Once Were Kittens

When they were kittens:

The cats are nine months old now. Little Girl still looks like a kitten, but The Runt is a full-grown cat. At least, I hope he's full-grown; this cat is BIG. Not fat, just long and lean and ...... long.

Here is one of the kittens, at about five weeks old, playing on the scratching post (to be honest, I'm not sure if this is The Runt or one of his littermates):



Here is The Runt with that same scratching post now:

I busted out the scale the other night. Little Girl comes in at a (relatively) petite 8.2 lbs., and The Runt? 10.4 lbs.!!!

Hmmmm ....... maybe he's been talking to A-Rod.

Once were kittens. Once were baybeez.

Town without pity

Now that I've been walking on the side of my foot for a few days to try to take the weight off my broken toe, I've noticed that I've pulled some calf muscles that evidently haven't been used for a while. Good times!

Regardless, life must go on, blah blah blah, and I've been gimping around the grocery store and the bank and other places. And I've noticed that people don't look at me in pity, like, "awwww, poor limping woman!" They look at me in anger, like, "asssssss, get the f*ck out of my way - I'm important and in a big hurry, and you're a pathetic gimp who's slowing me down."

I mean, I'm trying to stay out of people's way; but realistically, when you're walking in slo-mo, people are going to be rushing by you. And it's not like I'm sticking out my flippin' foot to TRIP them or anything.

Try a little tenderness, people. Or at least stop turning around to cut me with your dagger eyes as you blow by me. I'm not doing this on purpose just to piss you off.

Unintended Consequences

A while back, I was on the Stress Diet and/or the Dental Diet for quite some time, and I lost some weight. And for whatever reason, I never gained that weight back. Which actually sort of pleased me, until this past weekend, when I was trying on bras and realized I'd actually gone down a bra cup size.

Whoa, nelly! Those girls need all the help they can get. So I was thinking, "Jeez, time to amp up the calorie intake just a little", and then I got to thinking, "What if it's not the weight loss? What if they're shrinking and deflating, like old ladies' boobs do?



C'est impossible! I'm only forty-six, for Pete's sake. I can't really be experiencing old-lady-boob-shrinkage already, can I? Can I?



Don't answer that.

Sad News

Lisa, a damn fine woman and the author of one of my favorite blogs, Clusterfook, is passing away. I'd appreciate it if you could stop over there and leave a few kind words for her and her family.

Thanks,

RockyCat

More about my boss

Yesterday, my boss wanted a billing update on a project. I ran all the spreadsheets, copied all the invoices, and made a quick recap sheet for him:




(Identifying info has been blacked out.)

My boss took the package, went into his office, and handed me the following about an hour later, saying, "Okay - bill it."




And here's the thing: I took that mess, made sense of it, and had a bill ready to go a short time later.

Twenty-two years, peeps.

Busted!

........... for misappropriation of office supplies.

Last night, my boss stopped by my place to drop off some stuff I had forgotten at the office. We visited for a while, and he excused himself to use the bathroom. When he came back into the living room, he had the oddest smile on his face, and he said, "I couldn't help but notice your toothpaste ............"

"Crap!" I burst out laughing. "Busted!"

You see, I use binder clips from the office to secure the rolled-up ends of the toothpaste tubes. The office that my boss owns. The office for which HE buys all the supplies. The supplies I occasionally take home with me.

"I use them to close up potato chips bags", my boss said, "but I never even thought about using them on toothpaste tubes. Looks like I'll have to take home a few more."

Whew. Good thing he's got a sense of humor.

Next Step: World Domination

I think the cats are trying to kill me.

Little Girl has a disconcerting habit of waiting until I'm asleep, and then wrapping herself around my head like a scarf. At first I thought it was cute, but now I'm wondering if she's trying to smother me, due to a little trick The Runt has picked up: He winds himself around my feet when I am trying to walk.

It was endearing at first, because he's not the friendliest cat in the world, but I've almost gone sprawling several times. And last night, he ambushed me from beneath a chair, springing out at the last second, and in the ensuing scramble to not step on the cat you will smush it, I banged my foot into the chair, HARD, and broke my friggin' toe. Or, if you will, THE GODDAM CAT BROKE MY TOE FOR ME. And now my toe is swollen and purple and BROKEN and oh my God do not touch my toe owwwwwwwww.......

Now I don't know who they think is going to open up the cans of cat food once they do away with me; I guess they haven't gotten that far yet in their evil plan.

"Pull my finger", says The Runt.




oh, wait, I don't HAVE fingers ....... hmmmm..........


Think it all the way through first, guys.

Oh yeah, THAT cake .....

I went ahead and made the cake the weekend before last. I baked just one layer of the cake mix (so it wouldn't be too huge), and substituted around 1/2 cup of the syrup from the raspberries for some of the water in the mix. Oddly enough, the bright red syrup turned the mix, and the subsequent cake, a really odd shade of blue/gray. Hmmmmm.


I split the cooled cake horizontally, and mixed some of the raspberry jam with some of the frosting for the middle layer. I put the whole thing back together, frosted it, and spread the raspberries on top, which made it look like someone had had a horrible accident on top of the cake, so then I tried to cover that up with more frosting, which ........... FAIL. So then I dribbled some chocolate syrup over the top, which just kind of compounded the mess.

But! It tastes great! Next time, I just have to use fresh raspberries, NOT the ones in syrup which I had, for the topping. Wanna see? Be careful ......... cover your eyes and peek through your fingers ........ The Runt's not afraid of it, so you shouldn't be either ........






Closer view? .........

HahahahahaOooooops! Well heck, like I said, it tastes good. And I stored the leftover cake batter in the fridge, and for a while, every time I went in the kitchen, I found myself mysteriously drawn to that container of cake batter like it had some kind of force field around it, and I found myself wolfing down a couple of spoonfuls several times a day. I finally threw it away for fear that the chances of salmonella poisoning (from the raw egg in the batter) were increasing exponentially with each day that went by.

Think they'll let me on Top Chef?

(And no, I do not let the cats on the table. You can see how well that's working out.)

Twenty-Two

On February 23, 1987, I started a new job. I was a little nervous, for while I had gone to school for this particular vocation, I had never actually done it before. It was a big step up from my previous jobs (cashier, machine-shop worker, burger flipper), and I would be making the princely sum of *gasp!* five dollars an hour, with the promise of a substantial raise if I lasted six months.

I lasted six months. As a matter of fact, as of today, I've lasted twenty-two years here.

Oh, I could tell some stories. Insane co-workers, insane clients, insane job assignments .... the works.

Twenty-two years. Holy cow. Heck, at least it keeps me off the streets. :)

Read this book RIGHT NOW

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski is absolutely the best book I've read in a long time. It's a novel about a boy, his dogs, and his family, and if that sounds kind of "meh", give it a try anyway, because this is a great, great book. Totally worth all the hype, it's beautiful, heartbreaking and joyous.

This book clocks in at over five hundred pages, and I managed to read it in the space of a weekend. Granted, nothing else got done, but the book is worth it. Read it!

Art Projects

Ever since I bought some kid's art project in a thrift store, I've been thinking about grade school art projects. The one that really sticks out in my mind was when we took bright-colored crayons and colored big blocks of color on a sheet. Then we crayoned all over THAT in black, then took some kind of stylus-thingie and scraped off areas of the black to make multi-colored pictures. I absolutely LOVED that, and I remember doing those pictures over and over again for MONTHS at home after I had done it at school.

For those of you with kids: Do they still do that?

I think "art" was probably my favorite class as a kid, mainly because it didn't seem to require any painful learning. And getting out the paints and the newspapers and making a colossal mess was always entertaining.

I remember one time we took these thick sheets of linoleum and x-acto knives and made these sort of block stamp thingies, which I also loved, and did on my own at home, at least until I sliced the shit out of my thumb with the x-acto knife and had to have stitches and Mom put the kibosh on that whole little project.

In junior high home ec, we had a unit where we had to sew something. I picked a stuffed hippo pattern (I don't KNOW why; I have no particular thing for hippos), and I remember I kept DOING IT WRONG and having to rip out the stitches over and over and over to finally get that damned hippo right. I still don't like to sew.

My mom didn't save any of my childhood artwork (hello, I was CHILD NUMBER 6), or any of my school papers, or any of that stuff, so I don't have any of it to look over now. How about you? Do you still have any of your childhood art?

Rocky

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
You roll outta bed and down on your knees
And for a moment you can hardly breathe
Wondering was he really here?
Is he standing in my room?
No he's not, cause he's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The giving up is the hardest part
He takes you in with your crying eyes
Then all at once you have to say goodbye
Wondering could you stay my love?
Will you wake up by my side?
No he can't, cause he's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone

Now do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?
Baby, won't you get them if I did?
No you won't, cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone ........

When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part
- John Mayer


Rocky, it's been a year since you passed away. I'm still not ready to write the post I want to write about this; a year just isn't enough time to wrap my head around your loss. Every so often I find myself calling The Runt by your name, and I just want to cry, because no other cat will ever be the cat that you were.

I was so lucky to have had you in my life for those fifteen years; you were my best friend, and I guess you always will be.

I was thinking of your theme song the other day, remember it? I'd pick you up and dance you around and sing it to the tune of the old Spiderman cartoon song:

Rocketman, Rocketman
Does whatever a rocket can
Flies through the air
With his paws
Catches mice
With his jaws
Look out, here comes the Rocketman!
Look out, here comes the Rocketman!
Look out, here comes the Rocketmaaaaaaaan!




Yeah, I'll bet you thought it was pretty silly, but it still makes me smile when I think about it. And it makes me smile to think of you.

I love you, baby.

What. A. Dump!

Actually, the neighborhood wasn't bad, if you could overlook the train tracks and the gravel pit and the knowledge that the entire area was under about ten feet of water a few years back.

But the house ........... well, the interior was okay, but the fact that parts of the house were propped up by two-by-fours was a little off-putting. Add to that the trash-filled, overgrown, woodchuck-infested tiny lot, and ........

Dear Realtor:

Please don't show me any more shitholes. Kthx -

Rockycat

"Flowers in the Attic", anyone?

The other day I walked into the bedroom to discover this:







Awwwww ............ young love! Kitty canoodling!


Wait a minute .......... they're brother and sister, for Pete's sake!


Good thing I had them fixed.


(and let's just ignore the fact that according to the clock in the pic, it was 2:20 in the afternoon, and my bed was still unmade, shall we?)

Lipstick on a pig

I took a look at another house on Friday after work. The listing described it as "totally remodeled", and it was. New siding, new drywall, new floors, new carpeting, new kitchen cabinets, skylights (!), the works. Unfortunately, the remodel work was just covering up some pretty nasty stuff.

Most of the windows had been replaced, but I noticed that the original wood surrounding the new windows was awful punky. Then I went outside and checked out the areas of the framing that were not yet covered by the new siding being installed, and that wood was all rotted out as well. They were just covering up the damaged wood with siding, which doesn't seem like a real good idea to me.

The septic was shot, which immediately put it out of my price range. But the real deal-killer was the foundation. Oh, the foundation ...........

Don't open that access door ..............

Eeeeekkkk!

I have looked at more dismal/crappy/disintegrating foundations in the past few weeks than I care to remember. I swear, the house I finally buy is going to have a slab on grade. Screw the basement.

GFI

What else happened on Saturday? Why, this:





(Please ignore the coffee stain on the wall. I've tried to scrub it off and it won't come off; evidently the only solution is a fresh coat of paint, which the landlord can do after I move out. Heh.)


On Saturday afternoon, when none of my kitchen appliances were working, at first I thought I'd blown a fuse. When that turned out not to be the case, I called the building super, who told me she'd send over an electrician.


Unfortunately, the "electrician" turned out to be scary-grumpy-toilet-fixer-person. It took him and his son two hours to replace one GFI unit. And I spent the entire time worried that someone was going to electrocute himself in my kitchen. Thankfully, everyone made it out alive.

Woot!

I just noticed that Sunday's post was #800!


Go, me!

This post brought to you by the letter "P"

I got this from KitKat.

You list 10 things you love that all begin with a given letter, and post the list on your blog.

My letter is P.

1. Poppies. The blooms only last a day, but gosh, they're spectacular. The floozies of the garden.

2. Polaroid pictures - Remember peering over your Dad's shoulder, waiting for the image to emerge? (Whoops - I think I'm dating myself, here.)

3. Pancakes, particularly the pancake sandwich at the Parkway Diner.

4. Pizza with sausage, onions and green peppers.

5. Pauline, who writes with humor and grace about all kinds of stuff.

6. Pasta with red sauce and buttered italian bread. (Hmmm. This seems to be turning into a list of favorite foods. What can I say - I like to eat!)

7. Pole dancing. (Kidding! Just kidding!)

8. Painting (landscapes and such, not walls). I just wish I was better at it.

9. Preserves - The local nature preserve is a great place to walk.

10. Pouring rain - I love a good rainstorm, especially at night.


There! All done! If anybody wants to play, leave a comment and I'll give you a letter! (No "x"s or "z"s, I promise.) Thanks, KitKat!

Busted!

On Saturday, I got pulled over for doing 56 in a 45.

In my defense (I always have a defense, doncha know), I was on a rural two-lane road that cuts through a lot of small towns, meaning the speed limit goes from 55 to 30 to 35 to 55 to 45 ..... it just changes constantly. And I was following a line of cars, so I just assumed we were all going under the speed limit.

According to the nice state trooper, I was wrong.

When I first saw the flashing lights behind me, I pulled over to the side of the road, thinking the cop was on the way to someplace else and would just blow by me.

Nope.

As I sat in my car, debating whether I should pull out my license and registration or wait for the trooper to ask for them, I realized that if I was indeed pulled over for speeding (I couldn't think of any other reason I'd be getting pulled over), this would be my first speeding ticket ever! In thirty years of driving, I had never gotten a speeding ticket. It's not that I'm a goody-goody, it's just that unless I'm rushing somebody to the hospital, I see no need to drive like an idiot. Hmmmf. And really, if I get to work five minutes late in the morning, well ......... whoopee! Oh, and sometimes I do speed, there'd just never been a cop around to witness it.

So! The nice state trooper comes up to my window and asks for my license, registration, and proof of insurance. She asked if I knew why she had pulled me over, and for one insane second I thought about saying, "Because of all those outstanding warrants?", or, "Because of that body wedged underneath the rear axle?", but instead, I just said, "I would have to guess that maybe I've been speeding?", because, honestly, I didn't know that I had been speeding, but that was the only thing that came to mind.

"Yep", she said, "You were doing 56 in a 45. Although to tell you the truth, you certainly don't look like most of the speed demons we get on this stretch of road."

Oooohh, I thought. Profiling!

And then I wondered what a "speed demon" looked like. I'm picturing a teenager in a hot rod wearing bobby socks and ........... oh wait. That was "Happy Days."

So she checked out my license and registration and insurance, told me everything was in order, asked me to pay more attention to the posted speed limits (I sure will, officer!), and let me off with a warning.

Whew! My driving record remains pure as the driven snow. Heh.

Caaaaaan you feel the love tonight?

Hahahahahaha! Can you even imagine hanging that monstrosity in your living room? Wow.

So, the house last night was a bust. Actually, the house itself was not that bad, relatively speaking, but the lot was all wrong.

It was worth taking a look at just so I could get a picture of the Lion King.

Shhhh!!! You'll JINX it!

I am going to look at a house tonight that could be a house for me.

I'm almost hoping it isn't, because it seems absurdly early in the search to find a house. And if I like it and put in an offer (it just went on the market today, and my offer could possibly be the first), my life could change in some pretty mega ways.

Oh, but this won't be the house. Naaahhhh.

It's all in the execution

For whatever weird reason, I got it in my head that I wanted to make a white cake somehow involving raspberries. As some of you may know, I am NOT a baker. I don't know what's gotten into me lately; first I got conned into making a birthday cake for my nephew-in-law, and then I made the nine-hour jello thing.

So! White cake with raspberries. What I have so far:

1 box white cake mix
1 16-oz tub of raspberries in syrup
1 jar raspberry preserves
1 tub white frosting.

I don't really need to use all of the cake batter; I'll never eat it all. I thought I could just make one layer, 12" x 12", then split the layer and put raspberries and some frosting in between. I was thinking of adding the raspberries to the cake mix, but I'm afraid that will make it tough when it's time to split it, so then I thought maybe I could just put some of the raspberry juice in the cake mix, but that means, of course, that I'll have to reduce some of the other liquid. I'm pretty sure the egg yolks need to stay, so do I need to reduce the oil? The water?

Yeeeeeaaaahhhh. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Any suggestions?

I ain't the worst that you've seen

I wrote earlier about the scary microwave in a house I looked at. Here's some highlights of other properties I've seen.

These were a set of basement "stairs", which could have been more accurately described as a ladder. The foundation wall behind the stairs consisted of stones that were popping out onto the floor:





Attic access (?):







What a view! Hmmm, there's a parking lot, and a gas station, and ......... a liquor store! How picturesque!:






I think they should have hired a professional for this job:





"Foyer"? Well, if you say so:




Keeeeeeeep looking. Just keeeeeeeep looking.

Oh, HELLS NO!

I just got an e-mail with the heading "Family Reunion" from one of my out-of-state relatives. You KNOW that's an e-mail that bodes evil. Evidently she and another relative have been discussing having a get-together in my area this summer, and she wants to know if I'll be on the organizing committee.

Um ............. no?

Not only am I unable to "organize" my way out of a paper bag, there's only about ten five percent of my family I actually care about spending any time with. I don't even want to GO to a family reunion, let alone help organize it.

So ......... do I just delete the e-mail and pretend I never got it? Respond with a "thanks, but no thanks"? This particular relative has a habit of having GREAT BIG PLANS that never amount to anything, so there is no way I'm getting involved in this little train wreck. Oh, and both she and the other relative are RETIRED, hello, so honey, I think you've got just a leeetle more time than I do.

I think I'll just delete it.

Updated to add: So then I was thinking, I'll send back an e-mail saying that while I'm no good at "organizing" (which is actually a big fat lie; I am extremely good, maybe too good at organizing stuff; I just don't want to organize THIS), I could help out on the big day. And then I thought, "no, I don't even want to BE there, let alone help out", and then I thought, well, how miserly is THAT, but really, if you knew (most of) my family, you'd understand. Then again, well, the last time we all got together was for my Dad's funeral (sob), which was ten years ago (gosh, has it been that long already?), but hey, assholes don't change, and it's not like the jerks I couldn't stand ten years ago will have miraculously morphed into people I want to hang out with for the day .....

Okay, now I'm rambling. Sorry about that.

Movie Review - "Sweeney Todd"

aka, "There Will Be Blood".

Seriously, this is the bloodiest movie I've seen in a long time. It's a musical starring Johnny Depp as Sweeney Todd, a barber in Victorian England with a serious grudge. There are far more throat-slittings than songs, and by the time Sweeney goes bat-shit crazy at the end, I was having a hard time watching. About all I can say is, I don't think I'll be watching this one again any time soon - too grim. And bloody.

Oh! A couple of years ago, I went to the movies on Christmas, and it was a choice between this one and "I am Legend." I chose "I am Legend", and then worried about zombies for the rest of the day. But now I'm really glad I didn't choose "Sweeney", because I don't know if I ever would have been able to celebrate Christmas again if I had seen that sucker on Christmas.

You know winter's kicking your butt .....

........ when a nice hot cup of coffee sounds waaaaay better than a nice cold beer.

That's Just How They Roll

Little Girl's ready to party, and The Runt just wants some time to himself, please. Preferably inside a beer box.

Oh, for Pete's Sake

A while back, there was an incident locally where racial slurs were allegedly used at a high school girls' junior varsity soccer game. The accused team explained that one of their players had a nickname that could sound like a racial slur (her name is Megan; her nickname is Meggars), but the slur itself had not been used.


End of story, right? OF COURSE NOT. An investigation was started; when that yielded inconclusive results, the local Athletic Conference got involved. When the Athletic Conference could not determine whether or not slurs had been used, the state Division of Human Rights stepped in. Their report was also inconclusive, although it did state that the "overwhelming majority" of attendees at the game heard no racial slurs.


Is it over now? Nope. This kind of thing never dies. Now codes of conduct are being amended, new rules are being instituted, etc., etc. Evidently, all because some poor kid's got an unfortunate nickname. And really, has a "code of conduct" ever stopped anyone from calling someone else a bad name? Not to make light of anything, but back when I was in junior high, there was one black girl in the entire school, and she was one tough cookie. If anyone had ever called her the "n" word, she would've just beat the shit out of them, end of story.


Now, if that slur indeed was used, that's a bad, bad thing, and should be punished. But it seems to be a simple misunderstanding that could have been cleared up a long time ago, if not for the inability of some people to stop beating a dead horse. Here's an excerpt from a local article about the incident:


"Even though the report found no evidence to support the allegations racist slurs were used at the game, Smith said the finding does not diminish the pain and hurt that members of the Valley High team felt that day because they believed such comments were being made."


And here is where I was going to say I hope these gals grow thicker skin before they head out into the real world, but you know what? This kind of crap is everywhere these days. "No, I didn't actually hear him say it, but he could have said it, and therefore I'm hurt and insulted and suing." That's right, suing. Because it's all about the money these days, isn't it? And I'm sure it's only a matter of time before some of the Valley High parents band together in a lawsuit. Because a couple hundred grand would go a long way toward salving poor little Susie's wounded soul.

Sheesh.

Bachelor Pad

I took a look at a house after work last night. This one was a "no", mainly because it was on a busy road. Also, the listing stated that the foundation "needs work", which I guess is correct if by "needs work", they meant "needs to be replaced". The basement walls were bowing in so badly I was afraid the damn thing was gonna collapse while I was there.

Now, since I work for a structural engineer, I'm fully aware that even a total foundation replacement is not necessarily an insurmountable obstacle. Lop several grand off the purchase price, and you're good to go. But I just wasn't feeling it for this house. The rooms were small, the kitchen was teensy, and there's that busy road out front.

You could just tell that a guy lives here. A guy with a cat.

The kitchen was pretty nasty:

Let's take a closer look at the microwave, shall we?

I don't know if you can tell by the picture, but there was some kind of ........ something ........ splattered all over the inside of that thing. It looked like he had put ......... something ........ in there, turned it on "high", and waited until ....... whatever it was ........ exploded. Blerch.

Movie Review - "Grace is Gone"

No spoilers ahead - it's okay to read this if you haven't seen the movie.

"Grace is Gone" is a character study about a man (John Cusack) who doesn't know how to tell his young daughters that their mother (his wife) was killed in the line of duty while serving in the military. It was very, very interesting - one of the best movies I've seen in a while. It's also relatively short - always a good thing in a movie world of bloated, two-hour-plus running times.

Recommended!

At least now I know where they went

I've got to go to the dentist this morning to have my new mouthpiece fitted. I wear a mouthpiece at night because my jaw's screwed up. I had a couple of mouthpieces that I had been using, but one of them disappeared a few weeks ago, courtesy of the cats. (I have a tendency to yank the mouthpiece out in my sleep and set it on the bed; from there, it's fair game for the cats, who think they've just found a new toy.)

I looked and looked for that mouthpiece, sure that it would turn up eventually. In the past I've found them under the bed, under the couch, under the magazine rack, and under the desk in the kitchen. The cats bat them around until they get batted under something, then they lose interest. I wasn't too concerned, because I had a spare, but on Monday night, the spare also disappeared.

I was starting to wonder if The Runt had started his own orthodontia practice on the side. Where the heck were the mouthpieces? I mean, sure, I was picking up a new one today, but at two hundred bucks a pop, you kind of want to know where they're going.

So! Where were they? I found one under the stove, and one under the fridge. Did I throw them out, after they'd been batted around by cats and possibly chewed on and relegated to dust bunny city? Hell, no. I cleaned them up, soaked them for a while, and put them back in their cases. And you're all, Ewwwwwwwwww!!!!! Let me repeat: Two. Hundred. Dollars.

Oh, and I was going to say something along the lines of, "there's not much I won't put in my mouth for two hundred bucks", but ......... naw.

It was seven years ago today ....

.... that I broke my wrist. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and I was out walking the trails at State Park, and I decided to head back to the car. I hit a patch of ice, my feet went out from under me, and I swear, during the split second that it took me to land, I had time to think, "I KNOW I'm supposed to roll up and land on my side but ohmyGod what if I break my hip and I have to crawl back to the car and I guess I'd better let my arms take the brunt", and I stuck out my arms behind me as I fell and broke my wrist. D'oh!

And of course, the first thing you do after taking a header is jump up and look around to make sure nobody saw you. Which really wasn't a concern, since there was, like, two other cars in the entire park that afternoon. And the next thing I did was move my fingers, and then my wrist. I was pretty sure from the pain that something was broken, but I wasn't entirely sure. At first I thought that I'd drive to the emergency room, but then I remembered what the emergency room looks like on weekends, and instead I went home, wrapped up the wrist in an ace bandage, and called the doc on Monday morning.

Due to the vagaries of our fine, fine healthcare system, it wasn't until Wednesday that I was actually able to see a bone doctor and get a diagnosis of "yep, it's broken." They wanted to cast it, but I insisted on a removable splint, so that I wouldn't have to wrap a damn trash bag around the cast every time I needed to shower or do the dishes.

Moral of the story? You probably should do that whole "roll up in a ball and land on your side" thing. Just let me know if you break your hip.

Do the cats know that spring will come?

Because I have way too much time on my hands, I got wondering about this the other day. Since the cats were born in May, this is their first winter. Do they know that the weather will warm up again, or is it going to be winter forever as far as they know?

What about animals that are a few years old? Do they remember the changing of the seasons, or just take it day by day? What about wild animals? Do they know that spring is coming?

I mean, I'm not trying to anthropomorphize (wow! big word!). It's just that I assume that when it gets dark at night, the cats know that it'll get light again in the morning (or do they? hmmm), and I'm wondering if they have some kind of genetic memory that lets them know that spring will come, even if they've never been through the cycle of seasons before. But wait! That's kind of stupid. I'm pretty sure they never saw winter coming, so why would they know that spring is on its way?

Now I'm really confused.

Do you think it was intentional?

There is a local lunch place that I've probably driven past dozens, if not hundreds, of times over the years. I never noticed anything unusual about the place, until the other day when I was stuck in traffic and happened to glance up at the sign:









Whooo boy. Now I'm trying to figure out exactly what they're selling, here.