Today is a giant day over at the Gardens’ house o’pets: When I walked into the kitten room this morning, no one had gone anywhere but in their litter box!
Remember when I used to have sex and stuff?
This Saturday I have to take them in for their boosters, and I sort of thought they’d be ready to return to sender, but I weigh them all every morning and they have stubbornly remained right near one pound. When you foster kittens, see, you keep them like veal till they’re two pounds, which is the age they can be spayed or neutered, as Bob Barker would say. Once they’re Bob Barkered, they are adoptable. To their “furever” homes. People who say that should be shot right in the hip.
So I’ll host them another 10 days or so, but I can tell you that they’re ruining my get-together next week.
It’s my birthday next week, see, and do you hope I keep saying, “see” like that? Am I a ’40s gangster? Howdaya like that, sweets?
Anyway, tis m’birthday soon, and a few weeks ago I got an Instagram text from Sandy’s husband. Sandy is my old friend, college housemate, and all-around tolerator of June. She is very sensible, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed I acquire a lot of sensible types as friends, because there isn’t room enough for all my nonsense along with someone else’s.
Anyway, she doesn’t believe in social media, but her husband does, and I get to see a lot of photos of him holding the phone way up so he’s in the foreground and then a lot of other middle-class employable-looking people including Sandy are smiling in the background at restaurants, beaches, bank depositories.
The point is, he wrote to say they would be in NC next Tuesday (NCUNextTuesday) and was I available.
“Well, that’s my birthday,” I said, and I invited them to Greensboro to celebrate with me. I was thinking I’d get together with them and one other couple–Marty and Kaye.
But then I thought, oh, I can’t have a gathering and not invite The Poet. And then I thought, Lottie Blanco has invited me to 17 things this year and I’ve invited her to zip. Because I have zip. Remember when I used to have sex and parties and sex parties?
Whenever I go to a thing at Lottie Blanco’s she always introduces me: “This is my straight friend, June.” She said otherwise everyone will be all, “Who’s the woman of mystery?” Which is exciting. I like to think that anyone finds me mysterious. I feel I might be the least-mysterious woman alive other than Kathy Gifford.
Anyway, so then of course I thought of Chris and Lilly, but they are in London, as you do, and they refuse to fly back special for it.
And what about Wedding Alex? She’s my podcast partner, of the podcast we have yet to start.
So next thing you know old Jed’s a millionaire and I’ve got 200 people coming and SIX CATS at this house right now, half of which who weren’t getting the litter box concept, and all of a sudden it was stressing me out that people were coming.
(Also, if you’re related to me and are thinking you have to get me a bday gift, a certificate to Stanley Steamer would be ideal. I am not kidding. I have to call them the moment these kittens are gone.)
Oh my god, they’re at the peak of cuteness right now, though. Hang on…
In the end, I decided to gather together to hear the Lord’s blessing at a nearby pub. If you know me and you’re annoyed that I didn’t invite you, email me and I’ll give you the particulars. I only meant to gather four people, y’all.
The pub lets you bring in any food, so I’ll order pizza for us.
So, I hope that’s fun and I hope I get a chance to actually speak to Sandy. Also, this will be the second time this year that The Poet will be at that pub, and she’s getting to be a regular there. She’s like Norm on Cheers, only poet-y-er. I think, as a poet, she ought to have a drinking problem anyway.
I gotta go. I have to go to work, because I have to keep all these cats in kibble.