It’s been three weeks that Fred has been unemployed and searching for a job. Trust me – if there’s a company in all of Huntsville that’s hiring in the line of work that Fred does, they’ve got his resume. Tons and tons of resumes, the man has sent out (emailed out, I should say). And he’s been slowly going mad, because the phone is NOT ringing.
(You can only say “You’ll find a job!” and “It just takes time!” so many times before he tells you you’re full of shit, it turns out.)
Yesterday, after a morning of the phone not ringing, we left the house. I made him leave his cell phone at home (you know how back in the old days when you were allowed to smoke in restaurants, the surefire way to get the waitress to show up with your food or bill was to light up a cigarette? I figured the way to get a call to come in was to not be home to answer it. Didn’t work, but it was worth a try.), and we headed to Point Mallard to go for a meander along the walking path.
Of COURSE I took the camera.
It was nice to get out of the house for a few hours, even if there were no missed calls when we got home.
By the way, there’s a special place in hell for headhunters who email first thing Monday morning, ask for an updated resume and a call ASAP, don’t answer the phone for two days, and then tell you (when you actually reach them) that they don’t actually have a position in your area.
I recently read somewhere that people who have cats are 30% less likely to have heart attacks.
What they didn’t address in that article is whether people who have cats are 30% MORE likely to have a stroke after they step in a cold pile of cat vomit in the middle of the night. I’m going to guess the answer to that is YES.
There’s this commercial that plays on a local radio station that goes “Christian school care! School care…. instead of play care!”
And every single time they play it, I fully expect it to go “Christian school care! School care for Christians!”
Every time.
I went to replace my estrogen patch this morning after I got out of the shower, and found that the one I’d put on on Monday? Gone.
Who the hell knows when it came off, or where it is?
When I told Fred, he said “Maybe that’s why you’ve been especially Satanic lately.”
“HOW have I been Satanic?” I asked, sure he wasn’t going to be able to come up with an example. Because when put on the spot, he’s never able to back up these assertions and usually resorts to saying something lame like “You just are.”
“You were in the kitten room giving them their morning snack today,” he said. “And you were all “Ooh boo boo boo boo” with your sweet kitten-talking voice, and then all of a sudden you’re bellowing “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GODDAMN IT!” and then the next second you were all “Oooh boo boo boo boo” in your kitten voice again.”
I sighed. “I sure am sick of dropping the cat food-covered spoon on the floor.”
He gave me the hairy eyeball.
“I see your point,” I admitted. Then I showed him the patch I’d just put on. “But I should be okay now!”
Yeah, we’ll see about THAT.
I went upstairs yesterday morning to put the barrier up across the hallway and let Maura out of her room. As I went up the stairs, all four Bookworms and Jake followed me. I tried to keep them on the other side of the barrier, but it was like holding back a tide of cute, and finally I threw up my hands and declared that I guessed it was time for Maura to have the run of the house.
It went pretty well. She had little patience for the other cats getting up in her face, but no one got pushy with her, and she spent most of her time walking around the house exploring.
Maura in the Maura Cave, in the corner of the kitchen.
Poor Stinkerbelle – at one point Maura was sitting in the front room, and Stinkerbelle caught sight of her and I don’t know if she just loves all black cats, or she thought Maura was Tommy, but she tried to go over to Maura. Maura growled at her. You could see the confusion on Stinkerbelle’s face when Maura growled at her, because Stinkerbelle’s usually the one growling at other cats. She kept trying to get close to Maura, and Maura kept growling, so eventually Stinkerbelle gave up and climbed up to the top of her bookcase and pondered this strange turn of events.
Reacher is obsessed – OBSESSED! – with the trash can.
He likes to hang out in the trash can, sniff around at the pieces of crumpled paper towel, and then climb out with one of them in his mouth. Then he bats it across the room, uncrumples it, and leaves it there.
Reacher, hiding beside the refrigerator. A stampede of big cats went through the kitchen, which scared him, and he went to his safe place.
All four of the Bookworms were sleeping in one bed. Jake got up on my desk, surveyed the situation… and then climbed into the cat bed and laid down on top of them. Three of them scattered, but Bolitar just stayed where he was.
The Bookworms are all obsessed with my recycling container. They love to climb in there, sleep, look around, bat at magazine covers, and then climb back out. I don’t get the obsession, but they aren’t the first kittens to do that. I’m sure they won’t be the last, either!
Newt, coming to see if perhaps it’s snack time.
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: What the fucking fuck was going on, apparently, is that my motherboard was fried.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Annoying.
2003: Holy FUCK, look what JUST wandered across my front yard!
2002: The big flies make a very satisfying THWOOMP! sound as they fly down the attachment tube.
2001: No entry.
2000: Aren’t they, um, AMERICANS?