(I swear the floor does not need sweeping, it needs repainting. This floor vexes me.)
I just got home from work and immediately went outside with Tallulah. Now that Marvin is not working all summer, Tallulah no longer spends her days at dog day care. When I get home she is dying dying dying to go outside and play.
(I think Marvin's dog-care skills rank right up there with how I babysat. Which is to say, I called my boyfriend Kevin and talked on the phone while occasionally glancing up to see if poison was being consumed.
I think Marvin is totally talking to Kevin. I do not see that Lula is being intellectually or physically challenged while he is in charge. So, you know, if we got ANOTHER PUPPY, Lula would be amused and Marvin could pay even less attention to her. Don't you think? Like, maybe a nice Great Dane puppy. In a 1950s ranch-style house with three cats and a 50-pound dog already here. I think that'd be roomy and enjoyable. What say you?)
At any rate, whilst playing with the dog I had the back door open, because I'm your back door man, and it didn't take long for Henry to wander out.
I do not want Henry to be an outdoor cat. I was emailing with Faithful ReaderAnnieology about this today. At least I think I was having that conversation with her. I also emailed with Faithful Readers Hulk, bell, KW, and Erin. Maybe I should try working at work and not emailing with Faithful Readers all day. What say you?
So, as I was saying to someone who I think was Annieology, outdoor cats have reduced life expectancy of 67%, they kill birds even though they're well-fed inside, they poop in other yards. You know. It's just generally not a stellar idea. But Winston goes outside, I am sorry to tell you, and of course Tallulah goes in and out 97 times a day. So Henry's all, "Hey! What doing? Henry like door!"
And plus not to mention I take him out every night to look at fireflies. He sits on my lap and whips his head all over the place. He loves him the fireflies.
So what am I teaching him? I am teaching him it's FUN beyond the door! There are lit bug butts and laps and warm breezes and safety! Good job, self.
Therefore, when I saw him wander outside where Lula and I were playing, I held him up just like he hates and snapped his picture.
Seriously? Looks like he couldn't care less that I picked him up. He looks like he's checkin' for fireflies, if you ask me. "Oh. You lifting Henry? Bug buttz out yet?"
How bad do you hate my cat dialect? How much do you want to drive something large and sharp up my orificles? What say you?
My cat woes aside, I do need your help. My friend Paula, the one I got up with in Asheville, as they say here, is coming here September 3 with some of her gay posse. I offered to make dinner for them, and as you know I have my one dish–lasagna. Which usually works, and it DOES work for Paula, who is the pickiest eater you have ever met in your life. When she was a kid the only things her mom could get her to eat were heads of lettuce and coffee. I am not making that up.
So, the fact that Paula likes lasagna and it's all I know how to make is nothing short of miraculous. But one of her friends is a vegetarian. So, yeah, I'll have salad and bread, but what else can I serve him? Don't go gettin' all souffle-y on me, or suggest tofu anything. This is the person who wasn't sure she owned salt and pepper when she made pea salad the other day, remember? Oh, and he's super healthy, too, so he wouldn't be going for some mayo-laden pea salad, either.
What say you? Are you sick of me saying "What say you?" yet? What say you to that? What say you about voting for me in that contest, which I PROMISE is over in less than two weeks? I am back in fourth place. What say you about that? Are you gonna try to go in and remove your votes because I won't stop asking you what you say?
P.S. What say you?