You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘cat’ category.
“To be sensual . . . is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.”
It’s from James Baldwin and “The Fire Next Time”, but I’m not reading that, it’s quoted in “Breaking Bread” by bell hooks and Cornell West. I think I’ve jumped into the deep end. Community and bread-baking have been coming up lately. I am not sure how to do community, but I do know how to bake bread.
I’m also reading “Norse Mythology” by Neil Gaiman. I think it should have been illustrated. And Loki! Trickster Makes This World.
The weather is broken. But a) you knew that, and b) it’s April. Some of the personal poop has passed, some is still in progress. That silly facebook thing – “so far, you’ve been 100% successful in making it” or something, has actually been helpful.
(And oh no, the cat is awake and looking at things. It can only go downhill. We use the Invisible Hand of Doom squirt-bottle method of cat deterrence. It worked maybe twice before she figured out it was us, Doing That Thing. There are days when she is bored and does A Bad Thing just so we will squirt her and she Must Run Away. Having a three-year-old-teenager-fox-sprite-creature living in your house can be hard, but it’s not boring.)
So we changed Katniss’s food, she’s more active, it’s freakishly warm in Northern Wisconsin for February, she goes out on her leash and I go out and sit in the sun and entertain myself, all of which explains the vaguely cat-shaped sketch. The big ball at top is in response to an admonition to do contour sketching. The squiggley line is just for fun, and the circles are because circles. I put a bit of contour shading on the upper
right left that reminded me of hair, so I kept on with that and then it looked like a choir, and there it is/here we are.
However, I’ve given myself permission to slack. Or do other things.
To be honest, the incoming administration rattled me severely, and I’ve been surviving on junk and denial. Words in particular have seemed trite, with a greasy overlay of deceit. I’ve been loads of fun. Except for the part where I’ve been occasionally harassing elected officials.
But! there is good news, for me anyway. Daughter discovered melatonin, and has been sleeping well for the first time in ten years. She has to double-check with her doctor, before she continues taking it (drug interactions and all that). But she’s been waking up with energy and sunniness. A big shift of gears.
In Knitting! I’ve started Bedragonned. It looks so innocent. To get a workable gauge, I had to knit fairly tight. I call it the Belgian Death Grip, for no reason. So I’m doing the Death Grip, and then I get to the part where I have to retrieve 128 stitches from a provisional cast-on using a slightly splitty yarn with another slightly more splitty yarn. I’ve gotten about halfway through retrieving the stitches, about an eighth of the way through knitting two stitches together in an awkward way. I’m reminding myself how proud I should be for persevering.
And for dinner I had Oreo cookies, the white ones, with potato chips for the main course, and a nice green salad for dessert.
Have a kitteh picture;
When she sleeps like this, with her face buried, she is out like a light, won’t wake or twitch her ears until you touch her rather firmly. I try to leave her be, but it’s hard, knowing how warm and soft that fur is.
Day 14: Drawing is stupid. I hate drawing.
I pulled out an older sketchbook, and saw things! that I had drawn! that weren’t horrible! Some were even good. So I thought and thought, and abandoned the prompts, and went back to the old sketchbook, and grabbed the mechanical pencil I’d used – and made a terrible drawing. So then I made another one, which is not horrible.
So, the new plan is; don’t make yourself crazy, draw every day, a couple of things, post the better one.
What else? Princess Farty Unicorn Katniss is a Reformed Character. We switched her to an actually-grain-free catfood (my error), and we bought Lactaid, so she can have a teaspoon of milk every day. We sympathize with her pooping issues, and I leave my chair in the middle of the afternoon, so she can sleep in it. In return, she isn’t nuts, just crabby and demanding. And much more active, and actually playing. Much better.
For fun, I checked the online prices of three of the medications I take for lungs. Nearly $400. It will probably take two years for the end of ACA/medicaid block grants, by which time I’ll be eligible for Medicare, if that’s still available.
In the meantime, I’ll just be here doing what I do.
Katniss has been acting moody and depressed lately, now that she doesn’t want to go outside for long periods of time. So, like a fool, I’ve been showering her with extra attention.
Now, everything that is mine is where she must be. Including my chair and my computer.
I got up this morning to my laptop and the table runner that it sits on half-way off the table, and a goodly pile of detritus on the floor.
It’s too bad that she’s so pretty and smart and fun and interesting and lurves us so much. We’re stuck with her.
“When you pry her out of my cold, dead hands.” That’s the one.
I’m stealing this from Kmkat. We’ll see how it goes.
Busman’s Honeymoon, by Dorothy Sayers. The balance of giddy bliss and murder most foul was pretty excellent, and the details of the hanging plant were so realistic I can almost feel it in my hands. My brother and I shared an enthusiasm for Sayers. And Gaudy Night. (paraphrasing here) “She looked in the mirror and decided her dress was sufficiently sub-fusc.” (I hope I spelled that right.)
Kim Stanley Robinson’s Red Mars trilogy. I was convinced the author must be a woman, the books were written so well.
And then Years of Rice and Salt, by above. And Antarctica. Because they are also well-written, tight stories.
I read a bunch of Ray Bradbury when I was young and susceptible. The phrase ‘Rocket Summer’ still reverberates. And OMG looking into the canal and seeing the Martians staring back at them! And the Martians themselves. And There Will Come Soft Rains. Sob.
His Dark Materials. Hester. Sob.
Gilgamesh, by Herbert Mason. Saved my life.
Kristen Lavransdatter, by Sigrid Unsett.
Growth of the Soil, Knutt Hamsun. I lent it to a friend, and told her if it didn’t capture her by the end of the second paragraph, it probably wouldn’t work for her. It didn’t, sadly enough.
And oh yeah, let us not forget Moby Dick.
100 Years of Solitude. “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.” Yes, I had to go look it up to get the words right, but I always remember “his father took him to discover ice.”
Well, that’s ten – nope, eleven chunks. Three of the chunks are trilogies, so I win! I get extra points!
Wasn’t there one of those books, like Misty of Chincoteague Island? That ends with the horse swimming out to sea? There were a bunch of horse books. And oh, geez, The Haunting of Hill House, the Reader’s Digest Condensed version. My brother read it too, and told me he got the chills when she cried out, “Whose hand was I holding?” The little white house with red shutters. Permanently altering my personal color choices.
I think I should stop thinking right now, because this probably could go on for quite a while.
Somebody slept in my chair all afternoon. I was forced to do housework. And then when I got fed up and gently displaced her onto her own chair, she tricked me by acting like she wanted to sit in my lap, and then climbed onto the table and my laptop and lay down and went to sleep.
She’s just messing with my head. But she’s so pretty!