it had to be done

 journal  2 Responses »
Aug 042009
 

If you noticed a brief silence on the blog, well done you, you're officially attentive. I spent the weekend in Adelaide, where I mostly distressed my grandparents with my (I quote) boundless energy (clearly, they haven't met Spawn) and distressed their cat with my strange and boisterous behaviour. He's used to much quieter, slower games, and definitely not used to flamboyant gesticulations. My cats don't even twitch an ear at random noises and gunfire chatter, or the stampede of running feet, or pillows hurtling through the air toward them. My grandparents' cat has had a far more tranquil life, and I was constantly doing something so alarming — such as, I don't know, COUGHING or REACHING FOR THE BUTTER — that he had to take off at high speed and take shelter under the nearest item of heavy furniture.

So then I embarked on a mission to see just how many different ways I could startle the cat. Naturally.1

the sublimely cranky 'Woman, I really like you and I would like to come back to you but if I do, will you do something alarming like, god, I don't know, MOVE?' face

the sublimely cranky 'Woman, I really like you and I would like to come back to you but if I do, will you do something alarming like, god, I don't know, MOVE?' face

  1. I lost count. In the first hour. Seriously. [↩]

i relent, i repent, the kitteh is supreme

 journal, pre-crash  4 Responses »
Aug 282007
 

max-nov06.jpg

This is Max. He's hungry.

Don't be fooled by the apparent lassitude. He's a ninja. Any attempt to approach the kitchen must be done in company of Max. Any attempt to use the chopping board and knives invariably produces the heavy-lidded gaze and tail-twitching behaviour designed to induce teeny birdies to come down and play… Any attempt to ignore him while cutting up meat results in Max using my leg as a climbing post. (Luckily, I mostly wear jeans, and he's learnt, through prodigious applications of water spray, to play gentle.)

Well, this weekend, I relented. I did the unthinkable, and provided a full bowl of dry food. An unemptiable bowl of dry food. Max can snack at will. Max is no longer entirely dependent upon me for meals. (Max's expression as I ladled scoop after scoop of dry food into this enormous bowl was a study of excitement turning to slow-dawning horror.)

Maximus Stomachus has spent the past 36 hours gorging snacking. In between snacks, he trudges around the house with a mournful air, a fierce craving for water, and a distended stomach. Maximus Stomachus is not a quick learner.

I, however, have now had two entire nights of uninterrupted sleep. I am delirious, I am drunk, with sleep. I am ridiculously enthusiastic over trivial matters. I am hoping Maximus Gluttonus learns not to gorge so that this arrangement can continue, and I can sleep the blessed sleep of those who have not procreated.

if you're looking for an unmarked place…

 journal, pre-crash  6 Responses »
Aug 192007
 

Well, there's a week I am more than glad to leave in my wake. Coffins should be longer than 60cm. Much, much longer. Also, inquests may provide closure, but only in a world where perfect closure is possible, which this is not.

Here's to next week being more fun to live through.

To round the week off with something humorous, my cat staged a violent attack on the lucky bamboo plant. At midnight (which is always a most hilarious time, I find). The bamboo lived up to its name and survived; its vase was not so lucky. Which, I must say, makes me wonder: if the lucky bamboo is supposed to provide me and my house with good feng shui propoerties, but its good feng shui field doesn't even extend out so far as its vase, what the hell kind of rip-off scheme is this? I could walk around with lucky bamboo pinned to me, or growing in my hair perhaps (can't get closer than that!), but … you know. Might look a bit weird. Probably violates the dress code of all the fancy places.

I have repotted the lucky bamboo. Clearly, despite being dubious about the alleged luckiness field, I am still fearful of any bad-luck field which might result from giving up on the lucky bamboo. Besides, it's the only plant I've ever managed to not only not kill, but keep kinda green.

I have also armed myself with a spray bottle, to protect the lucky bamboo against future hate play crimes. A friend recommended a solution three parts white wine vinegar to one part water as most effective, since the cat would hate getting wet and would then also hate the taste of cleaning himself. Double punishment to drive home the point. I went with only water, however. You see, much as I like my cat, I'm well aware of the fact that no one will ever accuse him of higher intellect. If it doesn't happen at the same nanosecond, it's not connected. All he will connect the vinegar taste to is cleaning himself, and I don't want to punish him for being clean. Then I'd have a filthy cat who's naughty.

I always maintained if it was painful to be stupid, we'd have a lot less stupidity in the world. Turns out, as my cat has taught me, it is painful — but only for those around the stupid. We should institute a procedure whereby forehead-smacks are mandatory when one is displaying stupidity. It should cut down on a lot of troubles, not to mention pent frustrations.

Also, Doctor Who? Please, please tell me this Family of Blood malarky is more than just a convenient way for the writers to strand the Doctor in early 20th century Britain and have him fall in love with a human. Who isn't Martha — cue whine from Martha. Because I'm quite tired of the Doctor / love story being all this and the last series were about. Less Britain, please, and more action — and please, stop already wtih the lovesick companion. I was looking forward to the introduction of Martha, in the hopes we would see the end of pining. Apparently, no luck there. Rose at least had an entire season to be all chutzpah before she turned into sappy clingy jealous icky girly girl. Martha didn't even get an entire episode before she started on with the clinging and the whinging. Don't get me wrong, romantic subplots are fine. But this is Doctor Who! There's aliens to be vanquished, for crying out loud! Keep it as a subplot, kthxbai.

if you're looking for content, this ain't it

 journal, shadow queen  2 Responses »
Sep 212006
 

There is a cupboard where we keep all the cat toys. (There are a lot of cat toys. Mostly they are feathers and scraps of wool and ping pong balls. Some are more elaborate, like the weasel that came on the "weasel on a (motorised) ball" toy – the cats hate the ball, but the weasel alone is good for killing, apparently. And all the toys live in a cupboard with one of those magnetic "locks".) My cat likes to play more than any other creature in the house, and as a consequence he's always been happy to entertain himself when all others drop away from the game. And as a consequence of that, he knows how to open the toy cupboard and fish out whatever toy happens to take his fancy. Tonight it's the weasel, although I doubt that will be the only toy pulled out by night's end. It's a pity he hasn't twigged to the whole putting your toys back in the cupboard after you've finished with them schtick.

In other news, the last thing I want to do tonight is write. This is because I'm tired. This is also because I'm a little stuck, plot-wise, and uncertain just exactly what the climax and denouement will be. This is disconcerting to say the least. The only thing that will make me write tonight? Is the knowledge that not writing doesn't take me any closer to fixing that little problem. Blerk.

the sad and sorry tale of the satchel-hunt

 journal  4 Responses »
Sep 042006
 

The cat is currently tearing around the house in an attempt to communicate just how hungry he really is. Tearing around involves lots of wild cornering, tearing up tufts of carpet if the corner is carpeted, sliding waaaaay out of control and banging into walls if the floor is lino or tiles, jumping on top of any available surface and knocking whatever already occupies that surface to the floor, and generally looking for trouble. Or smooth shiny tabletops with tablecloths that can be decimated. Newspapers also lurk dangerously and must be kept in line. There are also, and this is something I never realised before he came to protect us, extremely dangerous spots on the floor. I'm not sure what, exactly, qualifies these spots as dangerous, since they don't look any different from other parts of the floor that I can tell. But no doubt the cat knows best.

It is just possible the cat is a brat.

In other news, I have been hunting for a satchel, a nice casual satchel of canvas or denim (none of these fancy leathers or nylons, thanks) for, oh, a year and a half now. So far, no luck. Now, I don't exactly live in a fashion capital, and I never get out to the independent markets (mostly because, well, we don't really have any in this city), so I've been largely resigned to the fact that I will never find a satchel I like. But my brother (who is a most fashionable young man) got it into his head that he wanted a satchel, went out looking that morning, and found the perfect bag. And promptly bought the last one available. Honestly. I know I'm paranoid and all, but this is just offensive.

In other news again, my email is down. Completely kaput. My email provider is working hard to get things up and running again, but in the meantime, don't be offended if I don't reply to your email. I'm good, but I'm still working on those psychic powers.

i already have a plan — i'm waiting for my real life to begin

 journal, pre-crash, shadow queen  4 Responses »
Jun 042006
 

First, a kjitten update — Max and Hakuna are six months old now. Can you tell they're brothers? "Little" Max is now 4kg, and I think it's the densest 4kg I've ever owned.

Today's word-rep would be about the sparring crows. Did you know men in black tunics practicing their swordplay (or whatever weapon I decide to give them later) look like sparring crows? Let me tell you about the crows sparring in the courtyard, just one more time. I'd blame this word-rep-fest on writing by hand late at night, but I have a feeling those particular words were from this morning's effort. So I can't. Oops.

On the upside, I did manage to find my protag's voice today. She's had a hard first chapter, what with everyone she knows being massacred, so for the scenes following all that action, all I could get out of her was gibbering shock. (And word/phrase repetition. Natch.) But today she started doing stuff, thankfully, and she started getting snarky in her dialogue. Colour me immensely relieved.