Last night at midnight I woke up to the stench of a rotting corpse under my mobile. I had seen one of my toms the previous morning with a dead gopher hanging from his mouth and guessed he had "tucked it away." I thought I was going to die. One half of my place could not be entered. The tom had taken it up into the insulation and had left it tucked right under my bathtub. By two in the morning I was in near tears and becoming hysterical. I had to go out with a flashlight to see if there was any chance of spotting it and pulling it out with a rake or something. Let it be known the cheap Hollywood flicks are based on truth. Women do go out alone in the dark night to find the mysterious corpse wearing a robe. All I needed was a white filmy gown. I left the opening doors to underneath WIDE open hoping the toms would drag that thing back out. I had let them in and threw them back out hoping they'd do their business whatever that is. I finally at 4 in the morning called my elderly parents in full scale hysteria and woke them up, as the stench was worsening by the minute or so it seemed. No one quite knew what to do. We finally decide a good plan of action was for me to call my gardener in the morning, and offer him big bucks to go under and pull the gopher(?) corpse out. A second plan of action was to call the Sheriffs' desk and weep. In the meantime I had to huddle in the far opposite end of the place. I pulled out the sleeping bag I had purchased for a refugee situation. It had advertised I'd be fine in 40 degree's. I had my heater set at 70, was in thermal underware, and I was cold as the heater dipped to 68 before turning on. There wasn't any flannel inside. It was like a thin stuffed wind breaker jacket. Well that isn't going to do me any good and now it is too late to buy another. I can't buy another. So far as I am concerned my "refugee bag" totally failed me. I finally fell asleep about five-thirty and woke up at nine-thirty. It is gone. The toms must have dragged their treasure back out. Oh thank goodness. Now I sit facing the reality that my refugee sleeping bag is a dismal failure. Ooh dang. It turned out to be such a stupid bag I might as well of not wasted my time buying it. I'll have to work with my silver blankets and fisherman body heat pads I suppose.

-- Paula (chowbabe@pacbell.net), December 24, 1999

Answers

Whoa, Paula. What a gruesome experience! Is your sleeping bag the US military surplus casualty evacuation bag?

-- (RUOK@yesiam.com), December 24, 1999.

....so i woke up and decided to have breakfast. I looked in the fridge and pulled out some bacon. I then realized the bacon was rotten. Damn fridge of mine. I then decided not to cook bacon. Two hours later I was watching TV. Montel Williams was on. The show was about freaks that are addicted to the internet. They had one person that was addicted to a Y2K discussion site. She was completely delirious........

Llama

-- Bernard (Llama man@cool.net), December 24, 1999.

Get thine ass to Sears and pick up a zero-degree mummy bag and a 40 degreee regular bag. I dont know why people try to save as much money as possible by buying crap.

I know not everyone can afford to spend big bucks on prepping, but somethings make the difference between life and death.

People, if you are buying some of your preps from garage sales or cheapo stores ask yourself why its so cheap. I read how some people are picking up old kero heaters for $30 and they are proud of it. DAMN, get a new, waranteed heater from a good name like ToyoStove. Some of those old heaters will kill you or fail when you need them most.

-- hamster (hamster@mycage.com), December 24, 1999.

Now I know what is meant by "trailer park trash."

-- (Here@today.com), December 24, 1999.

One more reason I'm glad we keep our cats inside-only. [g]

The *main* reason is that inside-only cats have a *very* long lifespan compared to cats allowed outside. Our eleven cats are all rescues, and they've had all the hard life they're gonna see. Now they're spoiled rotten, as a cat oughta be.

-- Ron Schwarz (rs@clubvb.com.delete.this), December 24, 1999.

11 cats. I bet your place smells good. NOT!! Just the thought of it makes me gag.

-- (DanM@concentric.com), December 24, 1999.

Whew- for a minute I was afraid you went to the store and they were all out of those cans of mini corn cobs again. Scared me there for a second......

-- me (who@knowswhere.com), December 24, 1999.

Save the corpse. It might be good eatin' next week. Well aged, tender. Mmmmmmmmmm, yum.

-- (hungryguy@table.scraps), December 24, 1999.

Women do go out alone in the dark night to find the mysterious corpse wearing a robe.

Paula: who was wearing the robe, you or the corpse?

-- Kiss me you fool (Hotlips@hoolihan.com), December 24, 1999.

You're night of Hell, Paula?

When I first read that, I thought you were going to say you went to K Mart and they were closed! :-)

-- Hawk (flyin@high.again), December 24, 1999.

Ron, it's good to know there are others out there like me. I have 9 cats and all have been throw-aways like yours. We are very diligent about seeing that all are in of a night, (just like teenagers) but we do let them run in and out during the day. All I need is a doorman's uniform to complete my role in their lives. ha

Hey Dan, obviously you don't know that cats are very clean. My house does NOT smell. Well, maybe the smell of wood smoke, but not the cats. Here's the secret. People that are good housekeepers, don't have to worry about pet smells. People that are lousy housekeepers usually have stinky houses, with or without cats. I hate cleaning, but I keep a very clean house, including litter boxes.

Cats are great companions, keep down the mouse population and cause me much less trouble than some people I've known.

-- gilda (jess@listbot.com), December 24, 1999.

The crowning jewel would be to have them come in and barf it up on your carpet!

-- morgan (bitbybit@eoni.com), December 24, 1999.

This has got to be a spoof. No one in real life is this nutty? Are they? If this is for real, I feel very sorry for your poor cats.

-- gilda (jess@listbot.com), December 24, 1999.

My gardener is building a new set of doors to the underneath to keep that from happening again as we speak. It's costing me a fortune and is the worst of timing but this just can't happen again.

I do need to purchase a different bag. It'll have to wait though as I've seven bucks to my name what with having new doors installed.

My mother has been telling me about her childhood in the big ole victorians that stood in Berkeley, CA. She said now and then a rat would die in the walls and the family was tortured by the stench.

Boy, what gives with all the trolls today? I gather the kiddies are home from school?

-- Paula (chowbabe@pacbell.net), December 24, 1999.

Boy, what gives with all the trolls today? I gather the kiddies are home from school?

Oh please, Paula. Think of how YOU would have responded to a post like this. ... .

-- (pot@kettle.black), December 24, 1999.

Gilda: yup, cats are excellent pets, better friends than a lot of *people*. I didn't think too much of them until a few years ago while quartering a buck (it was during deer season), a poor, tiny, bedraggled little *very* scruffy longhaired kitten came into the barn. I thought she wanted some meat (she was clearly starved) so I gave her some scraps, and she sniffed them, then came over wanting to be held.

I resolved that we'd take her back with us, but when we were ready to go, we couldn't find her!

I worried about the poor thing all winter, and didn't see how she could survive.

We went back that easter, and she was there! Still tiny and scruffy and starved. We took her back, and she's had chronic respiratory problems that the vet attributes to her hard life before we got her.

Each of them has a story, some bad, some not so bad, but I doubt most of them would be alive if we hadn't let them in. They're all treasures. No two are alike. Completely different personalities. But all are very special.

-- Ron Schwarz (rs@clubvb.com.delete.this), December 24, 1999.

Ah, dead rats. Had one in my basement once. Here's my Heloise hint for removal of rat scat. Did you know that if it hits a concrete floor, it melds with the concrete? You have to chip it off with a chisel. But make sure you wear a scarf or hat, because sometimes the chips fly up onto your head like tiddlywinks from hell.

I had a day from hell too. Stupid dumbass hippie religious cult proselytizer bus backed into our parked car, ripping off the front bumper, mirror, headlight, taillight etc. Just great. Think of how likely it is that I'll be able to get the car seen by the insurance adjuster, and then fixed, let alone getting a rental car and getting down to NJ to visit my mom in the intensive care unit -- all of this by rollover. And this was the car that's in better condition.One of the kids asked me afterward was it true that the world would end on January 1. Said she'd seen it in an article in one of their pamphlets they were handing out that ended up on the sidewalk. May their karma run over their dogma.

-- Firemouse (firemouse@fcmail.com), December 24, 1999.

Woemn, oy vey!

-- INever (inevercheckmy@onebox.com), December 24, 1999.

That's hell? (insert male chauvinist remark here).

-- INever (Inevercheckmy@onebox.com), December 24, 1999.

Well we got three cats and two dogs. If you aint up at the crack of dawn the dogs will crap and pee all over the house. The cats won't, but then they aint letting you oversleep anyway. They know exactly what time you need to get up whether you do or not. Trust them.

The dogs will bark when some people come up, and some people they would let steal the entire house. The cats never bark, but they do routinely destroy thousand dollar sofas. I'm sure they are trying to tell me something by this but I'm just too stupid to understand it.

All of them want to sleep in the bed with us at night, which results in a fight everynight. Tom Cats ace Basset hounds every time.

-- Nikoli Krushev (doomsday@y2000.com), December 24, 1999.

Paula,

Here's a positive answer if you can't afford the fancy stuff. Build a matress "house" if it gets too bad. This is sort of survival 101. By doing it right you can have a safe place that is warm and comfy.

Todd

-- Todd Detzel (detzel@jps.net), December 24, 1999.

Ron & Paula got it right. If it gets cold, its a two cat night...very cold is a three cat night. They make great bed warmers - just pop 'em under the blanket or into the bag.

But I prefer mephitis mephitis . They make great bed warmers too.

-- Darby (DarbyII@AOL.com), December 24, 1999.

Stupid dumbass hippie religious cult proselytizer ??

And you're worried about THEIR karma??!

And I am trying desperately to understand why you'll need your bumper fixed before the rollover. Why? If youre expecting the worst on the rollover, what difference will a bumper make anyway? By the way...have you tried Zanax? (It's an anti- anxiety drug)

-- Wise azz (Chill@pill.yoo), December 25, 1999.

I'm sorry, but this is the funiest thread I've ever read. I'm sitting here laughing myself silly. Paula, I sympathize completely, the thought of having to drag a half-chewed corpse out of a dark hole is horrifying beyond reason. Got to love those cats. I once set a mouse trap for what I thought was a mouse...turned out to be this giant, mutant rat. About 2 a.m., the trap snapped closed on the back of its neck (barely annoyed it) and the thing ran around the kitchen clacking and squeaking. I was so hysterical I called the fire department. Lots of large men laughing. They finally captured the beast and removed the offending ornament from its neck and put the nasty thing outside. Presumably to terrify someone else. I'm still not sure it won't come back on some dark night...with friends.

-- Casey DeFranco (caseyd@silcom.com), December 25, 1999.

Darby: more than a grain of truth in what you say. A few weeks ago when I was in bad shape from the rotten flu that's making the rounds, I was in bed, under the blanket, shivering from fever. One of my boys climbed in, curled up next to me, and *stayed* there for a few hours. He soaked up a *lot* of cold from me, and gave off a *lot* of warmth.

Was he trying to take care of his friend, knowing that I was in rough shape? I think so, yes. We have one other cat that he likes (he's a "people cat") -- it's his grand daughter (before we got him and had him neutered, he'd been on the town). He dotes on her, grooms her, plays with her, shares his *food* and *milk* with her (as all the others stay a healthy distance away), cuddles and naps with her, and in general, does what he can to take care of and nurture her.

I'm convinced that he *knows* that she's "his". And, I'm convinced that he's much more than "just an animal". So it's no great stretch to accept that he was taking care of *me* when I was sick.

-- Ron Schwarz (rs@clubvb.com.delete.this), December 25, 1999.

Wise Azz, my mom is in the hospital 100 miles away, critically ill. I need that car in good working order.If there are severe problems at rollover, she may not survive. This may be the last week I get to go down and see her, and I will have to be up here at least two days dealing with it instead of down there as I'd planned. Perhaps knowing this might help you understand why I might be upset.

-- Firemouse (firemouse@fcmail.com), December 25, 1999.

Taste like foot huh Wizeass?

-- Hokie (nn@va.com), December 25, 1999.

I once had a dear, sweet Doberman who found a possum in the back yard and did what Dobermans tend to do to possums. Then she drug it up to the deck and sat there looking at me: See? I brought you a present -- and remember; I did this to THE POSSUM, I can do it to YOU! Have a nice day! (This was the same dog who also left me a dead water moccasin on the deck. I probably should have fed her bigger portions.)

-- I'm Here, I'm There (I'm Everywhere@so.beware), December 25, 1999.

Nikoli.....your thread is so funny! I can't help but love anyone who has such a big heart to overlook and still love his pets, despite their "failings". I once had the most adorable little Dachsie, who chewed up the back of my pretty couch, when I was away (out of frustration and lonliness, I guess. My daughter said I should have shot the dog, but I loved her, despite the damage. (I just covered the couch with a pretty spread.

Heidi, my pooch, absolutely enchanted everyone with her endearing (self-taught) habit of standing on her haunches and begging.

We had two min. Dachsies at the time ( a his and hers) and they both loved snuggling under the covers with us, at nite. (I had a very understanding hubby who loved the dogs as much as I did.

Sadly, Heidi got sick and died, a month after my husband did- I often wondered if it was from a broken heart.

I can't imagine life without one or (better yet, more) pets. Mine is still a multi-pet household. Blessings to you and yours......and a blessed holiday season to one and all.

-- Jo Ann (MaJo@Michiana.com), December 25, 1999.

The following was NOT our worst night; only one of many:

"---Now it was the day before Christmas. Shortly after noon, Little Brother and I came home from the train, in the rain. It was the start of our vacation. The enormous pressure to study was off.

Think we'll get any presents? Little Brother asked me almost cynically on our way home.

Dont know.

Never said much.

We had always received something for Christmas in the past, no matter how small. This was the first year that we did not have a Christmas tree, with tinsel and real candles of fire. We even had them in xxxxx. Even though Ma and Aunt had been devout atheists, they had never sworn or called for the devil.

Now we had Teufi, short for devil, our second mother.

When we arrived at our mansion, we found the biggest Christmas present ever: A mountain of clutter in our front yard. Our worldly possessions from our prison. In the rain.

Our present from devil.

She had scattered the sum total of our lives out on the precisely manicured lawn.

Like dog turds.

We walked around the yard to inspect our possessions, and went to the window entrance of our cell. It was locked. Little Brother and I never had keys, so we tried to open other windows and doors. But they were all locked. Always keep your doors locked because someone might rob you.

Our courageous father, and his devil, had left the scene and could not face us: His sons, his enemies, ten and twelve years old.

I stuttered when I told Little Brother that our father had thrown us out. Just in case he hadnt noticed. It was better to bawl now, in the rain, than later when people would notice. Theyd think that we were weird. We did not want to be weird. We wanted to be proper. Ma was nowhere to be found.

We sat down in the shimmering clutter, the devils decoration, and waited. There was no place for us to go. While we were waiting for another miracle, we might as well be actors in this crhche scene.

My little brother and I.

We did not speak. Why should we speak? Nobody ever listened to us. The lawyers and judges were too high; they could not be reached. Did they even live on this earth? We were abandoned and did not know what would happen to us next. But miracles could happen, especially on Christmas.

While we were getting soaked in the evening light, a few people walked by, but they did not see us. Or pretended not to see us. They knew that we wanted to be proper, and did not embarrass us by admiring our scene.

No one offered us help; nor did we expect any. No one had ever done so. No one called the authorities to find missing children. No one yelled for missing parents. It was a holy time to give presents, and we had no beer to offer a policeman.

Thirty-five years later, I would learn a few details of this episode in a letter from Ma. At the time I received it, I quickly read it and promptly forgot it, as always. I never thought about it. But I saved it, as always. Even though the divorce court had ordered our eviction a long time before, Ma had refused to move out. She wrote me that she had yelled at the judge in the courtroom when he had issued our eviction:

We need a shelter for two abandoned boys. There is central heating in the double garage and a water faucet. Now the products of Ford are stored there.

This is what she wrote me, she had said, our poor mother. Now that I am no longer dumb, I would have told the judge something else. I would have shown him something as well. I would have shown him hell.

No, no, said the xxxxxx judge, you cannot live in this house.

Ma wrote me that two bailiffs executed the judge's order. In less than two hours they had dumped everything from our cell in hell onto our lawn, shit pot and all, and locked us out of our own home. * * * While Little Brother and I sat basking in despair on our veranda, Ma arrived with a borrowed, quaint little handcart. With a Christmas-spiritless face she confirmed that we had been evicted. She said that she found another place to live. See, miracles do happen, it could only get better.

We piled our mattress onto the cart along with a few other things. Ma pulled the load through empty streets and Little Brother and I followed. Lights were shimmering on the wet pavement. All was quiet, except for the grinding rumble of the carts steel-treaded wheels on the pavement. One wheel squeaked and needed grease.

My feet are cold. I can hear them squish. Will Ma spank me?

Where are we going? we asked her.

She did not answer. She hid her face from us. About twenty minutes later she turned into a driveway and stopped at the entrance to an old three-story apartment.

Here we are, sniffled Ma.

She wiped the rain from her face. Nobody sniffles on Christmas.

You mean we live here?

Yes.

We lugged our wet mattress into the building.

Which floor?

Top, she said.

We grunted up the stairs, one step at a time. It was heavy. Our world was heavy. On the second floor a tenant peeked through the curtains of his apartment door. I pretended not to notice. My soul curled up like my friend, the gentle hedgehog. Like his, my bristles pointed outward.

See nothing, feel nothing. Time will pass. Soon well eat bits of apples in our kitchen. Our own kitchen.

When we arrived on the top floor, Ma asked us to rest. But Little Brother and I were anxious to see our new home. I turned to open the door to that apartment.

No, no, Ma said, this is not it. One more floor, to the penthouse. As before, we could not find our home, Little Brother and I.

We lugged the mattress up the stairs with renewed vigor. Little Brother opened the door to the penthouse.

My alimentary canal convulsed.

Surely Little Brother's did too.

Penthouse? Attic.

Bats.

At the far end, Ma opened a door to a tiny room with a dormer window. This was our new home. We could stand up in only half of it, because the ceiling sloped down nearly to the floor. There we dropped our mattress; it covered one fourth of the area.

I have to pee, I exclaimed and began to dance.

Whenever I was nervous, or frightened, my bladder shrank and urination became frequent, and urgent. There must be a name for this condition but I had not heard it. Could it be reverse miracle bladder pressure syndrome?

I will ask the people downstairs if you can use their toilet, said Ma.

Nooooo, I moaned, while continued dancing.

Everybody in the world has a place to go!

Why can't we have a place? It's Christmas and we don't even have a place to sit, I continued my discourse.

I began to bawl.

Little Brother thought this to be a good idea and joined me. Ma led our chorus. Our glee club confused the tenants below, because now there was agony in the carols of Christmas.

Dancing and bawling, I relieved myself in the neighbor's one-holer on the stair landing two flights below. There was not a drop of water to wash with. After we brought up the few remaining things from the cart we holed up in our attic for the night. The owner of the building was out of town, and Ma had not asked for permission to live here. We were squatters now, with no electricity, water, sewer, heat, nor a place to piss and shit. Or wash.

And we were without a father and without hope. We had no dope, so we could only mope. We still had no right to live on this earth. We could not even be stored in the attic of a stranger.

Ma had planned ahead and brought a candle and some matches. She lit it. The three of us curled up on the floor while our mattress was drying, slowly, forever, in our cold room. While we bundled up, we steamed. In the cold. We tried to ignore our predicament the only way that we knew how. We did not talk. We searched for some magazines, stared at paper and pretended to read.

We dwelled in separate voids. I kept my soul in a dungeon, but I didnt know where Little Brothers and Mas were stored. There was nothing we could do, short of throwing a Molotov cocktail through Pa's window to help Teufi light his fire. We could burn down the judges house to get his attention. But no one told us this, and we didn't think of it.

This evening millions of candles were burning throughout the land to celebrate the birth of Christ. But our lonely candle would cast long shadows on every Christmas for all seasons to come.

Good timing, Daddy. And thank you for your legacy. You have not only stolen our youth, you have stolen our future, little Little Brothers and mine. Dont know if Ma ever had a future. Was there a future in hell?---"

-- Not Again! (seenit@ww2.com), December 25, 1999.

The toms are really teed off. I was in the kitchen last night and heard all this thumping so I went out, and my 9 year old tom was leaping all about the new doors in horror. The doors had been squishy from rot (Past El Nino damage) and a bit of leaping gained them entrance. I went out to double check that it was him and not a cat trapped inside, and he walked along side of me yelling. Then one by one all the cats arrived at the sliding door to come in after each tried the new doors in a state of shock.

I have five cats, but two different litters from the feral colony near by were brought my way, one litter only a few days old that I had to bottle feed. I placed one kitten with another Y2Ker but the others I still have with me as I feel like I'd be signing them up for death to place. I need to see what Y2K is or is not going to be. Thus I have ten counting the two families of kittens. Then the father of the last litter arrived and has been living here. I had assumed he was a feral but he is beginning to let me pet him so maybe there is hope he can be salvaged. Thus I have 11 at this time.

The toms started mousing a few months ago. There are farm fields to both sides and a huge dairy across the street. Something, maybe weather, must have caused a heavier mouse population. They eat the little mice (To my disgust and horror) but I had noticed the gopher was being treated differently. It was uneaten and had been dropped under my orange tree. I had left it thinking they'd do their cat thing not understanding it must have just for gaming. I could kick myself.

The smell was still in my bedroom and bathroom last night, not overwhelming but there, and I had to sleep with my pathetic refugee sleeping bag again. The doors to underneath were closed and it wasn't airing out down there any further I guess.

Now that I have new doors to prevent THAT from happening again, I'm feeling haunted by my inadequate sleeping bag. I haven't a clue how I am going to pull it off but I am going to try and replace it next week. One gets what they pay for and I had paid like 18 bucks for the one I have brand new. I had picked it because its design is the American flag. If I were in some no mans zone like the ethnic refugees had been I thought it might attract me some helpful attention. I might be picked out of a sea of faces for something better. I'll take the advice to go down to Sears and try to fnd a "real" sleeping bag. At least I made this discovering while I had a fully functioning heater. My eyes are open and I have a chance to fix this error before that heater isn't functioning. I'm in SoCA and it'll get down to the 30's this January at night. I wouldn't die but I'd sure be miserable.

-- Paula (chowbabe@pacbell.net), December 25, 1999.

Paula,

You might try using a blanket inside of your sleeping bag as a liner. I have done this and it works pretty well, sort of like insulation. Better than that nylon, wind-breaker feeling!

-- Sharon (sking@ranger.cc.tx.us), December 25, 1999.

Paula,

Another sleeping bag is a waste of money unless it has down filling. Even a cheap down comforter is a lot warmer than any normal filling or blanket. You should be able to get a small cheap down comforter for $60-$80. If not, the next best thing is a "thermal" type blanket. They are thin but woven in a way that keeps the heat in, $30-$60. If you can't afford either of those get some thermal underwear.

-- Hawk (flyin@high.again), December 25, 1999.

Not again,

Ouch.

It's hard to know how to respond to your story, on this day when so many of us have full bellies and warm homes, surrounded by networks of loving relatives who are there for each other. We can't make that past pain better, give it some treacly happy women's magazine ending with some deus ex machina who pays attention to pain and suffering. I hope that your being here on the Net means that your circumstances have taken a better turn in subsequent years. Continue to tell truth to power, to shine light on the dark places people would rather not face.

Of all the gifts I got today, this searing telling was the best one. The things that make us grow and bring awareness aren't always the fun ones. A lot of the growing I've done this year has come out of my Y2k work, and it hasn't necessarily been pleasant. Thank you for giving me awareness, and reminding me to pay attention to the people around me who haven't yet felt able to tell their stories. It's a gift that I will pass on.

May you find healing.

-- Firemouse (firemouse@fcmail.com), December 25, 1999.

Hawk, down is a waste of money. All modern bags are loaded with Hollofill or something similiar. Very lightweight, lasts forever and is the best for heat retention.

For $29 you can get good bags from Sears or Kmart. I got a 0 degree mummy bag from sears recently for $49.95. Buy a few cheapies to (40 degree bags) as they are good for cold but not freezing nights.

-- hamster (hamster@mycage.com), December 25, 1999.

Paula, Open your sleeping bag flat.Get a couple of blankets to line the inside. Sew them around the edges, and sew a pattern( ##) across entire bag(think quilt).It doesn't have to be pretty, just warm. BTW next time you can't escape a bad smell, try rubbing a little mentholated cold salve under your nose. It makes your skin tingle but it's worth the trade off.

-- grannyclampett (don'thave@clue.com), December 25, 1999.

Beg to diff Hammy, you haven't tried down. Nothing artificial is as good as the real thing. Light as feathers but so warm that I sweat under it. It's worth a few more bucks.

-- Hawk (flyin@high.again), December 25, 1999.

Hawk, down is heavy, it rots easily, smells when wet, difficult to clean AND dry, clumps up, much more expensive per bag and doesnt keep an airspace like hollofill.

Why do the most experienced skiers, mountainclimbers and outdoors people use the synthetics rather than down ?

-- hamster (hamster@mycage.com), December 25, 1999.

Feathers are heavy? Hmmmm. Well, I must have bought a strange comforter because mine is very light. I don't know how they work, but it is amazing how warm feathers are. Just another one of God's amazing creations I guess. You can have your chemicals, I like my feathers. :-)

-- Hawk (flyin@high.again), December 25, 1999.

C'mon Hawk, dont toy with me. Thermally down is MUCH heavier than fill.

The reason you sweat under a down blanket is that they dont allow humidity to pass as easily as fill does. Therefore your body releases moisture from your skin and its trapped more and you sweat.

Anyone who ever went skiing and went to the lodge later and noticed after sitting the OUTER skin of their ski pants was wet but the inside was dry discovered the fill wicks away humidity so you are dry inside but if you compress or crease the clothing it can produce visible moisture. Doesnt happen to everyone but its real and its because fill transfers humidty far better than down.

-- hamster (hamster@mycage.com), December 25, 1999.

I ain't toying with ya Ham, but Paula didn't say anything about going skiing, she just wants to be warm. You could be right, but I just gots to tells her what I knows, ya dig? :-)

-- Hawk (flyin@high.&.warm), December 25, 1999.

Cheapest insulator I ever had was my 'woobie.' To the uninitiated that .milspeak for a poncho liner. Use that inside any cheap bag, and as long as the liner is in _ok_ shape, then you'll be warm. It stores and reflects bodyheat like a mother.

-- Billy Boy (Rakkasan101st@Aol.com), December 25, 1999.

Um...nope hokie. I think not. We all have our misfortunes. It gives us absolutely no right to take our problems out on some unsuspecting individuals. A car accident is just that, an accident. To call them those names was completely uncalled for. It's really sad that I have to explain this to you. Perhaps you weren't taught any manners as a child. Do you think it's too late for you to learn that name calling isn't nice? (sigh)

-- uh wizeazz (wizeazz@wize.azz), December 25, 1999.

Ahh, Ron, that was such a good Christmas story. Aren't they wonderful.

Nikoli, I too had the thousand dollar couch problem. A few years ago I had it reupholstered and I didn't want the cats to claw it. We had a rather old chair in the same room that some of the cats loved to sleep on. Here's what I did--and it worked! I told all the cats, very solemnly to listen up, and that they were not to claw the new couch--but I was giving them the old green chair for their very own, and they could claw it all they wanted. We simply couldn't believe it. They *do not* claw the couch. The old green chair looks like it's been through a shredder. But believe me, they are smarter than we give them credit for.

I too have laughed my head off reading this thread. Paula, sorry I thought you were nutty.

-- gilda (jess@listbot.com), December 26, 1999.