Thursday morning, I was laying in bed thinking about getting up (it was 6:00 which is plenty early for normal people, but I was still feeling like kind of a slacker. This is what happens when you’re married to someone who gets up at 4:00 on the weekend and acts like you’ve become a Bed Person in need of rescuing by Richard Simmons if you stay in bed past 6:23.) and the phone rang. I got up and ran across the room to answer it, dodging cats as I went.
“Well, I finally did it,” Fred said disgustedly. “I always worry when I have a bunch of stuff to get out of the car that I’m going to lock my keys in the car, and now I’ve done it.”
I stifled the urge to helpfully point out that if he used the remote on the key fob to lock his car, he wouldn’t be in this pickle.
I told him I’d look for the other set of keys to his car and call him back. I got dressed, went downstairs to where we keep all our extra keys, and started looking through them. I eventually found the second set of keys to his car, but not until after I’d dug through a pile of useless keys. We haven’t owned a Jeep in five years, but by god we’ve got three Jeep keys anyway.
I called him back and told him I’d found the keys. I don’t have a sticker to get on base, so we decided on an off-base location to meet.
“Can we do it later, to miss the early morning traffic?” he suggested. “Like, 9:00?”
“Sure,” I said. After I’d hung up the phone, I immediately called him back.
“Let’s make it more like 9:30,” I said. “I want to eat breakfast at 9:00.”
“Okay,” he said.
I went out and worked in the garden until 8:45, and then came inside to start making breakfast. While my eggs were cooking, I called Fred.
“Can we make it 10:00 instead?” I asked. “I just got inside and want to eat and then take a shower before I head over.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said.
I ate breakfast, and then called him again. “Can we make it 10:30 instead? I need to give Miz Poo her medicine at 10:00.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said.
I showered and dressed, puttered around the house, and then called him at 10:00. “I’ll be leaving here in about 10 minutes so I’ll probably be there more like 10:40. You want me to call you when I leave?”
He sounded weary. “Just call when you’re crossing Thus-And-Such Road.”
I called when I was crossing Thus-And-Such Road, and made it to our meeting place, and then I sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. I didn’t know who was bringing him to meet me, or what kind of vehicle they’d be in, so I eyeballed every vehicle that came into the parking lot, and when there were no cars coming in, I checked my email on my phone. Then I played a little Snood. Then I wondered if I was in the right place.
About five minutes after I’d gotten there, a red truck pulled up behind me and honked the horn. I got out and saw that Greg had given Fred a ride.
We call Greg Fred’s “work wife,” which Greg (and, one assumes, Greg’s wife) finds hilarious. Fred and Greg are best friends at work, but never have any contact outside of work.
I handed Fred’s extra keys over to him, and we chatted for a few moments, then Fred thanked me, and he and Greg left.
Fred Anderson, you might not be surprised to hear, does not believe in public displays of affection, even if “public” is only one other person.
That night, I gave him all kinds of shit for not kissing me goodbye. (Not because it really bothered me, you understand. Just because I wanted to give him shit. It’s how he knows I love him.)
“I don’t believe in public displays of affection!” he pointed out.
“Greg was the only one there,” I said.
“Like I said! Besides, I didn’t want to make my work wife jealous by kissing my home wife.” He thought for a moment. “He chews tobacco, though. Kissing him would be gross.”
I said nothing.
“Um. Not that that’s what’s keeping me from kissing him.”
“I know. His mustache would tickle your nose, is the real reason.”
“Shaddup.”
Over the weekend, Macushla was adopted! He was adopted into a home with two young cats (1 and 2 years old), and I expect he’ll be a happy boy, since he gets along so well with other cats.
That leaves Maggie, Fergus Simon, and Declan who are still available for adoption. Ciara’s still here with us for a little while longer, and at this point I think it makes sense to just keep her here ’til the Spice Girls are ready to go. We’ll see.
The Spice Girls are going to be spayed tomorrow, so after that it’s just a matter of waiting until there’s room for them at Petsmart. They’ve moved on from their baby-round stage to their miniature cat stage. They should be hitting their ridiculously long and lanky stage any moment now.
It’s sad, how tense Ciara is.
So smug.
I adore it when kittens sleep flat on their bellies.
Cori, doin’ the smug thing.
I love her little sleeping face, obviously.
There are 14 cats in this picture, by my count.
Maxi, hanging out in the back yard.
Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: I am SO not crazy.
2007: Like mud with a soupcon of cat poop stirred in for good measure.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: If I were Jennifer Lopez, I would be VERY frightened at the thought of birthing an Affleck baby, if noggins like that run in the family.
2002: I mean, an online journal. Have you ever heard of such a silly thing?
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, I just really don’t have anything to say today.