First of all, stupid Firefox (or, as cute Faithful Reader Tee once called it, Foxfire) updated and now I can’t get on WordPress. Have I mentioned how much I hate products that capitalize words in the middle of their name? FuckOff. EatShit. StopIt.
But really, Foxfire is all, “BLOCKED! THIS IS AN UNSAFE SITE.” Oh my god no it’s not.
I also saw someone hashtag colors today, on Instagram. Colors.
I’m sick of everything.
Oh, and also, as I’m certain I’ve mentioned before, Steely Fucking Dan, SteelyDan, chews on clothes. He’s eaten a ton of my things, whether by climbing to the top of the closet and hanging off like a bat, by pulling things out of the laundry basket, or, when I was oblivious and had things hanging on chairs in the dining room, he just had himself a whole holiday meal at the table. I’ve thrown away probably 10 holy shirts and sweaters now.
Alternatively, I get places, such as work, and discover too late that old Mothra has had his way with another item of clothing. Once I had a date, turns out with an asshole but that’s another story, and I’d planned the ensemble but didn’t throw it on till the last minute because hashtag hair. Hashtag mauve. I can’t believe people are hashtagging colors now. We must stop this nonsense.
Anyway, literally at the last minute I threw on my date outfit, topped by a light summer cardigan, a cardigan that I didn’t notice till I got there had an enormous hole in the sleeve.
That was a first and late date. Even if he hadn’t been as asshole [Example: I mentioned in passing, as part of a larger story, an illness someone in my family had. He interrupted to say, “Wow, that’s great first date conversation.”] [Hashtag asshole] the whole thing would have been over as soon as I showed up with my holes up. Rocked out with my chaw marks out.
What do you want from me? I went to bed late.
THE POINT IS, for a week or two now, I’ve been dragging my heavy old medicine cabinet over the doorway to my bedroom closet. That room has a walk-in closet, or an eat-in closet as the case may be, and it’s also the room where SD has his special kitten meals, which, let’s talk about the absurdity of feeding that panther special kitten food so he grows up big and strong. I feel like mission pretty much accomplished, there.
But I’ll feel guilty unless I special-kitten-food him till he’s a year, which of course is nebulous depending on who you ask. The vet first said he was a July cat, but then when I brought him back for his next round of shots, they said no born-in-July cat would be this big already, so they moved his birthdate up to May, making him a year old now.
But the kid who found him on the mean streets of Jamestown, NC sent me a video from August, I think from the actual day he found SD, and SD is a teensy, barely-able-to-walk kitten. That kitten in August was not three months old. He was six weeks, tops.
So I’m feeding him extra special growing food till July. And then I’ll switch to Great Dane food.
I said “the point is” four paragraphs ago, and here you still are, captive.
Shit. This is the movie theater last night, not the photo I wanted. People tooling in to watch Gone With the Wind. Hang on.
At the movies with June and the invisible BRF Alex. I swear she was there, too. Oh my god, where is that picture?
Here. Here is the picture. Here is what I was leading to. HE MOVED THE MEDICINE CABINET.
He moved it. Do you have any idea how heavy that thing is? I mean, it’s gotta be 15 pounds. We bought that two years ago, Ned and I did, because our old house didn’t have a medicine cabinet and then once we got it, he couldn’t
whether we should really put bolts in the wall at a rental place. So he
hemmed and hawed
and we never put it up. But I like it so I took it and I don’t know how to hang it up myself, I think it involves a drill, and I do not drill. Hashtag don’t drill. But it served as a good cat-in-the-closet-and-the-silver-spoon deterrent, EXCEPT IT ISN’T.
I formed the thought, “Surely he won’t be able to get in now,” when I dragged that deterrent over, and I know with this cat, I should never form a “Surely he won’t” thought. Surely he won’t find an escape route out of the house when he’s four (or six) months old. Surely he won’t also find a way back in and keep scarily appearing on either side of the door when I had no part in it. Surely he won’t grow bigger than the adult cats this soon. Surely he won’t leap onto the roof from the deck like it’s nothing.
Also, sometimes my shoes are lined up nicely in the closet, and sometimes you have a goddamn medicine cabinet you have to move every time you want in there so shoe returning becomes just move the sepulcher and toss, move the sepulcher and toss.
Anyway, I gotta go. I gotta try to find any clothing that isn’t eaten, or else fight to get the Wilma Flintstone look back in style.
I’ll call you from my horn phone.