I open my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s still dark, but it’s definitely morning. Junior is right there, reminding me that he’d like to have his breakfast. I roll out of bed, trying to avoid all the junk that I have laying around on the floor. I turn on the bathroom light because the apartment is small enough that it will provide light around the corner and into the kitchen.
I make coffee, put some canned food into Junior’s bowl, and then clean out and re-fill the birds bowls. By that time the coffee is made so I fill up my glass mug and thermal carafe and bring them back to the computer. I settle down into the chair, ready to see what’s new in the land of Facebook, Google+, and Twitter. That’s when the fear begins.
It starts with the scratching pad in the living room. And then it moves on with the jingly balls being batted around. It comes to a crescendo when a ball of fast moving fur jumps onto the bed behind me and hisses. I turn around, slowly, knowing that any sudden movement can result in a swift, sharp attack. And there lurks Junior, rump in the air, claws extended, and ears flat back. I looked around for anything that had reach and ended up with a plastic hanger. I moved it in front of him and, sure enough, he attacked it with gusto. He tries to bite it, which can’t be good for his teeth, so I go off in search of his soft toys: a mouse and some sort of feathery tube thing. Along the way I grab the tub of catnip that he had, at one time, brought into the bed while I was asleep and ripped open the package waking me in a panic.
I rolled the cloth mouse in the catnip and tossed it onto the bed. Junior attacked it, rolled around with it, and eventually fell asleep. The cat had been defused.
Special thanks to Ivy for letting me steal her picture. Thanks, Ivy!
I have enjoyed Terry Pratchett’s novels for years now and always look forward to a new one. It’s no secret that Mr Pratchett has Alzheimer’s disease and that he wishes to die before the disease reaches a critical point.
Because of this, any new book by Pratchett is a treasure. Even still, there’s a certain amount of trepidation I feel when starting a new one because, I admit, I fear that it may not be that good.
I recently finished his newest book, Snuff, and I’m glad to say that it is still up to standard. The only thing I didn’t like about it was young Sam’s obsession with animal poo, but nothing that would stop me from reading it or even thinking it was too much.
As usual, I will keep hoping that Mr Pratchett has at least one more book in him that he can get out onto paper.
I’m still reading A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. A lot of people don’t like this book, especially women, but I’m finding it enjoyable. Toole has quite a way with words that I really enjoy. The main character is thoroughly unlikable, but that just makes the book better as a whole.
I haven’t gotten very far with it, though. I’m taking this one slow and trying to ingest as much about it as I can.
A number of big name folks in Hollywood have been trying to make this into a movie. Good luck with that. I think it will lose quite a lot in the translation from word to visual. Certainly, none of Toole’s descriptions would make it.
Sure, yesterday was my birthday and, sure, I didn’t do anything special. But this morning I’m going to have pancakes for breakfast. But I don’t want to mess with mixing up pancake batter and I don’t want to make them with Bisquick because, well, I don’t like my pancakes tasting like biscuits.
That’s why I’m going to use the good old “Batter Blaster.” This is, perhaps, one of the most ill-conceived names for a food product you could come up with, but it is pancakes in a can. You can’t go wrong with anything that comes in a can. Now that I think about it, though, a trip to IHOP may have been the better choice.
No matter, what’s done is done and in a few minutes I’ll be eating a heaping stack of artificial pancakes covered in artificial maple syrup. You can’t beat that with an artificial stick.
I only wish that I had picked up some bananas. And that I could think of something else to fill up this last paragraph so I can get past this picture.
I really don’t feel like cooking dinner tonight. I thought about ordering Chinese food but it’s kind of a hassle. I could order pizza, that’s a bit easier. Or I can just suck it up and make my own damn dinner. Oh, decisions, decisions!
In the end I believe I’ll just be making my own dinner and dealing with it.
If you’ve been thinking that it’s time for that promotion you’ve been after, or asking for that raise or bonus — well, let’s just say that there’s really and truly no time like the present to go for it.
It’s absolutely a good time to ask for a raise because I can’t be turned down and I can’t be fired for having the audacity to ask. Unfortunately, I have no one to ask on account of me being unemployed. Yo! Mysterious Universe! Pay attention!
I’ve neglected doing the dishes and they’ve gotten kind of piled up. For some reason I’m relying less on the paper plates and more on the more permanent ones. Of course, permanent is a relative term around here as I can be fumble fingered.
While I’m at it, I may as well pick up a few more odds and ends. I’m thinking that if I start small at least something will be done to get rid of the clutter. A little bit here, a little bit there, and eventually everything will sparkle.
I hate housework, though. When I find gainful employment again I think I should hire a maid. Then I can stick my nose up in the air and tell people I “have someone who does for me once or twice a week.” That would be awesome.
And so another day comes to an end. The sun sets and the stars come out. Or they would if it weren’t for the enormous amount of light pollution around here. I guess that’s what you get when you live next to a highway and a toll road. In an apartment complex. Not too far from the state capitol.
The animals need to be fed and, I suppose, so do I. Goodnight, and watch out for the grues.