This bra and these panties were what they were wearing, to be exact.
I think that I have, for sure, seen just about everything.
* * *
Sunday night, Fred and I decided to watch
Eight Below, which I’d gotten from Netflix last week, and which we took to Florida with us along with the laptop, with the idea that we might watch it down there. Not only did we not watch it, we never so much as took the laptop out of the case while we were there.
So we started watching the movie, and it wasn’t bad, though I found myself flipping through magazines while simultaneously keeping an eye on what was going on.
And then suddenly there was this part, with a dead whale that I won’t go into specifics about in case you haven’t seen the movie yet, that scared me so badly that I actually screamed out loud, and it scared Fred so badly that he ran in place in his spot on the couch.
I swear, for a very brief few seconds, I thought that somehow everything had gone badly wrong, and the movie wasn’t actually a feel-good Hollywood tale of a man and his love for his dogs (that sounds dirty, doesn’t it?), but rather had somehow shifted into a horror movie, where very bad things were about to happen.
It was the weirdest hyper-real instant of cognitive dissonance I have ever experienced in my life.
It’s worth watching, just for that. Well, that and seeing Paul Walker shirtless a few times, anyway.
* * *
I was planning on sleeping in a little this morning, but right on the motherfucking dot of 5:30, I was awakened by a low growling sound. I sat up and saw Tommy sitting on the end of the bed, looking down, and I thought “Ah, fuck. Someone’s caught a bird and brought it in, and is warning the other cats to stay away from his toy.” Then I looked closer at Tommy and rubbed the back of his neck, and realized that he wasn’t wearing his collar.
Which meant that Fred hadn’t finished working out and let the cats outside, which also meant that there was no way there was a bird or small animal in the house. So I put my earplugs back in and tried to go back to sleep.
But of course I heard it again, and when it didn’t stop, I got up and looked under the bed to see if there was something going on under there. There were no cats under the bed, so I looked around, and noticed that Tommy, Sugarbutt, Spanky, and Spot were clustered at the top of the stairs, and Tommy had his tail puffed out. They were staring down at the bottom of the stairs, and I looked to see what they were looking at, and saw nothing.
I headed downstairs and found a pile of white cat fur in the middle of the hallway, meaning that Spanky or Spot had gotten too close to someone – most likely Mister Boogers, who has turned into SUCH a crotchety old man in the past few years – and as a consequence gotten his ass kicked. I walked into the kitchen, and Mister Boogers was stalking back and forth, his stumpy little tail puffed out. As soon as he saw me, he stopped growling, and I spoke to him and petted him, and he seemed fine.
I went out into the garage – scaring the bejesus out of Fred – and told him what was going on, and then came inside to check on Mister Boogers, who had fled the downstairs (“He’s fleein’ the interview!”). I went out back and saw immediately what the problem was – there’s a black and white cat who occasionally visits our back yard, and he freaks Mister Boogers out every time, because there’s an INTERLOPER in the BACK YARD, and even though Mister Boogers is, deep down, a great big wimpy wimp (I would call him a pussy, but that’s really too easy), he likes to act like he’s a badass, especially when he can’t actually GET to the interloper and instead can attack one of his brothers instead (of course, he’d never attack his SISTER, ’cause bitch is CRAYZEE).
So I clapped my hands at the strange cat, who looked at me like “What the hell is YOUR problem, lady? I just wanted some water from the bird bath!”, then ran to the fence and looked at me again. Whereupon I clapped at him again, and he ran off.
Since I was up already – THANK YOU MISTER BOOGERS, YOU FUCK – I got dressed and did all my morning crap.
Then I took Fred to work, because we’re going for a hike tonight (expect an entry tomorrow about how much I hate him), and it’s easier to just pick him up from work and go for our hike than to have him come home, get me, and then go on our hike, since it’s on the other side of Huntsville.
Now I need to go do some housework. Ugh.
* * *
“Beotch, it is TIME to clean the bird bath! Bawk!”
Crotchety old man.
“MY bird bath. MINE.”
All of today’s uploaded pictures can be seen
here.
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