fisherfurbearer

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The Sneetful Snootler

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Beautiful Nuthatch (Sitta formosa), family Sittidae, order Passeriformes, Mishmi Hills, AP, India

photograph by Naba Choudhury

[fisherfurbearer]

Folks in the U.S.:

We just had an election, and that means there are a bunch of campaign signs littered around everywhere. Almost every single one will wind up in a dumpster, but here's a secret: post-election, pretty much nobody gives a shit if you take them.

If you snag one from the side of the road and repaint it, it can say whatever you want. Make your own political signs, or just use 'em as free canvas for art. They're usually made out of corrugated plastic, which is waterproof, and a couple layers of cheap acrylic paint will cover up whatever's on 'em.

I started repainting one today for myself. It's going to say "covid isn't over" on it when I'm finished, and I'm going to use it for a couple upcoming projects for @covidsafecosplay.

[fisherfurbearer]

I hate how people will look at popular indie artists who had one or two songs go viral on TikTok and start making fun of anybody who listens to them. "Oh you listen to Lemon Demon, Will Wood, Jack Stauber, Glass Animals, and Mother Mother? Tsk, don't you know that is stupid TikTok neurodivergent white transmasc preteen music? It's so mid and bad you should listen to real music–" you are a pit of misery

[fisherfurbearer]

what I wish people would understand about fundraising for gaza is that while everyone is desperate and I would never say not to fundraise for or donate to individual families-- I currently fundraise to support multiple friends' families-- the overwhelming narrative I see on Tumblr that the best and most ethical thing you can do is send money to individuals and there is no option for anything else is so so incredibly damaging and inadvertently lends support to the marginalization and distrust of any remaining communal social infrastructure. the sameer project, which you should donate to, talks about this in a recent video they put out. the situation in gaza is unimaginable and everyone is in need of a huge level of support, and yet this fundraising discourse by well-meaning people in the west that donating money to individuals is the only moral way reproduces societal divides wherein resources are directed to people who speak English, who have relationships with people outside of gaza, and who have internet access while hundreds of thousands are left behind.

there ARE non-ngo locally based grassroots initiatives working to meet those needs however they can, and your small donation goes a lot further with them because they are able to buy food/water/supplies in bulk at a reduced price and reach more people with less money. again I'm not saying people shouldn't fundraise for individuals because these initiatives are so limited and many people cannot access them -- but as an example, the group I fundraise with is currently serving people fleeing north gaza who are starving and have nothing, and when we fundraise enough to do cash aid distribution there's so much need that our partners can only distribute 100-200 per large family. and then I go online and see people who have absolutely no understanding of this context at all exclusively working towards raising tens of thousands for just a few people when evacuations haven't been possible for months. it's good to do whatever you can but please consider how this narrative being reproduced among westerners trying to help that there are no other options has the potential to damage groups working towards equity and wider reach however is still possible

[fisherfurbearer]

Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit

“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.

In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.

…

When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.

Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”

[fisherfurbearer]

This is my cat.

His name is Eddie Potato.

Eddie Potato came home with us from the animal shelter in January (so about 9 months ago, now). He was around five years old, and had been living on the street before he was picked up by the cops and brought to the state run shelter (my boy was arrested for loitering). When we met him, he was sick, mite-infested, and covered in matted fur, scratches, and bites: but he was also very sweet, and very friendly, and he was already fixed, so we knew he must have once had a home with some loving humans.

[Eddie at his first vet appointment, trying to hide behind a paper towel.]

We'll never know what Eddie's first family was like, of course: but within a couple of weeks of adopting him, we were able to make a few guesses. He was happy to be pet, and calm about being picked up: but the only way he had to let us know that he'd like us to stop petting him was to swat our hands away, claws out. He'd then watch us, very closely, a little tense; like he was either expecting to be scolded for scratching, or expecting us to try to touch him again.

This told us that he had an affectionate family, but maybe not one that respected his boundaries. Maybe it was a family with kids, or maybe just a loving but pushy owner.

He's a medium-to-long haired cat, so he needs a bit of grooming to stay hygienic around his, let's say, pants area. I bought some quality clippers and a pet grooming electric razor. The clippers he was completely calm about: he let me trim the mats out of his fur very calmly, even the ones behind his ears.

The razor terrified him. I mean, he knew what it was on sight. He was sitting next to me on the couch when I took it out of the box, and the moment he saw it, his ears went back; he crouched low and fearful; and then jumped down and ran out of the room.

Okay; so his first family groomed him, or took him to a groomer, that was obvious: and it was probably a 'hold him down and get it over with' kind of experience, given how frightened he was.

He was very sweet, and very gentle - except when he wanted you to stop petting him. This was a cat who expected kindness, who believed that the humans around him were his friends: but he'd learned that his friends wouldn't listen to him when he told them to stop unless he drew a little bit of blood.

We just thought: wow, this cat is a really good communicator. He is being, like, so clear.

Eddie Potato is a very stupid boy - uncommonly stupid, even for a cat - so we prepared ourselves for it to take a while for him to learn that things had changed. We paid very close attention to him while we were petting him for the signs leading up to that swat, and we got better and better at stopping before the swat ever came.

I let him get used to the razor very slowly: for the first week, I just set it next to his food bowl at dinner time, about a foot away, so he could see it while he was at his happiest. For the next week, I'd pick up the razor, and move it around while he ate. The week after that, I turned it on for a few seconds, so he could start to get used to the noise. The week after that, it went on for most of his meal time, and I moved it around his body while I pet him: so he could start to associate the razor sound with nice touching.

Then I groomed him. And he was - fine. A little bit antsy, but fine. Happily munching away at his dinner while I neatened up his pantaloons. I usually only had about a minute before he made it clear that he wanted it to stop, but that was okay: I just groomed him for a minute or so for two or three days in a row, until the job was done.

After four months, Eddie Potato wasn't scared of the razor at all anymore.

And it broke my heart a little bit, because his first family had clearly loved him. And Eddie is a cat who needs to be groomed! And it had obviously always been a scary and stressful experience for him. But it didn't have to be! He just needed patience! Surely, if the people he had lived with before had known that he could learn to not be afraid in just a few months, they would have tried.

Teaching him that he didn't need to swat didn't take much longer. It was so clear that this was not a cat who wanted to hurt us. Once we got the hang of stopping before he got tired or stressed out by petting, the swatting went away completely.

What was so sweet was what he learned to do instead: when he was done with being pet, he started placing his big paws on my hand, and gently but firmly pushing it away.

"Oh, okay!" I'd say. "We're done!" and take my hand away. And he'd watch me, for two or three seconds: and then he'd start to purr like crazy, and push under my hand again.

He wanted to be pet. He just wanted to know that he could make it stop if he wanted to!

It's been months now since the last time Eddie swiped at either of us. Sometimes, he likes to play his little push-away game for ten or twenty minutes at a time! He rolls onto his back for a belly rub, and I do for a few minutes; then he pushes my hand away, and watches to make sure I listened; then he rolls onto his back again for more belly rubs. The whole time purring, purring, purring. Eddie loves his belly rubs, and he loves being listened to just as much.

I'm just so proud of him! He's had such a hard and scary year: losing his family, living on the street, ending up in a kill shelter, going to a strange new home with strange new people. And he still extended his friendship and trust to us, and let us show him that he doesn't need to be scared anymore, of razors or hands or thunderstorms or the sound of traffic. He's so dumb and so small and he's had so much happen to him, and now he gets exactly as much petting as he likes, and he isn't afraid to get his pantaloons trimmed.

Like. That's my little guy. I get to make sure he'll be okay from now on.

[fisherfurbearer]

Crossover project for my digital illustration class. Had to choose two pieces of media and make a crossover of some kind using them. I chose Slay the Princess and Disco Elysium because of their similar 'multiple voices in your head' mechanic

[fisherfurbearer]

it’s been long enough i’m making an executive decision that we all need to go reread the tgi fridays infinite mozzarella sticks article

[fisherfurbearer]

there r bueatiful transgender women in YOUR area u just have to look reaaaaal close cuz sometimes theyre very small. hiding in the moist soil under rocks and such.

[fisherfurbearer]

Howdy folks, the Senate will be considering the first ever resolution blocking arms to Israel. This is huge and historic; it would block government contracting and about $20 billion in arms and support. This is an uphill battle, PLEASE urge your senators to support S.J.Res114-115. This is maybe the most important piece of legislation relating to Palestine that we have ever gotten and we must seize this opportunity.

This doc has information on the resolutions and their process, as well as sample messages and a phone script you can use. Please, use this moment to hear witness for your neighbors.

[fisherfurbearer]

OBVIOUSLY nobody should ever be abused and abuse is bad and abusers should not be coddled. I went through abuse myself, I know this

that being said. I don't think being a victim of abuse gives you the right to go around telling people that they remind you of your abuser for reasons they cannot control. it is unkind, unfair, and incredibly manipulative to treat other people this way. I don't care if it is because your abuser was an addict, or had a particular religious background, or had a particular disorder, or something else entirely. you cannot hold an entire group of people responsible for what happened to you

you are not morally obligated to spend time with people who remind you of your abuser. but you are morally obligated to treat other people with dignity and respect

[fisherfurbearer]

Endangered Species Sightings from This Year

This is thought to be the first time in over 20 years that a blue whale was spotted off the Coast of Massachusetts.

I highly recommend watching the video and listening to the reaction of the people on the whale watching boat--the cheers and emotion in some of their voices, especially the woman saying "I'm trying not to" when someone jokingly tells her not to cry.

This is the first time ever that a mother clouded leopard with two cubs has been spotted on a game cam!

"After being considered regionally extinct for over a century, giant anteaters have been spotted roaming once again in Brazil's Rio Grande do Sul state. Scientists have concluded these returned natives ventured over from Argentina's Ibera Park, where conservationists have released around 110 rescued and captive-bred anteaters since 2007."

Over 100 years and the anteaters are finally coming home!

[fisherfurbearer]

One of the wildest shit I heard when I came out was "oh but you could be a gnc strong woman who fucks gender but you just decided to be a GUY"

And it always baffled me how people would try to imply that being "just a guy" wasn't queer enough.

Not only is it wild to say that being a trans man isn't queer enough, but if you take it on a larger scale, would you say that about anyone ? What is your understanding of queerness ? Why do you feel the need to evaluate queer people based on how they look ? Don't you understand how deeply flawed and dangerous that can be ?

[fisherfurbearer]

ant compliation