Archive for May, 2009

Long weekends

It is Queen’s Birthday weekend, and I have managed to get all three days of it off work. Hooray!

I gave the kittens a hunk of raw beef this morning. It was absolutely adorable. There were little spats of YOU ARE EATING FOOD IN MY PERSONAL SPACE and killing Rrrrrrrrr!! noises. Tigra killed hers before eating it – the full-on toss meat in air to break it’s neck, bat it about the floor, bite down HARD – all while making adorable little GROWLY noises, before she eventually ate it.

We are eating the rest of the meat in a mystery stew – I knew the age of the contents of the freezer, but not exactly what cut all the dead cow in there was. Stew seemed to be the answer.

We have been busy, the last two days. Friday night, we emptied the spa pool and took out the filter for a clean. Tobermory managed to bash his head on the framing of the crawlspace door, and gave himself a concussion so bad I insisted we go to A&E. He turned out to be fine, but the doctor did say that I was right to bring him in. So, that was Friday.

Saturday, with Pstyken and Thaqui (well, fairly obviously Thaqui owing to the fact he lives here), we scrubbed the hell out of the spa with meths, then refilled it. It’s actually quite hard work, not to mention that all those alcohol fumes floating around the air aren’t much fun.

Tobermory and I also managed to have a rather vicious spat (during which I was a horrible harpy, and subsequently managed to cry so hard that I’ve burst blood vessels under my eyes, d’oh). I should note we were both in various different ways wrong, and frankly it boils down to the usual couply issue of communication-fail. Such is life.

Today, I committed acts of violence against the front gardens. I had kitten assistance! They were shut inside while we cleaned the spa, so that they didn’t decide to drink the chemicals, so of course today they went absolutely bananas outside. Boomer kept standing in the middle of the plants that I was trying to hack, leading to a couple of moments where it was chop, chop, cho-AUGH KITTEN TAIL. He is a lovely affectionate cat, which is wonderful except when he insists on Helping with Everything.

Tigra and Boomer also had several wonderful games of … you know, I have no idea what it actually was, except it appeared to involve chasing each other up and down trees at opposite sides of the section. Presumably it made sense to them.

It has been a pleasant couple of days, either despite of because of working hard. And I intend to spend the holiday Monday sitting on my backside, doing as little as possible.

The morning wake-up call

beep beep beep beep beep
I vaguely stir towards consciousness.

beep beep beep beep beep
Gnhh. Morning. Beep is clock. Should do something about that.

beep beep beep beep beep
Wriggle, extract leg from underneath kitten. Extend arm to whack snooze button.

beep beep beep beep beep
Alarm is fuzzy. Why is alarm fuzzy? Made of plastic.

beep beep beep beep beep
Alarm also apparently purring.

beep beep beep beep beep
Wait. Object is in fact second kitten.

beep beep beep beep beep
Kitten is sniffing alarm, attempting to press snooze button with nose. Clever kitten. Scritch kitten ears, carefully dislodge kitten.

beep beep bee-
Alarm is mercifully silenced. Kitten comes to sit on my pillow and nuzzle. Kitten is made of cute.

Party!


Moose threw a birthday party on Saturday. The theme was “Game characters”, and I went as Carmen Sandiego.

It was a fantastic night, there were loads of awesome costumes, lots of good people, an amazing cake, and Tobermory and I took home the Best Dressed Male (Hitman*) and Best Dressed Female prizes.

I wrote a seven page letter of burble to my grandmother tonight. I’m going to send it to her along with photos of the party, so that she feels like she’s included. The burble isn’t just about the party, it’s about the house and the kittens and … everything. Well, a cheerful everything, I don’t include the bad bits, just a nice positive chatty natter that she can read and re-read, and photos she can show the nurses, and so on.

There was more I wanted to write about the party, but after talking to Mum tonight, I am feeling somewhat melancholic.

Nana is 80 now. She’s not going to last too much longer. She’s had her second major bowel obstruction in a few years (she is on some amazing drugs for it right now), and she’s far too frail for surgery. Assuming she would actually submit to going to hospital at all, which is far from certain.

She’s had a good innings, and honestly her quality of life is slowly going down hill.

But I’ll still miss Nana when she goes.

* I know I’m biased and all, but damn he looked good.

Reading is cool!

I’ve been website-hopping recently, looking at.. oh, all kinds of things. Interior decorating, snaps of people’s homes. Sometimes I get frustrated, not knowing what I want to do with various rooms, and the more ideas I can put in my brain the better, right?

One thing I really don’t get, though. A lot of these shots feature bookcases, of course. But these bookcases, so often they don’t hold actual books! They’re used for ornaments, or amazing DVD collections, or the cat’s cushion is in there, or… whatever. But don’t people actually read anymore?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Television Is Evil or anything. I watch shows and movies – admittedly I do so rarely, and I do realize I’m at the far end of the bell curve for ‘normal’ television consumption.

I know that not everyone reads as prolifically as I do. I learned to read very young (I was about two), I was reading chapter books by the time I was five, I inhaled almost every book that my primary school library had, and by the time I was at intermediate, my teacher was using me as a teacher’s aide to teach a couple of kids remedial reading (no, seriously – I never realised how inappropriate it was at the time, and I kinda enjoyed it).

I love reading. I always have. I get immersed in universes, I fall in love with characters. As an adult, I read less than I used to – I have a Tobermory, a job, and a house to care for, after all – but even then. My coworkers know that I will be completely oblivious to their presence on my lunchbreaks, because I will be reading a book, either deadtree or ebook* format. TheLinguist regularly checks various fine points of English against my knowledge, not because I hold any formal language qualifications, but because I have inhaled books so voraciously that I have a very accurate sense of grammar**.

I know I’m a reading freak, is the point. But… aren’t children taught to love books any more? I deal regularly with high school graduates who are working for my company to make a few bucks over summer, and the simple amount of fail inherent in their reading abilities terrifies me on a regular basis. They just don’t appear to have basic reading comprehension, and even when that fails, the idea of reading the sentence aloud to themselves to figure out if it makes more sense that way is apparently too hard. TheLinguist has commented on the lack in some of the students that he’s taking sodding language papers with! (Thankfully, mostly they’re failing.)

All my friends read, as far as I’m aware. Tobermory isn’t as much of a reader as I am, but that’s more because he has an excellent memory, and so his tolerance for re-reading isn’t as high as mine. In some cases, we’ve struck up friendships over books, using those as a common point of reference to start a conversation. For that matter, I have a vague idea that Tobermory and I spent quite a few of our early conversations comparing notes on authors. And those in my circle who have children are certainly teaching their little ones to read.

But then I return to the Internet, and see all those screeds and screeds of homes without books, and with so many many many DVD’s. I just… don’t get it. Books are such an innate part of my life, something I don’t think I could do without.

* The iPhone/iTouch application Stanza wins for ebook reading. Drains battery a bit quicker than I’d like, but it’s glorious, and it means I can tote several hundred books with me at any given time, hallelujah the relief on my bag space.
** This doesn’t necessarily cross over to my writing. I’ve noticed that since I started working in helldesk roles, the terrible grammar/spelling/punctuation I am exposed to on a daily basis in user-emails has rubbed of on my inherent language abilities. It’s kind of sad, but I guess it’s understandable.