Many of you know I work for one of the big three shipping companies here in the states. This means I have no life from Thanksgiving through Christmas. And naturally, this also means that as soon as the rush is over, I (and everyone else at work) get sick as hell.
So that’s where I’ve been. Those of you in my inbox waiting on things, I am slowly working my way up the stack. Please know I’m not ignoring you; only trying to carve out time when I can give my undivided attention, and right now, that’s rare as presidential witticisms.
As a side note, probably some of you can relate to this: There is nothing so frustrating as planning a work schedule, only to have to change those plans REPEATEDLY because other people don’t plan ahead.
Can someone please tattoo the word NO on my forehead so I can sometimes remember that’s an option? I swear I need to start channeling Thomas or something. He would never put up with what my employer and family are throwing my way these days…
Anyway, back to the wordmill on Sunday. Wish me luck!
A picture of the boys in their favorite birder-feeder-spying-zone spot.
Not much to report at the moment; travelling a lot, scrounging hours at the day job. Son’s school play is finally over, so the battle to protect my writing hours should get a whole lot easier this week.
(Am now thinking WHY OH WHY did I say that out loud…)
We have, at last, come to the end of the cats whose name starts with B.
He, like his littermate Bear, will turn two in November. Another camera-shy turkey. He got his name because that white bit on his nose and lip were the very first thing I saw when he was born which—if you look really closely—matches the Meg Silver triangle-and-circle-intertwined icon.
The birthdate is the only thing he shares with Bear. This guy is a cupcake. A high-maintenance one, due to being a walking UTI. He enjoys every second of his special treatment, and likes being fed his UT-care kibs BY HAND. Yes, I am completely, 100% guilty of indulging his behavior cuz I just swoon when he comes to me for his noms. Everyone behold this monster I have created.
Otherwise, he is Booger’s shadow. Also a budding lap cat who likes hard petting and claw-hands down his back.
He’ll turn two years old in November. He’s all black with a brownish undercoat. The only thing bigger than his scruff is his attitude.
If we were a married couple, we’d be in counselling right now. Remember Jayne from Firefly? This is how I would define Bear’s archetype in our cat crew. I should have taken a picture of him in the wreckage of the twenty-year-old spiderplant he sent down the stairs and killed this morning.
That’s life with Bear. He will flip any light switch he can reach. He can turn doorknobs, and don’t even fantasize about going to the bathroom by yourself. If he doesn’t dart in next to you, he’ll reach under the door to let you know you’re not getting away with anything.
The only time he tolerates me is:
1) In the bathroom when he turns uber-affectionate, or
2) When I have a can of food in my hand.
Naturally, Mr. Silver dotes on this heinous beast. Okay, basically everyone else in this house adores his stupid little black face, except me, the one who has to clean up after him.
Here’s a little window into how the final two episodes are progressing.
I had to decide between two options on a story point. It’s not a make-or-break decision or anything, and I’m kind of brain fried from day-job, so I said hey, I’ll just flip a coin and let the universe decide.
So there’s a dime sitting on an end table. I flip it into the air.
It lands in my hair.
Slides off my head into a blanket on the couch.
Dime… is… gone. Can’t find it.
Daughter is laughing so hard she takes pity on me and makes Google flip a coin.
Continuing on with the Silver cats theme, here’s another one.
Yes, you read that correctly. The cat’s name is actually Booger. He and his sister (who will be coming up soon) are both eight years old. They’re littermates rescued from my mother- & father-in-law’s woodpile. Both cats had distemper when Mr. Silver brought them home. Believe me when I say the name “Booger” was well earned by the time I’d nursed these wooly mammoths through their illness.
These two cats are ENORMOUS. They both ballooned after they were spayed/neutered. Booger, though, is just plain loooooong. Here I’m trying to show the scale of this guy:
Right now he’s 24 lbs. When he sits on you—which he will insist upon whether you’re willing or ready or not—you know you’ve been sat on.
He’s actually slimmed down a lot with some dietary changes and exercise. When I say exercise, I mean “forcing him to go outside, which he despises, and will only roll in the dirt and race immediately back into the house the moment some traitorous human opens the door”. I had to bring one of said traitorous humans outside with us to get these photos. This cat will NOT look at the camera if he’s inside. So imagine us chasing after this turkey as he waddled from one door to the next trying to find a way back inside. Thank God for Mr. Silver’s tragically neglected wild-patch—AKA Booger’s salad bar—or I would never have scored a pic of the little turd’s face.
With all that said, anyone who has ever visited our house agrees: this is the sweetest animal ever born. He loves everyone. He purrs like a misfiring 350 small-block engine. When he’s in your lap, he’ll reach up to boop your face if you’re not looking at him. Beware, though, of his mouth-kissing and eyebrow-biting habits. He’s a tom cat, you know? Lazy, adorable and a total Dom when it comes to giving affection.
In every other way he is an absolute dunderhead. Whom I love just a little.