I went to the Dance Flurry this weekend which was so much fun it deserves its own post but I don’t think I can do it justice at the moment. To tide you over go read Jan’s account
I was dancing with Bicentennial John who reminded me of something that I wanted to write about. Here is how it came to mind. He said he would be in the dog house if he couldn’t make time to dance with me. Although I adore dancing with him this isn’t exactly true. I say “I don’t even have a dog house. I have a cat.” He says that it would be a totally different story to be in a cat house. Well yes, that is true. So I think of some interesting things about my cat.
This is my cat Funk. She was once a mighty hunter. She brought me a mood modifying weasel.
Ryan and I were grumpy with each other …testy all day. I went to bed early reading to give him his required entire universe of time and space. I hear the back door open and then grumpy yelling “goddammit I stepped on a weasel!” I do not believe my ears. “What?” “I stepped on a fucking weasel, Funk left a dead weasel on the deck” “you’re kidding? a weasel?” at the end we are both giggling and bad mood no more.
Funk also won a hunting contest that Loruh and I challenged our cats to. There were points for everything they brought us. one for mice, moles, two for chipmunks, three for frogs, five for rabbits, seven for birds, ten for aquatic life and anything more than twice their size. The contest was neck in neck for most of the summer, with Funk behind. The last week however, Funk managed to leave a gray feathery mess three times on my bedroom floor and took the prize. The other cat, mortified, ran away so I never pushed the payment of the bet for a bag of cat food on the very distraught Loruh. Her cat returned a few weeks later by the way.
So now Funk is starting to miss when jumping up on the bed and hasn’t been her prolific guts-on-the-floor gift giving self. JoeTAH is attempting to re-inspire her hunting zeal. So far it isn’t working though. See two nothing.
This is probably because she is being invaded. Lately I have found that my neighbor’s cat has been sneaking into my house through the cat door. I have more than once discovered the tyrant tomcat eating from Funk’s dish or walked into the basement and had the boy dash from the litter box and out the cat door. He has been doing his business also behind the wood stove in the basement free of the constraints of the litter box which is also distressing to me. This is not nearly as bad as the all out brawls they get into. The last one left fur and blood on the landing and awoke Joe with the cacophonous mewling and loud hissing. This left Funk with a hole in her ear and me knowing that I had to talk to my neighbor. Where did I put his phone number? Can’t find it. I look on his blog for an email address but there isn’t one and I don’t want to leave an unrelated comment. Nix that idea. There is a poetry reading at the pub on Monday and I go in part to talk to him. So I break the news to him that his beloved cat is a thug that had been bullying my old girl in her own home. He said that explained a lot and he will give the little tyrant a good talking to. I’m not so certain it will work. Any ideas?
So now I’ll head back to the conversation while dancing. BJohn and I were also talking about how my dad called me that morning to say that he had found my blog and wanted me to know that he had been reading it. This is a little alarming to me because I don’t remember in a whole year of writing what on earth that may be there. I mean I have a category for sex and dating but what is in there that could be totally uncomfortable for my father to read? Probably something. Then I think of the post I wrote that talks in part about my father. I had to reread that to see if I had been horrible. No, I think just honest. So in the conversation with my father I had to say that the blog is public, that anyone can read it, but that there may be items that I write about that wouldn’t be entirely comfortable for him to read. When I got back from the Flurry I read a post from Second Hand Tryptophan who clearly labeled the post NSFM (Not Safe for Mom.) Should I put labels on my posts indicating the appropriateness for various audiences? In Karl’s instance that was a nice this to do since the title was about Last FM but the post was about whether or not Last FM was tracking his porn viewing, what happens to his brain capability if he can’t take care of himself, so I bet mom appreciated the warning.
I could have labels:
NSFM not safe for Mom
NSFD not safe for Dad
NSFSE not safe for student employees
NSFW not safe for work (can that be for text instead of pictures?)
NSFP not safe for prudes or that could even be not safe for puritans
NSFPAXB not safe for passive aggressive ex boyfriends
NSFRN not safe for red necks
I’m not sure what I want to do with this. After thinking about it nothing here is all that dangerous really. But I think if I start talking about watching porn and what happens to my brain if I don’t masturbate enough, I may put a warning label up there. Or maybe not. Reader beware.