All Cats Look Grey In the Dark

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the
scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered
dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He
wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a
high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine
marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed
in the sunlight. When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in
the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the
gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he
got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"
"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered. "Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked. "Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The man gestured, and the gate began to open. "Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued
the way he had been going with his dog. After another long walk, and at the
top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate
that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you have any water?" "Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in." "How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog. "There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand
pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the water bowl and took a
long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree. "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked. "This is Heaven," he answered. "Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's
hell." "Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their
best friends behind."

I work with 40 women. Not a single one of them seems to know how to put a roll of toilet paper on the dispenser. Honestly, these women have PhDs and Masters degrees, and they can't figure out how to operate a simple spring action device that appears in most homes?

That's just weird.

(And yes, I'm being petty and bitchy. That's what Live Journal is for, right?)

Can't live with 'em.

Can't find a good spot for the shallow grave.

So I've been keeping up with the artwork pretty well, while building my basement studio. One of the most popular things I've been doing over the last year are "shrines." People seem to love these goofy little things, and they're a hell of a lot of fun to make... This is the one I had to keep for myself, the "Buddy Christ" shrine, a-la Kevin Smith:

This morning I rounded up all the spare change from my pockets and from under the sofa cushions, with the intention of heading to the Dunkin' D to enjoy a donut and a cup of tea while I perused the Sunday want ads for prospective part-time positions holding the potential to line my pockets with some extra cash... ok, not extra so much, since the coffers are pretty nigh empty... The donut was intended to make this a "fun" or at least semi-gratifying excursion.

Now last summer some rambunctious little urchin ran under my feet while I was carrying a bunch of stuff down the stairs, giving me a nasty twist and a torn ligament in my left ankle. They say those tears never really heal... So this a.m. I'm walking along, and turn my head for just a second to greet one of the neighborhood when I hit an uneven spot in the pavement that I swear was kinda on par with the Grand Canyon of sidewalk chasms... One graceless stumble later and a searing pain up my left leg pretty much told the story of "gee I've just managed to make that worse, haven't I?" So now my ankle is swollen to elephantitis proportions. It's very pretty. You're lucky my camera's on the fritz.

Anyway, I decided maybe a bagel was the more practical option.

Inigo is still top cat, and Phoebe still plays second fiddle and is happy about it... But Mouse is no longer with us!

Not to fear, he's fat and happy and living the single life with a college co-ed. Round about February he decided that he wanted to be the master of all he surveyed. If you're familiar with territorial male cat behavior, you won't be surprised to know this mostly involved pissing in various spots around the house, and trying to beat the crap out of Inigo on a regular basis. Of course being the wily old street cat Inigo always ended up the victor, so Mouse would then turn around and take it out on Phoebe. After a couple of months of "behavior modification therapy," consultations with vets and various feline experts, the answer came back medication or new home.

So I decided on new home. How can you medicate a cat for just following their instincts? Still... seriously miss the goofy fuzzball.

And where else do you post weird quiz thingummies that people send you?

( Because Kittenagogo wanted to know... )

So I think I left off more or less after closing on my first home, which is where I guess I'll pick up... I must say I'm still totally and completely in love with it! Although it brings new meaning to the term "fixer upper." I really, really love having space to work though... studio in the basement, craft room upstairs - you'd think I'd died and gone to heaven!

( Details, details... )