6/20/05

The Things We Do for Love, by Kristin Hannah. Finished over the weekend: Deadly Pursuit by Brian Harper (good book – I had a hard time putting it down.) and One Shot, by Lee Child. One Shot was excellent, and despite the fact that I had a pounding headache last night and was very sleepy, I stayed up to finish the book. I’m on the Lee Child mailing list, and got an update email over the weekend implying that there would soon be news about turning one of the books into a movie. Fred and I spent a good part of yesterday trying to decide who should play Jack Reacher, and had a really hard time with it, because Jack Reacher is a big, big man – 6 feet, 5 inches, and 250 pounds – and when you think of the main Hollywood actors, they tend toward the small size. Fred got up and went to bed, and then immediately came back out of his room. “David Morse!” he said. I think we’ve got a winner. David Morse is certainly big enough, and he can definitely do the intensity that would be required for Reacher. I’m sure they’ll put one of the Hollywood pretty boys in the role, though.

* * * Last night Fred and I were in the living room watching the first season of Scrubs, and Fred paused the DVD because he had to pee. Mister Boogers was sitting on his lap, and he said “Would you like a Booger?” I was laying on the couch, and I said “Yeah, sure.” Then I thought for a second and sang “Pour that Booger on me!” And Fred guffawed about it for the next five minutes. I sure do love that man. * * * “Bessie!” Fred said, his eyes dark and wide in the same way Mister Boogers gets when he’s all excited. “What?” I put down the magazine I’d picked up to read when Fred went outside to make sure all the cats were inside. He closes the cat door every night before sunset because when our cats go missing, it’s almost always after dark. Zapping collar of doom or no, Mister Boogers gets overwhelmed by the darkness and has to go exploring. “Spot caught a copperhead!” he said. “Oh my god!” I put down the magazine and stood up. “What can I do?” I moved toward the door. “Well, first you can get out of the way,” he said, and then opened the door to go back outside. I followed him. “Spot, no!” he said. Spot was probably three inches from the snake, who was curled up and not doing much of anything. Fred picked Spot up. “Help me check him over!” I looked Spot over pretty thoroughly and didn’t see anything that looked like a snake bite. His fur is pretty thick, though, and I was sure if I’d actually see a snake bite through his fur. I didn’t share that little bit of knowledge with Fred, though. Fred thrust Spot at me, and I opened the door to bring Spot inside. As soon as the door opened, Miz Poo and Mister Boogers darted outside to sniff at the snake. “You should get the camera,” Fred said. “First I’m going to get a Booger,” I said. I scooped up Mister Boogers, and Fred grabbed Miz Poo, and we put them inside and shut the door. I went and got the camera and the can of compressed air, and headed for the back door, where all four of the cats were lined up with their noses pressed to the glass. “Get!” I said, and sprayed the air at them. They scattered. I went outside and stood a respectful distance from the snake, and pointed the camera at it. “What the hell are you doing?” Fred said. “Taking a picture!” I said. I mean, duh. What the hell did he THINK I was doing? “Give me that. All you’re going to get a picture of is a smudge in the distance.” I handed over the camera, and watched with horror as Fred bent down so that he was well within striking distance of the snake. He took several pictures and then handed the camera back to me. “Is it alive?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s alive.” “I can’t tell,” he said. “You should get your walking stick and poke it and see if it moves,” I offered. “I’m going to get the hoe and cut it’s head off,” he said. He went to the shed – no doubt there’s a huge nest of copperheads under the damn thing – and got the hoe. I kept my respectful distance on the other side of the patio. Fred poked at it. “Yeah, it’s alive. See it’s tongue flickering?” “Yep!” I lied. “See the big triangle-shaped head?” he continued. “Yep!” I lied again. “You can’t see it from there. Come look at it!” “No, that’s quite alright. I’ll stay HERE.” Fred shook his head at the foolishness of a woman who prefers to stay far away from POISONOUS SNAKES rather than putting her face six inches from it so it could strike and sink its fangs into her eyeball. Fred lifted the hoe. “Be careful!” I said. “I’m BEING careful.” “You’re AWFULLY close to it!” “I’m NOT close to it, Bessie. It can’t get me.” He lifted the hoe. “Do you have to kill it? Can’t we call someone to do it?” “Who are we going to call?” “Animal Control?” I said. “At 8:00 on a Saturday night?” he said skeptically. “Or the police! This is something THEY should do, not you.” “I’m not calling the police about a damn snake.” He lifted the hoe again and let it fall on the snake. The snake reacted by striking at the hoe. I screamed and clutched at my face, running around in circles. “Get the hell away from that thing!” I yelled. “Bessie, would you be quiet? If I get bitten, it’ll be because you distracted me!” I watched in silence – from the other side of the patio – as Fred struck at the snake several times. He finally declared it dead, and lifted it on the end of the hoe. I flinched backwards. “BESSIE!” he said, half-laughing. “I’m NOT going to THROW the snake at you!” “I don’t believe you,” I said, and scooted across the patio and into the house as quickly as possible. I got a small box out of the garage and the packing tape out of my desk, and tossed them out on the patio. Fred put the snake in the box and then went to the houses on either side of us to tell our neighbors what he’d found. I thought really, really, REALLY long and hard about going out, putting the snake in another box, and hiding it so that when Fred came back he’d find an empty box with no snake anywhere to be seen. And then I could act all terrified and make noises about how “There’s a badly hurt snake out there, and he’s really pissed off at YOU!” In the end, though, I didn’t because I didn’t want to get that damn close to the snake who, after all, COULD just be playing dead and leap up and sink his fangs into my eyeball. When Fred was done talking to the neighbors, he sealed the box up with tape, and put it in the trash can. And that was our exciting Saturday night. He said, with pictures. * * * The spud made it to Rhode Island just fine, though the phone rang at about 3:00 our time, and it was her on the other end. “Mom, you were WRONG!” she said. “I DO have to change planes, and I only have fifteen minutes!” “Fifteen minutes until the plane leaves?” “No, fifteen minutes until it starts boarding!” “Do you know if you have to change concourses?” I asked. “No, I only have to go two gates down. But we’re still moving!” “You only have to go two gates down the concourse and the plane doesn’t start boarding for another fifteen minutes?” “Yes! Do I have enough time?” “Yes. They’ll begin boarding in 15 minutes, but they usually board for 20 or 25 minutes. You have plenty of time.” “Oh. Okay.” “And if you have any problems, ask a woman in uniform for help. Or call me back.” “Okay.” She sounded marginally calmer. “If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll assume you got on the plane okay.” We hung up, and I didn’t hear back from her until she landed in Rhode Island, and all was well. Thank god. * * * The kitten section. I’ve gotten several comments and emails about the fact that the kittens are going to be spayed and neutered at the age of 9 weeks. The vet that works with the shelter will spay and neuter as soon as kittens reach 2 pounds; it’s the shelter’s policy to do so, so the kittens can be adopted out as soon as possible. The shelter used to adopt out cats without having them spayed or neutered first – in fact, Miz Poo wasn’t spayed when we got her – but even though people were signing forms swearing to have their cats fixed as soon as they hit 6 months, they weren’t following through, and at some point the shelter made it a policy not to adopt out un-spayed/ neutered cats. So, that’s why. If you look very closely, you can see the tip of Snoopy’s tongue sticking out. I think he was in the middle of washing his face when something distracted him. Edgar looks guilty, like we caught him snuggling with Snoopy when he wasn’t supposed to, doesn’t he? That Flossie is just so damn cute. Awww, what a cute little Peanut! Edgar the sleepy. Flossie has decided that Edgar needs some cleanin’. Edgar would just like to sleep, please. Peanut just woke up. Can you tell? ]]>