In Expectation of Kittens
Our backyard is feral cat central. A nearby neighbor feeds them, but they hang out here. At times I've seen as many as five cats at one time lounging around like we're the Playboy Mansion. This has been going on for as long as I've lived here. I've thought about trapping them, and maybe I will, if only to have them fixed.
Because every year our backyard has kittens.
Every summer, usually around July, we'll start to notice kittens in the yard. Typically it's only one litter, but that's enough. Anywhere from two to five little furry bodies starts laying in our sunshine, curling up by our fence, and pooping on the lawn. For a while there was one kitty we called Mama Cat because she seemed to be the one that did all the breeding. We've seen others, though, but it never fails that we have one fertile kitty every summer who decided our nice, quiet, dog-free yard is the perfect place for her offspring to play.
And every year, about this time, we begin to hear, late at night, the mating call of the annoying feral cat. Part Rebel Yell (from the Civil War, not from Billy Idol) part bad German opera, and part "I think my car needs a tune-up) this call is the serenade to my insomnia. I'll be curled up, watching a movie, and from the yard I'll hear that unmistakable "yowwrrr" that tells me to start boiling the water and getting the clean towels ready. I've heard it twice in the past week and I just know someone is getting it on. I can hear the Barry White in the background. I've tried knocking on the window, turning on the light, and otherwise doing my bit to ruin the mood, but I know it won't help. They'll just go down to the basement while dad and I are at the Lion's Club Dance and do the nasty on the spare sofa. Damned kids.
I really need to talk to someone at the Humane Society about trapping the strays and getting them fixed. In the meantime, I'll start preaching abstinence because, you know, that really works.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Friday, April 03, 2009
Thursday, April 02, 2009
A Spot of Breaking and Entering
Both Husband and I are going through this. Breaking into one project, putting it down and entering into another. In that way, nothing gets done. It's the old cycle of a small number of things pile up which you don't have time to do. By the next week the small pile is bigger and still you have no time. Plus you've started a completely different pile someplace else and have to get to that. And so on and so forth. Until you have piles up to your ears and are paralyzed with fear and indecision as to what to get to first. So you do nothing. And that just makes it worse. And on the pile grows.
Husband and I talked about this tonight, that depressing, discouraging place you get to when the amount of work you have to do sucks the will to work out of you. And, of course in this economy, the haunting bugaboo in the back of the brain "I can't loose this job" only adds to the anxiety, no matter how you might try to write her out of the script.
We're trying a new split-team plan where I pitch in with his work because I have time and he reciprocates by actually taking time to breathe now and then.
In the meantime I ask the universe to be nice to my Husband this week. He needs some cosmic fortune cookie to go his way.
Both Husband and I are going through this. Breaking into one project, putting it down and entering into another. In that way, nothing gets done. It's the old cycle of a small number of things pile up which you don't have time to do. By the next week the small pile is bigger and still you have no time. Plus you've started a completely different pile someplace else and have to get to that. And so on and so forth. Until you have piles up to your ears and are paralyzed with fear and indecision as to what to get to first. So you do nothing. And that just makes it worse. And on the pile grows.
Husband and I talked about this tonight, that depressing, discouraging place you get to when the amount of work you have to do sucks the will to work out of you. And, of course in this economy, the haunting bugaboo in the back of the brain "I can't loose this job" only adds to the anxiety, no matter how you might try to write her out of the script.
We're trying a new split-team plan where I pitch in with his work because I have time and he reciprocates by actually taking time to breathe now and then.
In the meantime I ask the universe to be nice to my Husband this week. He needs some cosmic fortune cookie to go his way.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sita Sings the Blues
A friend turnes us onto a lovely animated film called Sita Sings the Blues. It's quirky and delightful, full of wonderful old-time blues and jazz music. Nina Paley, the artist who wrote, animated, directed, edited and basically did it all is the creator of this beautiful, colorful film full of magic, mythology, love, cats, and wild imagination. It's hard to put into words except to say that I found it delightful.
When you visit the page you can learn more about buying a copy of the film or just making a donation to keep the artist and the art alive. I think you'll want to. We need to subsidize our geniuses.
A friend turnes us onto a lovely animated film called Sita Sings the Blues. It's quirky and delightful, full of wonderful old-time blues and jazz music. Nina Paley, the artist who wrote, animated, directed, edited and basically did it all is the creator of this beautiful, colorful film full of magic, mythology, love, cats, and wild imagination. It's hard to put into words except to say that I found it delightful.
When you visit the page you can learn more about buying a copy of the film or just making a donation to keep the artist and the art alive. I think you'll want to. We need to subsidize our geniuses.
Shoes
I bought a pair of shoes today. They look kinda like this:
I don't have that female gene that loves shoes, craves shoes, collects shoes, and all but has sex with shoes. I own nothing with a higher heel than these and I only buy new shoes when the old ones fall apart. I tend to wear only one pair of shoes during the week. I don't have a lot of variation. If they're comfy and work with jeans, I'll wear them to death. Like my last pair.
I love New Balance shoes. Not sure why. It's not like they fit better or are more comfy than other shoes I've worn, I just like them. Now I have a new pair and the old ones that I'll throw into my trunk. (I have a pair of shoes that I'll only wear at the Humane Society and I leave them in car so as not to track animal cooties in the house and get Cipher sick.)
When I bought the shoes today it was a big thing for me. For two reasons. First, I don't like spending money on anything other than books or music. Secondly I hate to shop for anything clothing-related. And we're not talking about dropping $500 on a pair of Italian heels. These shoes cost less than $50 and still I felt bad for spending so much money.
And, of course, after convincing myself that the shoes are a necessity and not a luxury I find I'm in for another expense. Anubis (my car) decided to crack his muffler pipe and now my car sounds like a souped-up muscle car. The poor thing does have 180,000 miles on it and is 10 years old...so I guess it's forgivable. But I just know we're talking big, expensive repair here. Since I'm not working we're a bit tight on money and I could really do without a couple of hundred bucks in car work. But it's so loud I felt conspicuous driving home on El Camino.
So here I am, feeling guilty for dropping $50 on shoes and just knowing the repair is going to make me wince. I'm thinking about selling my plasma.
I bought a pair of shoes today. They look kinda like this:
I don't have that female gene that loves shoes, craves shoes, collects shoes, and all but has sex with shoes. I own nothing with a higher heel than these and I only buy new shoes when the old ones fall apart. I tend to wear only one pair of shoes during the week. I don't have a lot of variation. If they're comfy and work with jeans, I'll wear them to death. Like my last pair.
I love New Balance shoes. Not sure why. It's not like they fit better or are more comfy than other shoes I've worn, I just like them. Now I have a new pair and the old ones that I'll throw into my trunk. (I have a pair of shoes that I'll only wear at the Humane Society and I leave them in car so as not to track animal cooties in the house and get Cipher sick.)
When I bought the shoes today it was a big thing for me. For two reasons. First, I don't like spending money on anything other than books or music. Secondly I hate to shop for anything clothing-related. And we're not talking about dropping $500 on a pair of Italian heels. These shoes cost less than $50 and still I felt bad for spending so much money.
And, of course, after convincing myself that the shoes are a necessity and not a luxury I find I'm in for another expense. Anubis (my car) decided to crack his muffler pipe and now my car sounds like a souped-up muscle car. The poor thing does have 180,000 miles on it and is 10 years old...so I guess it's forgivable. But I just know we're talking big, expensive repair here. Since I'm not working we're a bit tight on money and I could really do without a couple of hundred bucks in car work. But it's so loud I felt conspicuous driving home on El Camino.
So here I am, feeling guilty for dropping $50 on shoes and just knowing the repair is going to make me wince. I'm thinking about selling my plasma.
Photo of the day: The Air is Full of Spices
When cooking around here you throw in some spices and then throw in twice more than you did the first time. Flavor is the goal and you cannot have too much taste in your spaghetti sauce or chicken soup. We go through a lot of spices, Except for fennel, which just sits there, fossilizing in the jar.
When cooking around here you throw in some spices and then throw in twice more than you did the first time. Flavor is the goal and you cannot have too much taste in your spaghetti sauce or chicken soup. We go through a lot of spices, Except for fennel, which just sits there, fossilizing in the jar.
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