Fair warning, this post will be long.
It’s been a good couple of weeks, full of all sorts of interesting happenings. For starters, L had eye surgery a few weeks ago, which pretty much sidelined her for a solid eight days.
Like our cats, the two of us tend to gravitate to the same spots around the house, such as the wall side of the couch. And as much as we like the cuddle, when one of us is cold, miserable and drugged, it’s better to leave them be while curled up under a blanket.
This spot in the living area is perfectly situated for all the things we like to do, such as watching television, reading books, and dozing/napping/recuperating. While the first two activites are communal, the latter is strictly a solo affair, and her claim is/was far more pressing.
Nurse Bhagwan was even more the man about the house over those days, so much so that some of the above activites slacked off a bit. Did get a bit of writing in, along with some pretty solid game content and character stuff for one of the wip.
As L’s reliance on class A narcotics dwindled, we rejoined the world outside just in time for the winter holiday party season. This brought us not only joy and cheer, but also exposed us to several varieties of “not-flu.”
Wheee. Linz just got over some pretty debilitating illness in November, which may or may not have been porkopalypse related. So far I’ve remained swine-free (apart from BBQ and BACON), despite exposure to multiple vectors throughout the Summer and Fall.
Speaking of which, it’s finally Winter, and the ridiculous narrowing of daylight brought on by our unnatural insistence on northern living will now reverse itself. Planet Earth has brought us as close to our primary star as we can get without technological assistance, and tomorrow will be longer that today. Unfortunately, today will be shorter than yesterday, which for me at least, was not all that short.
For in truth, yesterday started on Saturday morning, with a flurry of pre-party cleaning and feline naughtiness. After two weeks of peaceful cohabitation with X-mas, the cats have discovered what the dangly things on the dead plant do, and have resolved to collect them all.
A source of much distress to the invalid residents of the opposed couch, who weakly protest this mischief from within our huddled blankets. There’s only so much harsh language one can use on a furry being only obeying their primal instincts. Our knowledge of their cunning and crafty ways clues us in the full depths of fuzzy malice.
Not only is the kitten (fully earning and justifying her human name of Maleficent) entranced by our ornaments, she is somehow able to climb up the internal branches and reach the middle ornaments and lights. I caught her at it once, and she’s now content to stand on her hind legs outside the boughs and bat at things three feet from the floor.
Sunrise, Sunset. Where, indeed, is the little cat I once knew? These last few weeks have brought marked and welcome changes in her demeanor. “Millie” has become much more vocal, but along with this increase in sound comes both more cuddling and more destructive power.
If we approach just so, we can pick her up for some kitty cuddling. We’ve got about two minutes before the squirming starts, but that time helps us to reinforce our non-threat status. The kitten has picked up several other endearing habits from cat number one, including a fondness for belly rubs. She’s not as apt to flop at your feet for attention, but once lying on them via phrophylactic blankets, she’ll purr, spin and cuddle like a pro.
Medea also enjoys the holidays, but has it in her head that sundown @ 4:30 also means FEED ME time. Any monkeys entering the kitchen after noon are subject to her baleful green-eyed glare, just as I am at this moment, some 58 minutes from the morning meal.
It bears noting that at this exact moment, shushed away from standing and reaching for shiny dangly things three times in a row, Thoroughly Naughty Millie has just discovered the bowl of equally shiny Hershey’s kisses, each with its own handy grabby bit of paper.
Looks like I’ll need to get off the couch soon and do some more rearranging. But not before I get back to the narrative.
Thought I’d rambled on, eh? Even here in the darkest depths of Shoreline, with my girl so fair, I know a dangling plot line when I drop it.
Following Saturday morning’s straightening session, I set off for a birthday/anniversary/friends gathering party in Puyallup. For those not familiar with the geography of Western Washington, Puyallup is effectively East Northern Mexico in relation to Seattle.
In fact, the party was held at a restaurant on East Traffic Way. I can’t make this stuff up. I’m no James Cameron.
By the way, go see Avatar as soon as you can. See it in a packed theater, losing yourself in the pretty among the warmth and comraderie of perfect strangers. After the new year, when more folk have had time to process it, I’ll go in-depth with my impressions. I will say the following now, having confirmed this sentiment with my fellow writers of fiction.
Watching Avatar made me want to go home right away and start rewriting my novel. Which one, you ask? The answer can only be “yes.”
But that was Friday Night, and we’re talking about the slowly darkening skies of Saturday afternoon. Talebonesalooza was a smashing success, with many out of town friends making an appearance. As night falls and 5 PM approaches, our heroes trek back to Seattle in preparation for the second event of the evening, a birthday bash with an overlapping guest list up on Beacon Hill.
For those not familiar with the complex negotiations and classifications of Seattle neighborhoods, Beacon Hill is “oh, is that where that road goes.” I’m flying solo again, as L succumbed to her not-flu during final party preparations, and was otherwise occupied with dancing earlier in the day.
Solo being a completely relative term. There are many friends in attendance, and both card games and music spring into being. What does this have to do with Sunday, you ask?
Why, that’s when the party ends. And by ends, I mean relocates to the rap karaoke bar down the street. Several hours of the second worst karaoke ever bring us to last call, and the slow progression of driving, dropping off, and final destinations moves inexorably back to my couch.
Because now I’m the one with not-flu, and getting the sick girl sicker is a bad idea. Almost as bad as waking her up to do so would be. With the dawn comes cat feeding time (much like that which they are patiently expecting now), and final preparations for our own gathering.
It’s not that far of a stretch to relate that I spent the entire day cooking and cleaning. As the first guests arrived around 5:30 PM, it was pitch black outside. Garlic, the grape, chocolate, and whole grain goodness were waiting for them, and we had a very nice and intimate “family” dinner in during which the ladies were very careful not to refer to their partners as “Scott,” lest all three of us answer.
Later, by the light of high definition fire, the discussion turned again to both Avatar and Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas, the latter of which is far, far creepier than I remember.
Basking in the happy holiday memories of childhood, I had somehow completly blocked out the talking and singing animal aspects of the teleplay. It still made/makes me feel good inside, but it also was/is a bit disturbing. Luckily, the sheltering couch was/is there for us, and then to bed.
So if you want to know what I’ve been up to, there it is. I hope that everyone within the glow of my words has, or will have, a happy holiday season to share.
And do yourselves a favor; go suspend some disbelief and enjoy the pretty. Avatar won’t judge.