* * *
I need to spend part of today backing up my system while I’m at it, because I get this very strong feeling that my computer’s about to shit the bed. So to speak.
Is March almost over?
* * *
Pet store kitties are
hither. The spud went with me to the pet store today, and somehow the earth did not crack in two at the sight of her being awake and ready to go at 7 am. Like her mother, she’s a sleeper, but – also like her mother – she loves the kitties, and will forgo some sleep for some kitty lovin’. (I think she went back to bed, though. I’ve heard nary a
poop (hee!) peep out of her since we got home)
A couple of the litter boxes were particularly bad today, and I amused a kitty or two by reeling around gagging like the drama queen I am.
* * *
Fred called yesterday to buy the spud’s plane tickets to California and from there to Rhode Island. I had been, for some reason, under the impression that we’d have to buy two one-way tickets (Huntsville to California, California to Rhode Island) for her, since she was going to be staying in California for three weeks and a day. We were very pleased to find out that they could do it as a round-trip ticket, and it ended up costing half of what we thought it would. Of course, on top of the ticket cost will be a $75 fee each way so that someone will make sure she gets from gate to gate, but that’s definitely worth the peace of mind it buys, so I don’t have to worry about the spud wandering lost around the airport.
And she would. Yes, she’s 14, and she gets straight As, but when it comes to the real world she’s been a tad overprotected in her life.
* * *
To the left of us lives a family composed of a mommy, a daddy, and three or four small boys. These small boys, possibly following the example their father sets, are very into all kinds of sports – football, baseball, soccer, tennis, the usual. Which is great, because god knows America’s youth spends too much time doing nothing active.
But what kills me is that the boys next door, who have a nice, large backyard, spend all of their time playing baseball, football, etc, in their front yard, which is the size of a postage stamp. Several times a week the doorbell rings, and there stands a tiny boy asking if it’s okay to go into our backyard and get their ball, because they’ve tossed it over the fence from their tiny front yard into our back yard. Of course we always tell them to go ahead and get the ball, and it doesn’t really bother me that they need to, since they’re careful to close the gate behind them and we haven’t lost a cat yet. It really makes me wonder why they don’t want to play in the back yard, though.
* * *
A Tubbly man, waiting for the sun to come his way. And if you look carefully, in the background amongst the daffodils is Fancypants, who insists on laying there, even though I chase him out. Because he’s a bastard.]]>