My father and I have a special bond. I will do all the disgusting, creepy and dangerous things that my other siblings shrink away from. I went bridge jumping (and ended up ripping... Something painful.) I worked in the chicken house (and had bionic biceps.) I eat raw oysters with him (I used to be the youngest patron at the oyster bar.)

We also have a lengthy list of things we want to do together. Jump of the Laurel-Bethel Bridge, blow up seagulls with alka-seltzer and get into more mischief and trouble than is really quite right.

After yesterday, I have one more thing I can add to my "Random Facts About Drew" list. Namely, cat castration. On my father's farm he has a healthy collection of cats to eat the mice and dead chickens. However, he recently received a new batch of kitties since his old one was wiped out by... my little brother's shotgun. (Please understand, these are not nice house kitties we are speaking of. These are mean, wild tomcats who would probably eat small children alive, if they could. These are creatures who are a menace to society.)

There were four cats. Four tomcats. Four tomcats which my father needed assistance with. I will not go into gory detail, unless asked! But. I have to admit, my geeky blood-loving science side came out and I had a ball. (Pun intended.)

Besides, how fabulous will this story be to tell to my already terrified dates? "So. What do you do for fun?"

Chop off the balls of the male specises who have nothing better to do than impregnate innocent females and leave them.