hasn't mastered the fine-motor skills to turn his hands so his palms both face upward.

They've been building fires in the fireplace at his house lately, and old newspapers are apparently the go-to fire starter. Which is great, because I know they actually do get read beforehand. But not by the toddler, who now associates the product I spend all day creating with fire.

At least I can be grateful he doesn't know how to sign for "bottom of a bird cage."


Jet and the vet

My black cat is special. THAT kind of special. Feral for the first six months of his life, he's only comfortable with Garrett and I and won't let another soul touch him. My family barely gets a look at him — crouched under my bed, usually — when they come to visit. So I knew a trip to the vet would be interesting; I just didn't know how much.

Jet was supposed to go with his mama, Lucy, for a check-up and shots visit last Saturday. But he outsmarted the (cheap) carrier we bought to fit them both and escaped right before. So, she went Saturday and he went Wednesday. Because the $40 piece-of-crap, medium-sized Petsmart carrier wouldn't work, I borrowed my sister's small one-cat carrier to take Jet. Only the morning of, he wouldn't get in. I probably could have spent an hour trying to force him in there and only had more scratches all over my body and one freaked out feline to show for it.

I resolved he'd have to ride in my lap in the car, and I'd carry him in and hold him — tight. But Jet knew something was up, so he wouldn't let me catch him in the house. I chased (walked, really) after him for 10 minutes. Upstairs, downstairs, back up, back down. He was scared and panting. In the end, he surrendered in the guest bathroom by hopping into the sink, curling into a ball and hiding his face. Poor guy.

On the ride there, he tried to dig a hole next to my back speakers. While there, he attempted to shed 75 percent of his coat. On the way back, he gave up, curled up his 14.1 pounds on the floor in front of the front passenger seat and didn't make a peep.

The vet said the shots would make him drowsy, and he was right. Jet slept for the next 36 hours moving only every few hours to a new sleeping spot. He also quit meowing, which freaked us out.

By Thursday night, he was back to his weird, loud, anxiety-ridden self. It's good to have him back.


Me and BYU

Each week, the sports department staff makes predictions on local high school football games, a collection of college games and four random NFL games. Each week they invite a "guest picker" to join them. The pickers' mug shots and predictions are printed in the paper on Thursday/Friday, and the outcomes run Tuesday/Wednesday of the next week. Last week, the sports editor asked me to do it — I usually do about once a season — and I agreed because, believe it or not, I'm actually pretty knowledgeable about sports and have a decent record picking games.

I cheat a bit and have Garrett help me with the NFL games, because I care not one iota about them. I can handle the high school games and about half of the college games entirely by myself. I usually end up asking Garrett what he thinks about the other half, but I don't necessarily go with his suggestions.*

There are 20 games to predict. I got through 16 or 17 in about five minutes, asked Garrett about another couple I was unsure on and then, last minute, circled San Jose State over BYU. In Provo. Because, despite my recent attempts to try to understand that most BYU fans are normal, nice people, I picked SJSU. Unless it's going to be an obvious blow out in BYU's favor, I just can't pick them. Goes against everything in me. Plus, I knew Riley Nelson would start, and he's a wild card. And, they kind of suck this year overall. AND, San Jose is a WAC team, and I usually root for in-conference teams. There was some logic to this pick; it wasn't just all rabid hate of BYU. I was the only picker that week to predict a BYU loss.

Well, BYU won. And I went 19-1 overall.

The guys in the newsroom cannot believe I let my "pride" get in the way of being perfect. The football beat writer has been calling me "19-and-1." The sports editor spent precious work time researching past picks to find that the last person to go 19-1 was a full-time sports writer more than four years ago, and that I'm the only guest picker in documented history to do so. No one has ever been perfect.

But you know what? They'd scream if they knew this, but I'd probably do it all over again.

* P.S. Garrett wants everyone to know I went against his advice when picking San Jose. He suggested I pick BYU. Just so you know.