reading: Sleep No More, by Greg Iles.
Finished recently: Is That a Moose in Your Pocket?, by Kim Green. I said yesterday I wasn’t that into the book. I kept being not being that into the book right up until the end. I don’t recommend it. When will I learn that it’s okay to put down a book I’m not that interested in? I guess it’s the optimist in me – I keep hoping, right up until the end, that it’ll pick up. This one never did.
Also finished recently: Be More Chill, by Ned Vizzini. I really liked this book and it was a quick read. There’s a quote on the back cover wherein someone compares it to The Catcher in the Rye. I guess I can get behind that comparison – though I think Be More Chill was far better than Catcher. I’m not fond of that whiny-ass Holden Caulfield, personally.
* * *
Pet store kitty pics from Monday are
here.
* * *
When I talked to my mother the other day, she brought up the family reunion my father’s side of the family will be having over Memorial Day weekend. She mentioned that she’d talked to my father’s sister (also known as my aunt, I suppose!) the other day, who had asked who out of my father’s family was planning on attending.
“I told her that I didn’t think either of the boys would be going, and I think Debbie’s starting to give up hope that she’ll be able to go, because Brian’s still going to be in school,” she said. “And then she told your father, ‘Well, you can stay with me’ and he said ‘Well, Robyn lives in the area, I think we’re going to stay with her’, and she said ‘Wayne wants us all to have breakfast Sunday morning, you should just stay with me so you don’t have to make the drive again Sunday morning!’, so I guess we’re going to stay overnight on Saturday. Is Fred going to go to the reunion?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s going to go Saturday,” I told her, neglecting to mention the tense negotiations wherein I browbeat Fred into agreeing to attend, but he made me promise that he could bring his own vehicle so he could leave when he wanted to.
“Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the night, too!” she said.
“Oh, yes he would,” I said.
“Then you and the spud could stay at her house with us, and Fred could drive home that night,” she said. I got the distinct feeling that she didn’t want to stay in my aunt’s house without some of her own family around as buffer.
“Yeah, we’ll stay overnight, too,” I said.
Later, I told Fred about the conversation, and he suggested that the spud could stay overnight with them, and I could come back home with him.
“No, I’m going to stay overnight. It won’t hurt. Besides, you’ll get the house to yourself,” I pointed out.
“Hookers and blow!” he crowed jubilantly.
“Yeah, except that I know that what really makes your heart race is the idea of being able to go to bed at 9:15 instead of having to stay up ’til 9:42,” I said.
He grinned and didn’t say anything, ’cause he KNOWS it’s true.
* * *
My husband, in case I’ve never mentioned it before, is a bit of a spaz. Last week, after much harassment, our yard guy came out and sprayed poison in the back yard to kill the weeds. Of course we left the cat door shut so the cats couldn’t go out back for the rest of that day, and part of the next day.
Two days later, Tommy wasn’t quite acting like himself. He hung out in the kitty condo in the master bedroom for most of the day, and when Fred announced that it was snack time – “Snack time! Snack time, kitty-kitties!” he sings in a surprisingly high soprano, “Snack time! Come get the snack!”, and all the cats except for Spot and Spanky come running from all corners of the house – Tommy just wasn’t interested.
This is very VERY unlike Tommy, (who I’ve been calling “Tommy Two-Ton” behind his back, because he is turning into a porky little thing), who gets so excited at snack time that he dances around like he hasn’t eaten for DAYS, and pleasepleaseplease just GIVE HIM his snack before he fades away! Instead, he looked slightly interested for a brief moment, then went into the living room and flopped down on the floor.
Fred fretted and worried that Tommy had gotten poison on his paws from the back yard and licked the poison off his paws, and was thiclose to death. He held Tommy and talked about how hot Tommy felt, and he worried and fretted, and I was very sure that he was going to end up taking Tommy to the emergency vet in Huntsville, because this sort of thing ALWAYS happens on the weekend, doesn’t it?
Finally, he suggested that we give Tommy some of the antibiotics we had up in the cupboard (left over from when Miz Poo’s lip was really bad, but she hated the taste of the liquid so much that I went and got pills instead), and so I mixed the antibiotics up and we gave Tommy a dose and not two minutes later he looked a lot more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and the next day he was acting exactly like himself and Fred was very, very relieved.
(I know you want to give us hell for randomly giving out antibiotics to a cat who probably wasn’t sick, but please. Restrain yourselves, eh?)
* * *
When Fred’s referring to snack time and he doesn’t want the cats to understand what he’s saying, he always spells it out. As in, “Should I give them their S-N-A-K now, or wait ’til 7?”
And it never fails to crack me up. Because you KNOW if cats were interested in spelling things, they’d spell it like that.
* * *
Pretty, pretty boy.
(They’re
SoftPaws nail caps so the little bastard won’t scratch up our furniture)
I show this picture to prove (1) How mean that Sugary little bastard is to me, and (2) How beaten-up my hands are. Is that the hand of a badass, or what?
(It’s an electric fence collar so he can’t leave the back yard)
(They’re
SoftPaws nail caps so the little bastard won’t scratch up our furniture)
He’s not really tipping over backwards; it’s just the angle of the picture (I was laying on the bed).
(It’s an electric fence collar so he can’t leave the back yard)
(They’re
SoftPaws nail caps so the little bastard won’t scratch up our furniture)
He can stay in this position forEVER. I think it’s got something to do with the length of his tail. One of these days I’m going to measure that tail.
(They’re electric fence collars so they can’t leave the back yard)
(They’re
SoftPaws nail caps so the little bastards won’t scratch up our furniture)
All of today’s uploaded pictures are
hither.
* * *
Previously
2005: Also, there’s that whole pesky “dealing with people” thing, and I don’t like that sort of thing at ALL.
2004: The spud passed the test for her learner’s permit, THANKYAJEEZUS.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Fred and I chose the names of our future child/ren way before we ever met – Seth Forrest and Samantha Jayne.
2000: On the other hand, I was shopping in Wal-Mart, wasn’t I? What’d I expect, diamonds and furs?]]>