Hey there, all you cool cats and kittens.
^^^ Obviously, I watched Tiger King, finally. Holy … cats. So to speak.
And now, the happiest moment of my life, the day I held a baby lion, is marred. MARRED, I tell you, knowing that baby was harmed by being petted for cash. Goddammit. I can never have anything nice.
I put this photo on Facebook the other day and someone asked, “Is that a tiger?”
Does it … look like a tiger to you? Let me feel your forehead. No, wait, I can’t. Let me feel your forehead with this 6-foot arm.
Let’s all look at a tiger together, class.
Tigers have stripes. Stop eating that Elmer’s Glue.
That day when I pulled on my mother’s sweatpants with pockets and headed to a county fair (there was a period, so to speak, from like 1999 to 2014, when every time I went to visit my mother I’d get my, you know, monthlies. EVERY TIME. Even when it wasn’t time. In this particular case, we were at her cabin in Northern Michigan, or as they redundantly say in Michigan, “up north.” And I ran out of pants, as all the ladies know can happen. So I borrowed mom’s sweatpants. DID I KNOW I WAS ABOUT TO HAVE THE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE?
I did not. As one often does not. And now this moment of sweatpants with pockets is engraved in my mind forever.)
THAT DAY, when I pulled on my mother’s sweatpants with pockets and headed to the county fair, they had lion and tiger petting for like 10 bucks or something. I waited in line for an hour, so excited I could hardly stand it. They told me it was a rescue situation.
I was more drawn to the lion. Tigers just seem so predictable.
Her name was Savannah, and she was 14 weeks old. It’s been well over 10 years, maybe even 15, and I still remember that.
In the documentary Tiger King, they talk about the addiction of petting one of those big cats. I know what they mean. I don’t know how I didn’t end up one of those women with hair too long for my age, wearing cat print all the time and owning 15 leopards. It’s still kind of my dream.
Leopards are really my favorite, followed by black panthers because they’re so cool. But you bring me over a serval and I’d be fine as frog’s fur. Any big cat, really. Yes, I will take that big cat off your hands. And why can’t they be released back into “the wild,” as if there’s wild left? Can’t we sort of work out a plan to introduce them back in or something?
I’m writing you outside, right now, as I am introducing myself into the wild. The sky is sick with singing birds, including some sort of hawk, and there’s a pigeon on the telephone line over my house. Calling her friend with her feets.
My own big cats, who are not big at all, have been leaping onto and off of my chair, here, because they’re probably pissed off that I’m not discussing them.
I have to hand it to Eds, who tried 47 times to get on his hind legs, what with his back trouble and all. But he did it, just so he could woo/eat his brother. Not entirely sure of his motive ATM. He was totally that “Perseverance” poster people have at work.
If you’ve read me awhile you know how many times I’ve painted that metal chair. I sort of like it like that, actually. Even if you haven’t read me awhile you can see three colors, there, so you could probably hazard a guess about how many times I’ve painted it.
“Is that a lion?”
I’d better go. They sent me something Friday to work on this morning at work, and I like it when they do that. When you’re the copy editor, you’re the last person to get the job before it goes out there into the world. So as you can imagine, Monday mornings aren’t the busiest. And yet if you put on your timesheet that you sat around waiting for work, you get the pursed-lips look. I mean, you get no look at all because quarantine, but you FEEL the pursed lips.
Anyway today I have a task to do straightaway, which is exciting and I can avoid the purse. It’s 13 minutes to 8 as I write this, so I’ll start right at 8 and then I can knock off right at 5, which is good because I have my trainer at 5:30. She broke her ding-dang FINGER last week, walking her giant dogs, and that is why I injected Edsel with back poison, so I don’t have to walk him.
That’s not true. I’m to give him “controlled walks,” per my vet. You know about my iron fist of control.
I got my Stitch Fix box and it’s really very hard to take full-body pictures of yourself, but I did take some and I’ll do a vote-on-Stitch-Fix soon. Maybe.