Today Was A Soft Day

You know the kind.

The sky was perfect Carolina soft blue, the breeze had just a tinge of soft chill, the temperature was 74 soft degrees, the soft light was fall.

It was nice.

I walked some, sat and laughed with my friends some, drank coffee some. Grocery shopped some, came home, sat some, read some.

Here's what the cats did:

SQUIRREL!!! LOOOOK! On the steps! OMG!OMG!OMG!

Whatever.

Black Cat Appreciation Day

Facebook (or someone on Facebook) is having a Black Cat Appreciation Day on August 17.
Lillie will be in virtual attendance.

Did you know that black cats (and dogs) are the last to be adopted at the animal shelter?

I have seen people actually step back from a cage containing a black cat; my own very superstitious Irish grandfather would turn around and go home if he saw one.
When volunteering at the Durham shelter, I would make sure the black cats had light colored bedding so they would stand out (often they would be on the bottom row of cages, making them extra hard to be seen, which was perhaps a coincidence.)

My little black cat LOVES to be brushed - which is good because she is a hair manufacturing machine.
She knows the word "brushing" and will run to the ottoman:

Assuming the position

Tummy brushing position

I 'll give you thirty minutes to stop

Sleek and silky

I love this song because the accordion reminds me of Amelie, which is the happiest movie I know. 

Completely Random Sunday Stuff

First, this Wikihow: http://www.wikihow.com/Keep-Deer-Out-of-Your-Yard
Scroll down to the video; it's hilarious and the guy deer is really cute.

CSA yesterday:

No eggs, hot Italian sausage was substituted [insert your own off color joke here].
Figured out to use the Foliage setting, it softens the light; up until last week I didn't know there was such a thing as a Foliage setting on the darn camera.

No worries food photographers of the world - I'm keeping my day job.

I need to address Deadwood  stat. 
As much as Anon CP, Bo, N., and I like it - it is not for everyone.
It's very realistic. There's mud, blood, whores, killing and dying from various means, flesh eating pigs afterward, and sex (where there's whores, there's sex). There's A LOT of swearing and we're not talking the garden variety hell, damn and occasional F-bomb type swearing either.

SO...those of you who feel compelled to watch Deadwood because of my recommendation - consider yourself forewarned. (and please don't judge me. If there was a time machine I would pick that time period, actually the early 1800's, and be a mountain man. Just as long as I could travel back before I was eaten by a grizzly or got my leg caught in a trap.)

I can't say why I like Deadwood so much. Maybe it's the whores (or as Anon CP would say, wh*res).
Have I ever told you about my fascination with harlots, slatterns, trollops and the like?
No?
Well then...
Remember once upon a time I talked about "blood memories"? I did, but I'm too darn lazy to find the link.
Blood memories are a Native American version of deju vu - except you weren't someone else, someone in your direct lineage has been there, done that and the memory of it has been passed down in your DNA.
Makes sense to me and explains why I feel so tied to Northern Ireland (and Scotland. why bagpipes give me goosebumps every time I hear them); that's my gg grandparents came from - I have a blood memory of it.

Now the hooker part - I do not want to be one (let's make that clear), but I love books, shows, etc. about them, especially those set in England in the 18th and 19th century. I can name three books right now that I have read several times - The Dress Lodger (own it), Slammerkin, and The Crimson Petal and The White. Perhaps an ancestor (ancestress?) was one and I have a blood memory of it.
Just saying...

Anyway, what else?
Oh, can someone explain to me why I can't back up a 1 GB computer on to a 4 GB flash drive?!
Tells me there is not enough space. I'm no math whiz, but how is that not possible?

Finally, a 24 second video of Finn grazing on fresh kitty crack (a.k.a. Nature's Choice grain free Green Pea and Chicken cat fud (Gary Larson reference)).
Oh to click or not to click, huh?

Goofy Little Cat #2

This is what this goofy cat does [watch the above ten second video]; after smooshing the box, he "surfs" over to the food dish, lays down on the box, scoops food from the dish onto the box...and then eats it.
I only have a photo of the latter:

So weird.

Thank God That's Over

It is now safe to roam about the cabin.

I can also change my Facebook photo from this:

back to this:

or maybe even this:

OMGah! Thank you TJ Maxx for perpetuating the crazy cat lady persona. (shhhhh...listen...you can hear all the dog people congratulating themselves on being dog people...even if they have twenty yappy little dogs who never shut up and their yard consists of only dog poop and no-one can come in their house without a courtesy leg hump - they are feeling might-tee fine about having canines right now...)

Yes, I went on over to CB on Mother's Day. We wandered around, sat outside, where she scratched her legs and said "Iggy", about nine thousand times.
Then we changed her underwear/diaper. She kept saying "iggy" then too.
Not half as iggy as it was for me.
I would like to never do that again please.

When I came home, W., the youngest daughter of the people I used to work for, (known her since she was four - she'll be seventeen in the fall.), had left this card on my doorstep:

I know it was from her because a few years ago, while we (her parents/my employers, W. and myself) were shopping for office furniture, the salesman, making conversation with an eight year old, asked if I was her grandmother. (I'm younger than her parents.) She thought it was HILARIOUS. And couldn't wait to relay that conversation at dinner.
So now I get her cards from Grandma on her birthday and she calls me that when I show up at school functions. Good times. (no, really, it is pretty damn funny.)

Fie on Mother's Day anyway though.

Shoe-in

Whew, I feel like it's been ages since I wrote anything. Busy, trying to make this job work - money wise that is. And sort out all the relationship potholes. My favorite (not).
Back working after hours for The Dude, a.k.a. my realtor friend, making flyers and virtual tours online. It's fun. Want to see one of my favorites? Follow this link: http://tours.tourfactory.com/tours/tour.asp?t=670675

Anywoo, here I sit, on a hard bench as Lillie is in my chair, (a little bit of quiet is worth a sore butt in my opinion), with some raisin toast and a cup of black coffee since I forgot to get milk yesterday; trying to put something down you faithful few might find interesting.

Yesterday was our CSA box pick-up: eggs, broccoli, several kinds of lettuce and peas. For another $7 I picked up a couple of fat country style ribs (they look like chops). Waiting for the eggs to get a little older so they'll boil/peel better - been craving some egg salad.

Just hung some laundry on the drying rack in the bathroom and look what I found:

ANYWAY. (I do not have A.D.D. Really.)









Thursday I took some new shoes over to Mom. The doctor said her shoes seemed tight, so I had a date with DSW (alone, because when we went together it was a fiasco.)
She always thinks the stuff I bring is for me. Or maybe with opposite disorder, she means her but says me. Whatever.

We start the process:
Me: Mom, sit here. (motioning to the ottoman)
Mom: These are all here. (picking up one of the pillows that fill the chair, several of which are NOT hers)
Me: Great. Sit here please, [patting the ottoman], so we can try the shoes on.
Mom: Shoes? Are they yours?
Me: Nooooo...they're for you. You need to try them on.
Mom: Fry them around? (Walking over to the bag on the bed and peering inside.)
Me: TRY. Try them on to see if they're comfortable and you like them. Here, sit down.
Mom: (standing next to the ottoman but still unclear on the action)
Me: Put your tuchas here Cinderella.
Mom: (laughing) I know. (still not sitting down)
This goes on for another few interchanges, then she finally gets it and sits down.
She tries on the first pair.
Mom: These are anything anything anything?
Me: Ummmmm...I'm not sure? How do these feel?
Mom: Iggy.
Me: Oh great. Stop saying that. (knowing full well she knows not what she says) Do they feel good?

Mom: (walking around the room) I guess I can have some.

Me: oh god.

Mom: Iggy.

Me: Seriously, don't say that. Let's try on another pair.

Mom: For you?

Me: (sigh) No, for you, these are all for you.

Mom: Okay, then we can get going.

Me: I had a red one but the wheel fell off. (Soooooo mean)

Mom: I know.

We repeated the above three more times and settled on two pair of shoes. Then we paraded our new shoes (What new shoes?) out into the living room and then to the dining room for supper.

On the way a woman stopped us and asked where I was from. 

Durham.

Durham?

Yes.

Oh, I thought you came from the laundry room.

I really didn't know how to respond to that. 

So we continued on.

In the dining room, after a three minute dance getting Mom seated (what's that about?), she unwrapped and wrapped her silverware.

That's where I left her, in her new shoes.

  

Cats Like Clean Sheets

I Am Easily Amused

What could be funnier than a tailless cat inside a sparkling water box?

Saltines and Co-Cola

Missed the walk today, because I woke up with a headache that was not cured by washing dishes or vacuuming. (Those are not my usual cures, by the way.) I could have powered through the headache, but I started feeling kinda punky stomach wise (that was probably caused by housework before coffee).
I went to back to bed until 4 PM, got up and fed the cats (Lillie will brook no excuses - food must be prepared!), ate two pieces of dry toast, anything else sounded heave worthy, and finally gave in to taking an aspirin.
Back to bed until 6:30 PM, headache seemed abated, so I went out for ginger beer (Reed's Extra) and Saltine's - original with salt, because a Saltine without salt is a.) gross and b.) not a SALTine.
And Wendy's for a coke. Coke and Saltines - that is the upset stomach cure all.

As an aside - I need to have a little chat with Nabisco about their packaging. Can you not make eight smaller packages instead of four? You did it for Ritz crackers.
Once one of those packs is opened, the entire thing must be consumed - right now - or be faced with stale crackers tomorrow. Maybe it's genius marketing on their part - I have to buy more saltines sooner.

Hobnobs - an crazy addictive oatmeal chocolate cookie from the UK, used to have that same type of packaging - once opened, never closed again. I was beholden to eat every single one. (shush, I know I could have put them in a ziplock bag) Now they have a snap on lid, so I only eat 1/2 a container at a time. HA!
While we're on the subject of HobNobs - they are what I spent my last six pounds on when I left Ireland. If anyone going across the pond asked what they could bring me back - HobNobs was the answer. That's how dangerously addictive they are.
Now I can get them any old time at A Southern Season, so I rarely have them anymore.

Anyway, feeling better now. Oscar's glad.
Tomorrow's it's supposed to be in the seventies (so wrong) and I had better deal with the leaves or I'll be getting a letter from the HOA.
Ugh. Overlords.

Puddin' Cat

While I'm on the cat theme, here's Oscar enjoying the down filled couch (made in NC mind you).
I hardly ever sit on the darn couch, if I do, I get looks.
Looks that say - what are YOU doing on here?!
If the evil cat stink eyes don't get to me and I hold my ground - I paid for it dammit, I get to sit on it - then the claws and teeth in my scalp will. Finn sometimes takes umbrage with my head being inside his personal cushion bubble. Either that or he will use my shoulder as an additional butt pillow.

Oh, and just so you know, it is going to get cold again (it was over 60 today).
You know why?
I took the silk comforter off the bed today.
That's like lighting a cigarette while waiting for the bus. Pretty much guarantees it's showing up in about thirty seconds.

Catching Up

Whew, is it Sunday already?! Tomorrow starts my first full week of work.

Yesterday I went with RM to pick up her third Ragdoll kitten. Her other two Ragdolls are a blue lynx point and a seal point mitted. I think the lynx point is my favorite look.
When the kitten (my "godcat") is grown, he'll look similar to this:
This marking is called bi-color.

Oh..I'm sorry. I completely drifted off into Crazy Cat Lady Land there.


Later ate dinner at Bull McCabe's, an excellent Irish pub on
Main Street, before going to see Kathleen Madigan, who was very funny.
I had Elizabeth's Spicy Veggie Burger - tasty good. Great garlic fries too.

Today, I did some laundry and bagged some leaves (two bags - only thirty more to go) - hey every day can't be as exciting as yesterday! Another post or two - about nothing (this is the Seinfield blog) and then Lark Rise to Candleford for a few hours.

Carpetbaggers

An acquaintance was re-doing her house and mentioned that because of her eighteen year old cat, she was trying to find carpet the color of cat vomit. I thought that was hilarious!

Until I had three cats.

I don't know what it is about carpet and what is known around here as cat HUCK, (an onomatopoeia if you will.), but like peanut butter and jelly, they just go together. Whether you want them to or not.

Go ahead, put in hardwood floors. Oh clever you, thinking you've outsmarted them. HA HA!

Fool.
They're laughing at you behind their furry little paws. (I imagine it sounds like Muttley  - even though he's a dog.)

Cats will find, and upchuck on, the one scrap of carpet in a house. Perhaps it's in front of the back door, so you can unknowingly track it through the rest of the house. Area rugs? Fair game sister.
Have carpet in your bedrooms only? Of course it's in the white/beige color palette. So inviting.


I'm not sure which is worse - camouflage, (aids in the stepping in - usually when you're barefoot), like the rug to the right or the stains on the above.

It doesn't happen often. Just enough to keep me on my toes (ha!) and wishing I owned stock in paper towels.

I believe all three of them plot the deposit of their next present during the day while I'm out, laughing like Muttley all the while.

Bad News - Update

My French press broke this morning. The filter separated from the plunger part. I might be able to fix it, will investigate after it's not so hot.

Speaking of hot, Oscar, in a mad attempt to get a post breakfast head rub. stepped on the hot stove this morning. Ouch, Buddy!
I usually put the kettle back on the burner - for that very reason - but it was still whistling so I had taken it off. Guess Oscar can't see that little light that says "hot burner". He doesn't like his feet touched so it will be tricky accessing the damage. Tricky as in - he will bite me.

***********************

Oscar is fine, isn't even limping, so yay! I bet he will stay away from the stove from now on.
In French press land - the screw that holds the filter sandwich together had come unscrewed, so all is well there too.

Steath Cat - Not

I had a good title but I lost it.


Oscar was trying to be sneaky and get to my empty chili bowl on the sly. Hilarious because he is a large cat and does not do stealth at all.

About as subtle as an eclipse.

He jumped on my desk, nonchalantly looking everywhere except at the bowl or me, (are those pictures new? hey, check out that printer. this lamp smells interesting), then tiptoed in front of me to check out the bowl.





Have a meeting Thursday morning with a VA rep. They need to make sure I'm not ripping off my mother's widow pension (just a little over a thousand a month). Background and credit check, plus two character references. He has to meet with her for a few minutes to see if she really is incompetent I guess.
Should be interesting.
I hope she calls me Mommy.

Sometimes when I'm taking apart a box for the recycling bin, (the one that held the LED light bulb was like a puzzle), I think - somebody made this. Someone designed it, someone printed it and someone assembled it. Do you ever think about that?
Or a simple pencil. Somewhere there is a factory making #2 pencils and people go to work there. Forty hours a week, making pencils. I loved when Mr. Rogers would do a feature on how something was made, crayons for instance. (I confess to watching Mr. Rogers waaaaay after The Boy stopped.). All these things we never notice most of the time - lampshades, silverware, Post-It notes. Someone makes them.

There is no point to this at all. Welcome to my head.

The Other Oscar Wilde

 

Doesn't he look like he's pondering some witty saying?

Birthday Flowers, Cats, and Even More Pottery!

I'm not big on the birthdays, especially my own. Really after 21, who cares?
But this year had some very insistent people involved. I was forced to go to lunch, dinner, accept flowers, AND [more] pottery! It was horrible. (Kidding!)
Thanks everyone! (you know who you are)

 Arty cat/flower shot (a.k.a. cat will not be still)

 Bowl from Cape Fear Pottery

And All's Right With The World

 

Can you see his big Thumper foot? 

You'd never know I have two other cats!

See?

Goofy Little Cat

Okay - so this IS the crazy cat lady post!

Nobody's making you read it...just sayin'.

There's not even anything to read really. Just pictures of the funniest cat ever.

Herd Mentality or Why I Bought a Steam Mop at The Home Show

I've been thinking of getting a new kitten for Finn. Since I've been spending more time at home, I noticed him flopping around, miffed that the other two cats, who are older than him, would rather sleep than play most of the time.
He makes a hhhmmff noise when rebuffed, then like a sulky teenager, he flings himself down on the floor. Or on the bench in Suite 101 like this:

 Two seconds after this picture was taken, he was trying to chew the dangling cords

Anyway, it went so far as me going to the shelter last week and scoping out the cats. Even spent some time with one. Then I saved a plastic bin from being thrown away because, in spite of CP's two harrowing words - inappropriate urination - I'm still not entirely unconvinced in the new kitten area, and it could serve as a new litter box. (plastic bins make great litter boxes. They have high sides, are roomy, easy to clean, and are often less expensive than a "real" litter box). I brought it home, dropped it on the floor and Finn took possession of it.

It's his new BFF.

Any toys thrown in there are like new toys. He has the best time using it as his attack launch pad.
Turns out I didn't need a new cat, just a new plastic bin.

So how does this segue into herd mentality?
Maybe it doesn't. Maybe that was just a better title than Here's Another Post From The Crazy Cat Lady About Her Goofy Cat Who Should Be Named Kramer Because That's Who He Reminds Her Of.

But wait, it kinda does. I've been looking at steam mops since the hardwood floors were installed because I don't like to use chemicals (unless they're killing insects, then I'm Better Living Through Chemicals all the way baby).
But how do I clean the area by the cat food which is covered in little nose/mouth prints because a cat who shall remain nameless likes to scoop the dry food out of the dish onto the floor and eat the food off the floor?
And another one does the same thing with the wet food.

I use a microfiber mop, vinegar and water, but that leaves the floor too wet. Water and wood do not good dancing partners make. A steam mop seemed like a good solution.

Four of us went to Raleigh for the Southern Home Show today. I figured I couldn't get into too much trouble since everything there would be big and expensive. There was no way a patio was fitting in the car.

Then we rounded a corner and saw it.

Watched the young man demo the mop with crossed arms and the don't-think-you-can-pull-one-over-on-us-young-man-we're-older-and-wiser look firmly fixed on our...ahem...wiser faces.

Then all four of us whipped out our credit cards and bought one.

And there you have it - Herd Mentality.

Baaaaaaa.

Mid-Life Crisis

Lillie might be having a mid-life crisis.

In the past few months, she has become more assertive to her nemesis Oscar and demanding of my affection.
Her favorite thing lately is to drape on the back of my chair like a vulture. A purring black fur pillow.


I'm having my own mid-lifer right now. After eleven and a half years, I need to look for a job.

There's nothing like a job search to make me feel like the most incompetent person in the solar system. I know a very little about a lot of things and I'm afraid I'm not very good at any of them. At least that's what it feels like.

Except for a very brief period of about four months, my entire work history has been with Mom and Pop enterprises. I am not a corporate "culture" kinda gal. (Am I yogurt?!) Even though I am a rule follower, there seems to be an abundance of rules just for the sake of having rules. Common sense could dispense with most of them.

And oh lord, the jargon. "I'll reach out to them." WTH. I ALWAYS picture someone reaching their arms out and it makes me laugh. It's so silly. Why can't you just say you're going to call them?
Same with "ping". "Sure, I'll ping them this morning." Isn't that the same as "reaching out" to them?!

So yeah it's kind of apparent I'm not cut out to raise through the ranks of Citi Bank or some such.

Last night I met with one of the kindly Gals who is a life coach. She's given me homework and a new resume format - both of which I am avoiding right now. I did go to the job search site she suggested.

Despair is lurking just around my solar plexus.