noideadog: (Default)
Something very exciting happened to me today. I was playing Words With Friends and I suddenly realised that I had the word LAQUER, and that I could put the Q on a triple letter square and then have the whole word cross a triple word square and get all of the points. Holy mackerel! Later, when I remembered that LAQUER isn't a word, I was a bit disappointed. That is how life goes.

Hello Livejournal! It's been a while really, hasn't it? How are you? I'm well. Life's pretty good. Here's a surprisingly good pictorial summary of what I've been up to for the last few months: https://plus.google.com/u/1/photos/109395676149872736665/posts?e=-RedirectToSandbox

I guess the biggest thing to mention is that I'm 30 weeks pregnant. Mental, huh? We're making a small girl who is currently known as poppyseed because we found out about her when she was very small indeed. We're looking forward to meeting her, but for now I'm also enjoying pregnancy a lot. It's very pleasant! Should I be stressed? I'm really not. Is that because pregnancy hormones? If so, they should bottle it. This is a good brain-state.

I think we're pretty prepared. We've seen a couple of daycares, which were both fine, and we've bought most of the baby-related gear we're going to need. No, that's such a lie, we've bought the Big Book of Trains and nothing else, but people have given us some clothes and things and I expect we'll get her somewhere to sleep and some other stuff as we realise we can't do without it. We're fighting the good fight against things that are pink and/or frilly, and our families are mostly on board with that. I'm sure we won't be able to protect her from the evils of gender normativity forever, but at least she can have baby clothes that aren't made for delicate flowers.

Is she likely to be a delicate flower? I doubt it, but who can predict what a new human will be like? She's probably doomed to inherit hay fever, shortsightedness and a tendency towards depression, but in return, she should get a geeky brain and a tremendous capacity for liking things. Are any of these things even genetic? We'll see.

Other things have been moving along pleasantly. I went to Ireland for a wedding, Aruba for some snorkelling, Baltimore for a conference, and Chicago to meet Mark and V and to kayak while looking at skyscrapers. I planted and tended some vegetables which grew spectacularly until the first heatwave, then all fried. We'll try bigger pots next year. Our cats are well. Alex is now distinctly a teenager. Lucy is exactly Lucy. They still don't like each other much.

I did this great algorithms class with Coursera and now I'm doing their equally great compilers class. The quality of these free online courses is quite astounding. The format's perfect too: it's easier to learn when you can to speed up or pause the lecturer as appropriate, and of course it's refreshing to do a course where nobody can ask "Is this on the exam?". Learning for fun is the most enjoyable kind of learning.

We've been working on de-chaosing our house, getting rid of clutter, making an easy place to live. We just finished a bathroom renovation -- the proper-sized house project I've ever owned! -- and have learned quite a lot about how to hire contractors, what things to clarify in writing, and (crucially) what things we like. Joel's been working on something much bigger -- a plan to gut most of the main floor of our apartment -- and has worked out a fairly ambitious plan with a local architect. It's a plan that we won't have time to implement this year, but it's there and I think it'll be good when we do. In the meantime, we'll try to get some insulation in before poppyseed arrives, because New York gets cold and our upstairs exterior walls might have been designed to be perfect thermal conductors.

Work is a lot of fun right now. I'm doing a bunch of things I really enjoy, and will be sorry when it's time to go on leave.

And, oh, lots of other things, but this is already too long. It feels good to write here though. I should do this more.
noideadog: (meerkat)
1) It's raining outside.
2) Alex just brought us another dead mouse.
3) Alex does not have wet fur.

He earns his keep, that one.

Joel's watching Fringe, which, by the way, is entirely incomprehensible if you start watching in the middle of season 4. It makes no sense. I'm reading about combinatorial algorithms and drinking a delicious Captain Lawrence Espresso stout. This isn't really a sustainable combination: soon I'll be just drinking the stout, and after that I'll be having a little nap.
noideadog: (Default)
Alexcat grew while I was away. I wasn't sure it was him for a few seconds when he came bounding over the neighbour's wall. He's not kittenish any more, apart from when you rub his belly and he briefly forgets that he's the terror of the neighbourhood and becomes a mewing ball of fur and teeth and claws. It's not clear whether he remembered me or just isn't picky about food apes, but it took about six seconds before he was all purring and love.

Lucy hid for all of yesterday (this is her usual method of dealing with people she doesn't know, conflict, confusion, loud noises, changes of routine, mice, new furniture, etc) but this morning she was interested in the kind of pettings where everybody is quite formal and nobody makes any sudden movements. I suspect I got sniffed while I was asleep and was judged to be mostly ok.
noideadog: (lucy)
More things. The neighbour behind us called over the wall a few days ago and handed me a shoebox containing an injured pigeon. Alex is becoming a problem, he said. He'd like me to fix it. I thought to myself that the only problem was that nature red in tooth and fluff hadn't been allowed follow its course, but to be polite I accepted a mostly dead pigeon which had been tucked cosily into a box with some grain and newspaper. And then I had a pigeon. Giving it back to Alex seemed unneighbourly so I locked the cats indoors and left the pigeon outside with a bowl of water. What do you do, like? It died later, but it shit all over our deck furniture before it did that, so that's something.

In other news, there's a hurricane on the way. Our own Chez Floodplain is not in any of the evacuation zones, but our back door is below the general level of all of the surrounding gardens and so we used up two rolls of duct tape, a tube and a half of silicone caulk and around 80 square feet of heavy duty plastic in sealing up our back door and cat door. The cats no longer have free access to the outside world and they're dealing with that by finding the noisiest rattling items in the house and enthusiastically playing with them at five in the morning. Alex has started biting again. Lucy has been perfecting an undulating yowl. Assholes.

The hurricane is pretty interesting. They're evacuating Zone A, which is actually kind of a lot of the city. I'm sure it's vastly inconvenient and scary if you live closer to the water than we do, but, sheltered as we are, it's a real novelty to be part of such extreme weather. We had dinner with some people last night who said that the shops were mobbed. "I got the last flashlight!" "There weren't any crates of Evian left!".

Meanwhile, the Mayor's office is trying to reach the other half of New Yorkers, the ones who'll believe it when they see it. Some tweets: "If you are in Zone A, prepare to evacuate asap. Don’t be complacent. Even though the sun is shining now, don’t be fooled.". "We’ve never done a mandatory evacuation before – and we wouldn’t be doing this now if we didn’t think this was serious." "We can joke about this on Monday morning. But until then, it's a matter of life and death."

They're doing a good job, I think.
noideadog: (meerkat)
"It's always something, isn't it?" I said on the way into the house. This was to our neighbour Ryan who was drinking a beer on the front step of the house, and it was in response to his discovery that our building has termites and will need expensive extermination. Two minutes later, the live mouse in the bedroom and the dead one in the bathroom made me reconsider. Sometimes it's two somethings. Fucksake. We've now got both cats locked in with the live mouse, and they're probably enjoying a companionable nap together or playing canasta or what have you.

Humankind has famously often quoted a wish for a better mousetrap, but apparently the original quote is entirely made up and they weren't even invented yet when Ralph Waldo Emerson was saying quotable things. It seemed to have captured the public imagination though because, as the same linked article says, the United States Patent and Trademark Office has over 4,400 patents for mouse traps.

Here is one better mouse trap: http://www.amazon.com/Nooski-Design-Reusable-Cleaner-Easier/dp/B003YYYLAO/ref=sr_1_8?s=home-garden&ie=UTF8&qid=1312943562&sr=1-8

And here's another: http://www.amazon.com/Victor-M2524-Electronic-Mouse-Trap/dp/B000E1RIUU/ref=sr_1_8?s=home-garden&ie=UTF8&qid=1312944364&sr=1-8

Late night shops here only sell the kind of glue traps that are illegal in Ireland for being excessively cruel. I can't really over-emphasise how much I don't want there to be a mouse in my bedroom right now, but I also can't stop thinking about how horrible being stuck in a glue trap would be. If there was some sort of surgery to dramatically reduce your empathy to manageable levels, I think that'd be very convenient. An empathectomy? What a smoother path through life we would have.
noideadog: (lucy)
Back in New York. Zombie Tanya is zombied. My apartment has around 10% more cats than before we left[1] and around 30% fewer living plants[2], which is within acceptable parameters. My winter hiking jacket, ideal when I left, is suddenly way too warm for the season. Did it really snow? It doesn't feel like it snowed.

Lucycat has an eye infection and sits in tragic isolation in a closet; the cat sitter eventually gave up on trying to put her into a cat carrier to take her to the vet. I have made an appointment for later this evening to attempt the same; I realise now that it will be after 11pm in my Dublin-localised brain, and that this plan has a flaw. To coffee!

I thought I might work from home in the afternoon, but my brain didn't seem to be producing any actual work, so I took a day off instead to reactivate our house, do post-trip laundry, deal with the solid cuboid of paper in the mailbox, etc. An hour in to this project, I have successfully used said time off to make toast and give up on the arduous task of grinding coffee beans. Do you think Cafe Pedlar would deliver me some coffee?

[1] The kitten grew.
[2] The kitten's reach and anger grew also.
noideadog: (lucy)

"Hey Alex-face, what're you up to?"
"Mrrrrrrr"
"Oh that? Yeah, that was our last cat from before we got you."
"Mrrr"
"He was a pretty nice cat actually. We liked him a lot. More than we like you, to be honest."
"Mrrrrr"
"It was just that he kept biting people."
"Mrrr"
"Hey, I was just thinking... you can be kind of bitey too, can't you?"
*purrs happily*

Without my spray bottle, I have no authority in this household.
noideadog: (lucy)
Having a small cat means that the cost of everything you do is increased by one action. You get a glass of milk, you're taking the cat out of the fridge. You clean up after dinner, you're taking the cat out of the dishwasher. You write an email, you're taking the cat off the keyboard. You fill out tax forms, you're defending your pen, picking the forms up off the floor and reading out loud the rules for assessing the market value of a class 2 residence that contains more than three families while a squirming furry menace chews on your knuckles.

I opened a tin of sardines this morning and became part of a perpetual motion machine. Take down the tin, put the cat on the floor, get a plate, put the cat on the floor, pull the ring, put the cat on the floor, and so on until I flipped and locked him in the bathroom. Sardines are a special case because the older cat is also curling around your feet all "What a coincidence! I like sardines too!". I shared only with Lucy, because I am a capricious god and the kitten needs to not get rewarded for wrecking my head.
noideadog: (meerkat)
Wow, internet-me hasn't really existed recently. Here's some things that have been going on:

Joel and I went to the (excellent!) Edward Hopper exhibition in the Whitney. Afterwards we noticed that we were in the path of some people who were making a film, so we had fun pretending to be Hopper characters in the background, sitting at the same table all introspective and isolated, physically together but not together, looking out the window, concentrating on our coffees, then breaking character and laughing like fools. We are so fucking highbrow.

Alex-cat and Lucy-cat are now able to be in the same room with only mild hissing and swearing, though she's still sad most of the time. I hope she stops minding soon. Alex sleeps on the bed until 6am or something and then runs in wild happy circles, ignoring strong language and feeble swipes, until we concede that we're awake. Asshole cat. On the other hand, I woke up in the middle of the night to turn over to the other side and couldn't because he was asleep on my head. It was unexpected and strange, but oddly comforting. Cats are great little people.

Last week was my birthday. I'm 33 now! It's my Jesus year! I probably won't create a major world religion this year, but I might learn how to make tonic water using the soda stream that Joel got me for my birthday. I love it. I ordered ten [unknown units] of cinchona bark and one [bottle of indeterminate size] of citric acid from a vaguely stocked website, so hilarity will probably ensue. There's a recipe here, if you want to play too: http://www.jeffreymorgenthaler.com/2008/how-to-make-your-own-tonic-water/

We were in Puerto Rico. The hotel was a stupid resort but the sun was warm and the mojitos were tasty. You know what? I never, ever sit and do nothing for hours at a time. I sat in a hammock and I got sun on me and I read my book. It wasn't even educational! (Ok, I'm rereading the Baroque Cycle, so it was a bit educational, but that wasn't the point.)

My Sleep Thing is continuing. I'm waking up and getting sleepy at regular human times and it's a glorious thing. Key features include melatonin, f.lux software, a lightbox immediately after waking, protein-filled breakfasts, light-avoiding behaviours, and science. It does indeed appear to work. I have sexy yellow night glasses on order so I can work late without being oppressed by full-spectrum office lights too.

A bunch of us went hiking in the snow, and we'll for sure do it again. Winter hiking is much harder than summer hiking, studies have shown, but it does allow you to bring a thermos of coffee and a little something to warm it up, and that's not to be sniffed at. The snow was absolutely gorgeous. Hiking's brilliant.

And now we're going for cocktails, so internet-me will morph back into real-life-me again. Laters.
noideadog: (lucy)
We've had a rough couple of weeks. All the men in our household had interesting digestive issues. All of the women were useless with depression. A combination of time, lightboxing, medicine and good pizza fixed three of us right up, but Lucycat got worse and worse until she was spending the day frozen on the sofa: no eating, no movement, no interaction beyond occasional eye contact.

We called the vet, who emphasised that cats who don't eat get dead pretty quickly: if they dont starve themselves to death (and they will if you let them), they mess up their livers badly enough that it's just a matter of time. She prescribed "stinky junk food". "Give your cat a big mac", she said. Sardines, cheap and smelly cat food, warmed up beef liver, cat treats, chicken broth, cheese, aerosolised catnip on everything, whatever smells strongly and don't worry about whether it's good for her. A few days passed during which we waved all sorts of appalling crap in front of our cat's face and received ennui and long-suffering silence in return. Fuck. Eventually the vet's office took her in for the day to inject fluids and stuff her full of valium and appetite stimulants. If that hadn't worked, we'd now be talking about hospitalisation and IVs and how much we're willing to spend on keeping our cat alive, but they did magic and we are relieved. She ate food last night and again this morning. Nobody dies today. Christmas is _on_.

Dudes, I had no idea I could agonise so much about a tiny mammal. I don't know how people with kids aren't constantly out of their minds with worry.

Christmas really is on. I walked home with a new box of Scrabble under my arm, looking in the windows at the poinsettias and decorations. Our house is all presents and cards and soft lights, cheeses and gingerbreads, fizzy wine, blankets to curl up in and Angry Birds to playgood books to read. It's a lazy, peaceful time of year, indoors and out. My neighbourhood is an even nicer mood than usual. There was a long line outside the pastry shop, and another at the cheesemonger's, everyone jovial and chatting. The florist gave me a lollipop, then called me back to present a second one, in case there were lollipop fights on Christmas day. I love living here.

Tomorrow we're going to have ravioli and champagne for brunch and open presents here, then head to the city in the evening to meet a bunch of people for indian food and a pint. A traditional family Christmas :-P
noideadog: (lucy)
I thought that having two cats would be, worst case, twice as much work as having one cat. Boy did I get that wrong. Lucy's not dealing well with the changes to our household. She's stopped eating; she vomits bile; she won't hang out with us; she digs holes in the plant pots, and then squats over the laundry. It's an exciting time. I think she's not intentionally being an asshole; she's just scared of the little dude and it's making her mental. She goes outside and doesn't come back until late and I can't sleep because I'm worried about whether she's going to be ok. More fool me, sure, but I'm getting some idea of what having a teenager must be like. (I mean, probably not squatting over laundry, but I guess it depends on the kid.)

Alex is still adorable and a pain in the ass all at once. He cries any time he's locked out of the room with the humans in it. If we let him in the bedroom at night, he sleeps in the bed with us, digging down under the duvet to find the crook of a knee or a neck to curl into. It's very cute until you wake up because he's suckling with tiny needle teeth on your fingertips, earlobes or nose. It's not his fault -- he's still a little baby really -- but let's just say we're making sure to wear clothes in bed. He wakes before dawn and runs around the room like a maniac, taking wild jumps from furniture, breaking his fall on sleeping humans. He still purrs loudly, and sits on laps, two of the best cat-attributes (the urge to say "cattributes" is so strong; it's a sickness), and two things which Lucy is just not into. He shares her love for walking on keyboards though.

Our house is chaos. There's litter everywhere. There's food everywhere. There are cats everywhere. We introduced these kids too early and it was a disaster, so we're trying to keep them completely apart for another week before doing it again. This is quite difficult in a small apartment with few interior doors. It's a logic puzzle: small cat must see humans regularly, but may not go outdoors; large cat should be allowed outdoors but needs regular reminding of where her litter is. Both cats must have food, water and litter. No cat may see another cat. The humans must be able to move between rooms without enacting a hilarious chase scene. The humans must also be allowed get some goddamn sleep.

Cats are great. I am reminding myself of this constantly. Cats are great. Not "bag, brick, Red Hook pier". Cats. Great.
noideadog: (lucy)

This is Alexander, the newest member of the Reilly-Votaw clan. We've spent most of the rest of the evening just being in love with him. Kittens are the best fun on the planet. He's madly curious about everything, but he occasionally stops his urgent investigation of every single object in the room to do a couple of seconds of drive-by affection -- whom! love! petting! whom! -- and then he's gone again to see what else is going on. He makes jumps that I thought he was way too small for: he put himself into the sink here and I couldn't find him for a few seconds because he clearly couldn't have gotten that far off the ground. He purrs like a jackhammer. He plays ball games with his food. He has teeth and claws like tiny needles. He likes running up vertical surfaces, especially jeans legs. He's so great. We're smitten.

See his extra-pink nose? That's because he was covered in motor oil when he was found as a stray. He was eating it off his fur, so they shaved the oily parts to save his digestive system. His fingers are currently bald too. It turns out that cat knuckles are weird and cool, like bat fingers, but you can't really see them here because the little crackhead moves at the speed of sound: I was happy to get this much of him in focus after forty photographs of white blurs.

Lucy has spent the evening alternately hissing, brooding in a different room, and slinging Hurt And Betrayed looks at any human who walks past. Alex is going to live in the bathroom for a few days until she gets used to the smell of him, and then we'll do formal introductions, possibly while wearing kevlar. She's a dignified, sedentary, and irritable old lady who has strict rules about who she tolerates and when and for how long. He's twelve weeks old and a kind of a mentaller. I'm sure this will go well.
noideadog: (chimney rabbit)
"What are you going to do for the rest of the evening?".
"I think I'll digest, and I'll not get paged".
"That sounds pretty strenuous. Do you think you'll be able to do both at once?"
"I'll manage."

Zzzzz... It's a nice quiet lazy sleepy Sunday evening in Chez Tanya and Joel. Cool air and nighttime sounds through open windows. Muddy Waters on the stereo. Sunflowers on the table. The edge of a poblano smell still lingering in the air. Two full-bellied humans lounging on sofas and a languid cat sleeping off a day of energetic napping. This, my friends, is what a Sunday should be. The farmers market gave us heirloom tomatoes and squashes and chillies, and okra, which I thought I didn't like until Joel did cornmeal magic with it and I couldn't get enough. I made a courzini[1], pecan and yellow squash bread too, but it'll have to wait until we're awake again.

This weekend included one of the best things on the planet: the promise of kittens. The actuality of kittens is a step better, I'll grant you, but the promise is exciting. We're going to get a kitten soon! I was out for an oncall-compliant run around our neighbourhood, and I saw a sign chalked on the pavement. "Kittens for adoption. This way." Of course I followed the arrow, and the one at the next corner and the one after that until I ended up talking to an antique-shop owner who has eight cats of her own and runs a one-woman cat rescue shelter. We'd just missed the last kitten, but -- cue knowing laughter from a customer of the shop -- finding a kitten who needs a home is not ever going to be a problem. She gets kittens all the time. Call back in sometime.

We went back in today. Too soon? Nope, we could put our names down for a kitten and, in fact, she'd be glad to have one rescued by people she knows are nice. Bear in mind that this was after a two minute conversation, so her standards may not that high, but we said thank you anyway. But no, apparently nice matters a lot here: she said that the animal-testing labs pay fifty quid for a kitten, so she gets a lot of dodgy folk enticed by the possibility of free cats. They go away when she asks for a donation of $50, which is ostensibly to cover shots and spaying, but is mostly to deter evil people. I'm kind of horrified that this precaution is necessary, but $50 is more than reasonable (we will donate more, I promise) and long story short, the next short-haired boy kitten who finds his way to her rescue place in Carroll Gardens will come live with us. Won't Lucy be happy? (The answer is "Hahaha, no.")

Oh, and we asked whether we were right that it'd be better to get a boy, since we already have a girl cat in charge of the place. (Cat lady) "It depends. Is she kind of... bitchy?". (Joel and Tanya in unison) "Oh yes". (Cat lady) "Maybe best to get a boy." She says that her several boy cats all sit in the same room all "Yo. 'Sup.", whereas the girl cats have deep and complex relationships. Insert pithy comment here.

Enough about potential-cats. Yesterday we lay in clover, not for that long, but for long enough that if it starts to frost and snow tomorrow we can still say that we enjoyed our lawn this year. It's only planted a few months and is a bit patchy in places, but there's enough contiguous clover that you can stretch out, tall stems around your ears, sun shining on your face, your bloke's head on your belly, feeling pretty happy about life. If that's not the definition of a good day, I'd like to hear a better one.

Edit: Zucchini bread was astoundingly good. I recommend this recipe: http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/zucchini_bread/ Swapping in yellow squashes works well and forgetting the cinnamon (whoops) works fine too.

[1] A type of squash that's a cross between a courgette and a zucchini and is only grown in the mid-Atlantic.
noideadog: (chimney rabbit)
Tailgating is brilliant. Only a vague sense of "didn't this elevator used to be a stairs" stopped me from trying to break into a stranger's apartment this morning to feed their cats. Right house number, wrong street. Very smart.
noideadog: (chimney rabbit)
The internet is mostly about cats.

I made catface her coldwaterbottle (a groundbreaking innovation using preexisting hotwaterbottle technology and ice to make the stupid weather bearable), and actually it was kind of a pain in the ass to make, since I had to melt the icecubes a bit to fit them in, but in the end I had a pleasantly cool bottle, wrapped in a cloth bag. I considered keeping it for myself; that's how nice it was.

And I put it on the bed, near where she likes to sleep, and she yowled at me, looked at it from five feet away, then backed away. I.. have no idea how she thinks. No clue. Except: I took one of Joel's sweaty tshirts from the laundry bag, and wrapped that around the bottle, and ten minutes later she was asleep with her forehead pressed into it. She likes the smell of Joel more than almost anything. I think she likes the coldwaterbottle too, but, again, who can say with cats.



Something stupid: I left my bank card in the machine again, this time in the Union Square branch, twenty minutes walk away. It's the machines' fault (apart from how it's entirely my fault, of course). WaMu machines dispense the money before returning the card. It's backwards.

The bank shreds uncollected cards after one day, so when I remembered at 5:30 this evening that I had to go collect it, I was a bit stressed. Cue humourously getting my skirt caught in the wheel of my office chair, and having to tear it to be able to leave without taking the chair with me. Cue getting the L train (so! hot! underground!) so that I'd definitely be there on time, then losing my mind briefly and getting off a stop early. Cue flapping along in my flip-flops, walking a hurried-old-lady walk, and getting to the bank with ten minutes to spare. Success!

But then they wouldn't give me the card because neither of the two forms of identification I had were acceptable. Even though I knew the pin on the card I was there to collect. Even though my branch had called them that morning to say I'd be collecting it. Oh boy. I wasn't all that happy about that, to be honest with you.



It's still a bit warm.



Did you like Juno? I did, a lot. I ordered a copy online for Tina (younger sister, 15 years old) a couple of months ago, and since the dvd was just released this week, she should be getting it soon. But the problem now is that I was unexpectedly home in between, and cornered Tina to talk about "So you are fifteen and have a boyfriend and we should talk about some things", and now the movie's a little tainted by its proximity to that conversation. I hope she doesn't think that I'm send it to her For Her Own Good.

(Which I am, of course, but in a different way. If you don't know it, Juno is a movie about a fifteen year old who gets pregnant. It got a bit of bad press for the relative ease with which the protagonist got back to normal life afterwards -- there's certainly no "teen pregnancy is bad, kids!" message. However, if you don't care about that (I don't, much), it's a delightful, sunshiny movie with a good story, amusing dialogue and a wonderful soundtrack. And of course, from a big-sister point of view, I'd like Tina to see at least an occasional movie which has admirable female characters who aren't mostly naked. Bonus: this one also has teenagers who look like actual teenagers.)



It occurs that if this summer stays like this, I'm going to spend a lot of evenings hiding in work (where I am) writing shite into livejournal.
noideadog: (chimney rabbit)
A large mackerel tabby[1] is watching[2] me type. Not in an interested way (his disdain is undisguised) but watching what we do is part of his several step plan to become an indoor cat. My dad's always had a policy of "No animals in the house under any circumstances", and Tabby (for so he's named) is the first creature to get this far.

He's Tina's cat, or she's his tame human, or however you look at it, she's the one abetting his schemes. It's been fun to watch them work, the kitty all innocent: "Oh I'll just lie here in the corner out of the way" "Hey, maybe I'll move on to the sofa for a while.. not causing any harm.. no need to move the nice kitty" "Is that food? Maybe it's time for me to have food; you don't need to get up; I can eat right here" "I'll just adorably climb on your lap for a while" and so on. It's working surprisingly well: he spent yesterday stretched out on a bed beside a radiator and last night he slept quite contentedly on my ribs. I got up a while back to grab a glass of water and a laptop and now I'm trying to combat feline sprawl, which has left me with no pillow and just one typing hand, the other commandeered as a security rail for curling up against. If I move, he falls on the floor, and he knows it and he knows he it won't happen. But he purrs like an engine. You get a lot of love in return for any attention you bestow. Cats are great. Clever little dudes.

I've been awake for two hours now. Maybe it's time to nap some more.

[1] And you know, I always thought a tabby cat was a female, as distinct from a tom, but Dictionary and wikipedia both say not. "A group of cats is referred to as a clowder, a male cat is called a tom, and a female is called a queen." A queen? I nevererdov that before.
[2] "Dogs guard. Cats watch. And judge." -- Salem, Sabrina the Teenage Witch
noideadog: (meerkat)
Good golly, it's Molly after fortnight in wall

A cat that got trapped in the walls of a shop for two weeks is finally free. Molly, who belongs to the Myers family which owns the grocery store, went into a hole in the wall and would not come out. She was rescued after a team of around 40 volunteers came to the British food shop in Manhattan's Greenwich Village to try and save her. Fire crews drilled dozens of holes to try to get to her and at one point a cat 'therapist' was brought in to lure her out. Finally, hi-tech cameras pinpointed Molly's location and she was lifted to freedom from a first-floor wall. The 11-month-old pet will now be microchipped.

Microchipped? Cat therapist? What? Quality journalism there from the Metro all the same.
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
Looks like our house fretting may be coming to an end. I spoke to the Mysterious Absentee Landlord, and we're getting the keys to the cottage on the 10th. This gives us two weekends of moving time, and only ten days of rent overlap. It's very exciting. There's still the real possibility that it's an elaborate scam, and that he's going to take all of our money and maybe kill us and hide us in a ditch, but I have a good feeling about this. (JINX!) We have to start thinking about packing now. If anyone has cardboard boxes taking up space in their shed, we could take them off your hands.

Speaking of lifestyle changes, where do you reckon one would source a very small cat? It has to be so small that it's not certain that it's actually a carnivore. Make a mental picture of a cat and a rabbit in an enclosed space, and if the cat isn't cowering in terror, it's too big. I'm not convinced absolute terror is the kindest way to train an animal, but nothing else is coming to mind.

Check out my new icon. Photographer DoC is taller than me. Can you tell?
noideadog: (Default)
In general, I'd say

I support crazy science

and I'd say it loud and I'd say it proud and I'd consider getting it printed on a tshirt. But, boy!, I don't like this at all.

GM engineered allergy free cats for sale

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noideadog

February 2014

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