The cats love to eat kill torture bugs – something I’m told isn’t a bit abnormal. Nevertheless, it causes Karin no small amount of angst because, well, what the hell is that thing!? And where is the remainder of its unwelcome clan lurking? And should Diblet really be using it for a cat-toy? Granted, we’ve yet to see a centipede inside the house and nasty arachnids like scorpions and funnel-web spiders pretty much shun Seattle, but that doesn’t make a brightly colored, ridiculously elongated exoskeleton with wings any less creepy. What if it’s a previously undiscovered and unusually venomous type of damselfly!?
Anyway, the magazine I noticed on the living room floor this morning was placed there to cover up said Technicolor torture victim, serving the dual purpose of completely removing any possibility a cat could consume the bug while also keeping Karin from actually having to touch it.
This practice is, evidently, something that particularly bothers our cats. They are not receptive to having their wriggling playthings taken away, as I learned from DG a little while later...
...I found teh Deej sitting in his new favorite spot on the corner of our bed. He likes this new location because it gives him a wonderful view of the bird nesting in an awning just outside our bedroom window. He’ll sit there staring out the window for an hour straight, flicking his tail and making these weird, clicking sounds with his mouth. He was so into it this morning he looked as if he might start dripping drool. I said, “Boy, you sure want to get at that bird, huh, Deej? Don’t you just want to catch it and smack it around for a little while?”
“Sure,” he mumbled in reply, “but mommy would just put a magazine on top of it.”
When something startles you, is your first instinct to immediately whip out a staggering array of razor-sharp knives and start swinging them wildly about?
Of course not. Civilized beings don’t just up and violently eviscerate the closest living thing simply because a car backfired.
And that’s why, despite their amazing agility, resilience, and ability to grow thumbs, cats have failed to become the dominant species on the planet. I mentioned before that laying claim to things by peeing on them probably had a lot to do with halting any advancement they were making in the area of culture, but certainly the habit of unpredictably slicing up your neighbors made compiling a workable system of etiquette utterly impossible.
What I’m getting at is that yesterday in the CimC home, the sound of a broom handle striking the floor was sufficient to cause the World’s Sweetest Kitteh Ever to transform, in precisely one sixteenth of a second, from purring fuzzball to whirling flesh-shredder.
Yup, DG cut me up but good.
My face took the rake from the back feet while my throat received about twenty-six smaller scratches from Deej’s front paws. The lip cut is hell of deep. Took several minutes to stop the bleeding and I’m pretty sure there will be a permanent scar. Shaving should be a real hoot.
DG felt terrible about it, I could tell. About an hour after the incident, Karin and I were sitting on the couch watching TV when DG’s little head popped up from the other side of the coffee table and stared at me with his big, black pupils. After a few moments, I spoke his name and he emitted the cutest tiny meow in reply. Scientists would tell me I’m an idiot, but I’m certain that little meow was an apology.
Today is a banner day. Well, it’s a banner day for me, anyway. I imagine those people currently suffering migraines or having their hoo-hahs waxed would disagree with me, but whatever. All I care about right now is...
...well, it’s...
...I’m sorry, I’m still a bit weak in the knees...
...see, the thing is...
...okay, so, remember a few weeks ago when I told you Karin was about to fulfill a life-long dream of mine? That’s a pretty big deal, right? Life-long dream? Even more so when you consider I’ve never had anyone do such a thing for me before. I’ve realized some dreams, sure, but none of them were just handed to me outright.
But then, Karin’s no ordinary woman. She’s dealt with me and my VAST collection of distressing flaws for over a decade and still managed to remember what it is about me that makes her feel complete. She knows me better than any other person on this planet.
That’s why she knew precisely how I’d feel this very moment. She knew I’d be beside myself with joy. She knew I’d barely be able to form words at first. She knew my throat would feel all tight like this. She knew this was my dream.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She knew all these things when she decided to buy me this Fender Stratocaster HSS!!!
Rosewood fretboard! Aaaaaiiiieeee!!!!
Humbucking pickup at the bridge!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee!
WHAMMY BAR!!!!
*falls over*
Karin had arrangements to hang with her aunt this evening so she was, unfortunately, not here to see my reaction. She should be home in another hour or so, though. I can. not. wait. to thank her in person!
Damn. I better shut up and get back to my new toy. So many notes; so little time!
A long overdue fix of the Deej for you all, but especially for my 'hoodie Lurkertype, whom has been a friend almost as long as I've been here at VOX and also for her dapper kitteh TK, whom DG has loved like a brother for as long as he can remember.
Here he is. My world-famous cat DG, up close and personal. Be sure to get the full-size version for full effect!
I'm on a quick break, so I haven't much time. How 'bout a picture game with a bonus?
The game is "What's Wrong With This Picture?"
The bonus is the picture in question: a somewhat embarassing shot of yours truly, circa 1985. I was 18. I wanted to be a rock star so badly I could taste it. The guitar I'm playing is the first electric guitar I ever owned – a Washburn Force 2 – purchased by me in 1983 for $372. It was new, but without a case. (I wouldn't be able to afford the case for another year.) Even for a Washburn, that was a lot of scratch to throw down on a strat-copy, especially since it didn't have a whammy bar or even a bridge that could accept one. But I fell in love with it the first time I saw it and that never changed. The burgundy is stain, not paint, so the wood grain shows through and the machinehead is reminiscent of the Fender Telecaster's famous headstock. The guitar is with me to this day, though it was revamped in 1988 with DiMarzio Creme pickups by master luthier Mike Lull, guitar tech to the stars. He installed them for $25. I still have the receipt.
I recommend coming up with your answer to the game before reading the comments, because this isn't exactly a difficult puzzle and you guys are pretty smart.
(Other than the lamentable nylon running shorts I'm sporting, I mean
