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Pretend I Have a Clever Title Here
Pretend I Have a Clever Title Here
Sorry, not feeling particularly clever. It's been awhile since I posted here, almost a week. Typically for modern humanity in the Western world, nothing much of significance has happened, but I've been terribly busy. It was kind of nice, actually, to have a week where sex was very far down on my list of priorities. Sort of a relief, in a way. Made me feel like more of a human being and less like an animal (don't want to wind up like Rei di Tutti, though, for those of you who remember The Adventures of Baron Munchausen).
I remember last Thursday was game night (yes, I'm a geek), as I've previously alluded. Friday I got my haircut and then went down to the Department of Licensing to pay my taxes and get this year's tabs for my car. Man, I'd like to be supervisor of that place for a few weeks. It just irks me to see someone take their break in the work area and talk to someone who isn't on break while there's a line. I don't care whether you prefer Tupac or Biggie, if you're on break, go to the break room. Don't make your neighbors feel like asses because they have to sweat it out in your storefront while you can't be bothered to help them. I could straighten that place out in no time, but there would be some personnel turn-over. Sorry, pet peeve. At least my car passed emissions, finally, after spending almost $500 at Midas to replace my entire exhaust system.
Saturday was the Run4Kids 4-mile race in Renton. I finished in 36:43. It's no record, and I wasn't even close to first, but I'm proud of it. If you were there and you saw a fellow in glasses and a red, white, and blue t-shirt, that was me. The race wore me out though, and I don't remember much of the rest of Saturday. Sunday I had to make up for lost time. That meant dishes, laundry, hedge trimming, yard cleaning (two 60-pound dogs, remember), and grass cutting. Don't get me wrong - my wife cleaned the cat boxes, did the grocery shopping, and together we cleaned another 5 boxes of books out of our house (made just over $100 at Half Price Books from this load). She did her share.
Which brings me to today, sort of. While I was trimming my hedges, a woman asked how much I charged for yard work. I told her that it was my yard and I charged myself nothing - because I'm a smartass. She explained that she lived just down the street and needed someone to help out with yardwork on her property. She didn't have the time, equipment, or experience to do it herself. She didn't have much yard, nor did she have a husband. She did have a 17-month old son, though. So after my work, I started in on her property. Still Sunday afternoon, mind you. I worked until the battery on my electric lawnmower died. Then today, after work, I finished what I could do with the lawnmower, and did the rest with my weedeater. For which I charged her nothing. Why should I? I have the tools, time, and experience, and she's my neighbor. I should help her out.
It's hot, dirty, physical labor, and now I'm the good kind of tired. I wouldn't even be posting this, except that the MMORPG I was playing crashed, and I remembered that I promised to post about the comedy routine put on by my pets in the mornings.
To set the stage, you must understand that in addition to the two dogs we have three cats, four rats, five finches, and a parakeet. Two of the cats came with the wife, as did a boa constrictor that's now passed away. We had some sugar gliders for a bit along the way, too, but they have also passed on. To further understand, you must realize that one of the dogs spent the first year or so of his life in a house with a big cat that thought it was a dog. It thought the way you interacted with dogs was to chase them, and to be chased by them. When you didn't want to be chased any more, you either stopped running or got someplace high. Our cats have no such ideas. As a result, we separate the cats and dogs. During the day, the cats have run of the house and the dogs are outside. They have access to our basement, where there's food, water, and comfortable places to sleep. At night, the cats go upstairs into our finished attic/second floor (depending on whether you're buying the house or selling it), and the dogs come inside. At one time we hoped they would learn to live together, as the cats did with out first dog, so we installed a half-height door at the foot of the attic stairs with holes in it big enough for the cats, but not the dogs.
My day starts between 4 and 4:30 AM when the male cat decides he's cold/lonely/hungry (even though there's still food)/thirsty (even though there's water)/hot/tired of his litterbox and eager to pee on the couch. He comes downstairs. He's not particularly bright (last summer he figured out that our bathtub was the coolest place in the house, then when the weather cooled he continued to get in it, but since it wasn't comfortable anymore, he cried and cried). The dogs chase him back to the partition, which they slam into full speed. They whine, growl, and sometimes bark. I am now awake. I get a squirt bottle and chase the cat all the way upstairs with streams of water. The dogs are panting from excitement and eager to go outside. I do not let them out, having learned the hard way that before 5 AM there are cats, squirrels, other dogs, and neighbors about, and my dogs delight in barking and howling at them. I tell the dogs to go to sleep, then get back in bed...for anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes. Then the show repeats itself exactly. At the closest repetition to 5 AM, I let the dogs outside. The cats are now free to roam the house.
Until recently, the two youngest cats came in to the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and went to sleep. The youngest female slept at my wife's feet, having learned the hard way that, not having grown up with cats, I have no scruples about putting my feet whereever I please with no regard for her comfort. The male slept on my wife's hip. The eldest cat, also female, slept in the living room, in front of a heating vent in winter and on the back of a recliner in summer. Recently, however, the two youngest decided that morning was concert time and the eldest decided that she wanted her breakfast, and right now, thank you very much. You see, she's not just eldest, she's actually elderly, 15 or 16 years old. She's having trouble keeping weight on, so we feed her special, soft food in addition to the kibble the other two get. This requires its own careful choreography. I don't know why she stopped waiting for us to get up and feed her, but she did. She licked eyelids. She clawed faces and other exposed flesh. She yelled. So one weekend while my wife was sleeping over at her girlfriend's (I have mentioned that my wife is bi, right?), I instituted a new policy: No bloody cats in the bleeding bedroom until I get out of fucking bed. In other words, at 5 AM, I close the bedroom door behind me after putting out the dogs. As long as my neighbor's chickens aren't loose (yes, keeping poultry inside the city limits is illegal; I know it, they know it, and we let it go), my dogs are quiet and I get another hour of sleep.
So that's another big part of my life, related to you on this, our seventh wedding anniversary. Which we both forgot until the card from my parents arrived in today's mail. Don't expect a post tomorrow, as we'll be belatedly celebrating our shock at how much we still love each other after all this time. If you don't have that, brothers and sisters, it's out there for you. Keep looking. Keep hoping.
Until next time, take care.