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I had an appointment at the VA at 8:30 Friday morning for my yearly well-check.  I was originally supposed to go the day my dad passed away, but I had to cancel and reschedule it.  I really didn’t want to go on a Friday morning knowing I’d have to work until midnight, but this was the soonest appointment I could get.  The next available appointment wasn’t until November.   We reviewed my health status, scheduled lab work, got my prescriptions renewed, and I got a pneumonia vaccine and a shingles vaccine.  (Both arms are rather unhappy with me at the moment.)  I’ve just finished my shift, and a bacon and tomato sandwich on potato bread with some ripe olives to crunch on the side, in that order.  It’s been a long day, but I have to stay up until my “normal” bedtime so as to get back on schedule.

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State of the blankie Thursday evening compared  to . . .

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. . . the state of the blankie the previous Monday

Thursday, I went on an “Inspector Morse” bender. To parenthesize the reason for my spasm of TV watching, I upgraded my Suddenlink TV to TIVO  — which is available at no extra charge — and which allows you to watch Netflix on your TV — assuming you have a Netflix subscription, which I do, hence my easy access to all extant episodes of “Inspector Morse,” which I viewed in a pristine, commercial free state!    The devil didn’t catch any rec time, however, as my hands were not idle (see above).  My Calvinist ancestors would have been pleased.  I have a growing baby blankie and shrinking balls (don’t go there!).

 

IMG_1825When I went to make my sandwich, I noted the grey kitty had been on top of the trash can/dusbin.*   (The human word “No”  translates into kitty as “Not while I’m looking.”)  I spotted little kitty spoor on the lid, which also tells me she was on the counter and in the sink while she was up there.  The prints are hers by process of elimination.  They are too small to belong to anyone else.

Of  the formerly male members of the escadrille, the white one is really no good at jumping, never has been, and won’t even try it unless he’s practically positive there’s something in it for him that will amply justify not only the effort necessary to get him aloft but also his looking like a complete prat in the process.  This is partly because he has so much fur in between his paw pads that he has very iffy traction on any kind of a smooth surface, either fore or aft, and partly because he’s just not good at jumping. He’s an elder statesman now, anyway, and he’d much rather mill about on the floor and whinge about not having whatever it is he thinks is up there that he’s convinced he ought to haveIMG_1824.   The black one has a rather basic problem in getting off the ground, namely that he is a 15-pound tub of lard.  He could probably make it, but the umph he would need to get him up onto the trash can, in combination with his heft and stainless steel’s notable lack of traction, would generate enough inertia to slide him right off the other side of it.

The grey one, however, is nimble, light, and not at all afraid of heights.   She climbs like a monkey, in fact.  I have learned the hard way not to leave dishes in the sink.  She, snug/smug in her kitty cleverness, will “forage” among them for remnants of whatever the dishes once contained and/or will drink any water she may find therein.  Invariably, she will refund it later onto whatever happens to be in front of her when the urge strikes her.  She has narrowly missed my favorite pair of shoes on several occasions.

In other news, we have two budding knitters at the knitting group — two young girls, probably 7 and 9, sisters, and their great dad, who is willing to sit with them amid a gaggle of older women, while their mother takes their brothers into the library.  (The knitting group is held in a “community use room” at a branch of the city library.)  It is delightful to see parents willing to bring their children to a library.  I have a big bin full of “oddballs” — balls of yarn of various sizes left over from this and that — that I need to do something with because it’s sitting out in the middle of the floor.  There’s no room for it in the closet.   I plan to sort through it  and pull out some colorful yarn to give to the girls.  Several of us make a point to bring knitting needles or crochet hooks we’ve thinned out from our respective caches and some surplus yarn which we are willing to give away on the off chance that someone will come wanting to learn, but who doesn’t know what to buy in the way of needles or yarn.

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Did I mention he eats paper?

While I’m sorting through the yarn, I plan to pull out some yarn to knit some hats for three little nappy heads.  The people across the way are moving Monday.  They are a nice couple with three cute little kids, and I will be sorry to see them go not least because I fear what kind of neighbors I might get to replace them — like some college kids who will want to party hearty all weekend while I’m trying to work.   Ugh.   I expect I’ll find out what kind of neighbors I’ll be getting on or about 1 Nov.  Maybe I’ll luck out.  Again.

2014_10_24-07At some point very soon, I need to vacuum.  The white one has been earnestly dematting himself and there are tufts of white fur all over the house (a right is his self appointed place to lie while I’m working).   Also, I crumple pieces of waste paper and throw them on the office floor for him to eat, to keep him from climbing up on my desk and getting into the paper in my printer.  Now, in addition to partially munched big pieces of paper (see above), there are a plethora of little pieces the grey one has torn off and left lying about  like a residue of feathers.  Sigh.

 

 

*Every trash can in this house has a secureable lid, because if it didn’t the white one would overturn it and rummage through its contents.  Did I mention he eats paper?
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