Wolf Wears Wool

Really, can you blame Simon for preferring to not be recalled, when comes to it? He’s rather different now, after all. People evolve over time, or so I am told . . . Better hop aboard the Beagle and double-check that . . .

ALSO . . . I’m trying something a bit different.  I’m thinking I might use American spellings for Simon and other US-based characters, and British-English spellings for R., since he is from England . . .  I’d like to do it, but if it’s going to throw people off, that won’t be good.  Please let me know what you think ^_^

At any rate, today was mad and cray-cray and I could not be more relieved to be home . . . The whole week was rather mad, in fact . . . Yesterday, I had to vaccinate some kittens. Sounds simple, but kittens can be quite the challenge to medicate in this way. Cat skin is so thin, and with the fur in the way, it’s rather hard to be certain that you haven’t simply gone in with the needle, only to have it come out the other side. In this case, well, that was the case. I wound up sticking myself and bleeding all over the poor wee beast. “Oh yes, I’m terribly sorry this kitten looks like it had a bad ketchup accident. I took the brunt and bludge of it, he just got the debris, no worries.” Yes, that tends to go over very well with foster caretakers At any rate, that rather describes my work week, so far. Not dreadful, mind, but challenging and a bit brutal.

Oh, but the madness seems to have followed me home . . . I was sitting here, finishing up this most recent page and talking to my K., when I heard the dread cry “Mriii-rii-rii!” from behind.

Now, allow me to explain. My cats can be quite vocal, but their miaows could not be more different. And Zekiel unfailingly utters this one particular miaow when he sees a bug. That miaow sounds like this; “Mriii-rii-rii!”

. . . And indeed, when I heard the Dread Bug Knell of Zeke, I was, in fact, filled with dread. Because I knew what bug he had spotted, and I knew exactly where he had spotted it . . . For some time now, there has been a biggish spider moseying round my flat. I let it stay because it was a harmless variety and would do more good than harm by recycling any less pleasant insects that might toddle in. And it was keeping my cats entertained. So, yer, the thing hung about for a few days, then disappeared briefly . . . But when Zeke miaowed in such a way, I knew it was that silly spider . . . And that miaow came from behind me, I knew that the spider was on the wall, over my bed.

Now, I can tolerate a spider sharing space with me and acting as a flatmate of sorts. But I do NOT want to climb into bed with my flatmates, and this is CERTAINLY no exception.

. . . I got up from my desk and walked over to the bed . . . Just in time to witness the horrifying spectacle of Ru bounding clear UP THE WALL and batting the spider down, ON. TO. MY. BED.

Thanks a pantsload, Ru, really.

I spent five minutes trying to catch the sodding thing and to ensure that it did not go under my covers for the love of God . . . I finally managed to herd it into the hollow part of a big, decorative candle with a bubble wand of all things, then slapped my copy of Cannery Row over said candle, and carried the whole job outside. The spider was then amiably dumped into my landlord’s garden, thus bringing the whole saga to a galvanising end.

. . . Yes, I do own a decorative candle and bubbles, WHAT OF IT?!  My cats happen to ENJOY IT when I blow bubbles for them (and they have special miaows for that, too).  Harrumph.

. . . Well, almost alone.  Alone in a sense.  A spiritual, psychological sense.  On a deeper level.

EVERYONE: “Stop talking goo, F.”

Right, okay, so I thought a ‘Blue Moon’ reff would be apropos of this page (cred also to K.).  Bite my silly wee peach of  a bum.  AT ANY RATE, Simon was quite colourful not so long ago, eh?  Well, colourful in a metaphorical sense, mind, as opposed to a literal one.  A poetic, abstract sense of the wor-

EVERYONE: “WE ARE RINGING THE GOO POLICE, F.”

ALL RIGHT, I WILL STOP NOW, I PROMISE.

. . . Er, so.  had a lovely morning with K. via skype, then Carlea came round for our usual workday.  And there was lemonade.   I worked some more on an upcoming segment of this chapter which will be done almost entirely in traditional media.  Felt very productive.  I may upload a sneak peak or something, as you lot are a beautiful, fabbity bunch and I loff ye dearlike.

Speaking of which, I must say, I have been getting some very kind feedback from some simply lovely individuals out there, and I couldn’t be more pleased/grateful.  For all of you who have been reading and taking a moment to lend me your thoughts without the impoetus of the proverbial penny, thank you so much.  It means a great deal that you’d take a moment out of your day to share a bitty-bittle sliver of your mind and heart with me.

EVERYONE: “WE ARE RINGING THE SCHMALTZ POLICE, F.”

::snif:: Bite my pleased and grateful wee pomegranate of a bum! . . . BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. ::flail::

Yep.  Yep yep yep.

This week-end has been better, I must confess. Though on Saturday, I did have to stay an hour and fifteen minutes late at work.  When I came out of the building, mine was the last car in the lot . . . Rather eerie-making sight, that was.  And when I walked into the office to check out, my boss and our vet tech looked at me like I’d just fallen out of someone’s arse.

BOSSLADY: “Where did YOU come from?!”
ME: “Admin building.”

They thus came to the dual simultaneous realisation that they had neglected to lock the door.

VET TECHLADY: ” . . . So anyone could have just come through the door and killed us.”

. . . Especially if they had not gone through with their (apparent) original plan, that morning . . . I had walked in to see one of the senior staff flicking at a full syringe and needle.

ME: “Ach, what’s that you’ve  got?”

SENIOR STAFFLADY: “Distemper vaccine.”

ME: “Oh dear, have I been acting out?”

OTHER SENIOR STAFFLADY: “Heh, well, what’re you waiting for, [F.]?  Bend over!”

. . . ::shrug:: Foresight?  May-bee.

Aaaaand we’re back to colour.  Wave bye bye to Aurelia . . . Only, if you did, she’d probably critique you on it.  Pivot at the wrist and cup the hand slightly, as when screwing in a lightbulb . . .

Okay, that’s enough of that.  Honestly?  I feel like my brain’s been put through a taffy pulling device.  Today is Friday the thirteenth and reiterating as much should be plenty illustrative.

BUT. BUT. BUT.  This bears mention; I got a spam comment from ‘cialis en ligne’ (cialis online), which reads as follows;

‘Maintenant tout est devenu clair, le merci bien pour l’explication.’

EVERYONE: ‘Oh F, do translate.’

Of course; ‘It has all become so clear, thank you so much for the explaination.’

. . .  This comment was placed on the page in which Simon and Aurelia are standing at their parents’ graves, which compels me to ponder if Cialis works on dead people . . . Maybe the French kind does.  Oh la la la and hon hon hon! . . . Ew.

Oh yes, and this update’s a doubleheader as I wound up with A LOT of unexpected free time, today, blah.  But yes, do check back for that in a few hours!

. . . If French Cialis works on dead people, why not Spanish Fly? Would they speak those languages when they rose from their graves? . . . Holy carp, this is why we don’t let F. think.  About anything.  Because it could very well lead to a veritable army of frisky, francophonetic zombies . . . Not to mention a clusterfuck of Castellano corpses . . . Eurghlack, right, that’s disgusting and I’m done now, I promise.

Auch, the bitchery continues! When it comes down to it, Aurelia has more than one good reason to be a crab right now, but still . . . I’m not sure Simon deserves that. I’ll look into it, send myself a memo, prepare a fresh glass slide for the microscope and get back to you by Thursday.

But yer, I have an interview of sorts for a semi-jobthingamaroo in about half an hour. Just wanted to this get this up now because WordPress keeps doing this weirdoo thing with the timing (i.e. posting my posts four hours after I upload them). Anyhow, I shall blog later! Till then, my petals.

. . .

Back.  And I don’t mind telling you that life can be vividly ASTOUNDING in its unbrilliance at times.  But, whatever.  It also goes on, hurree-hurrah.

It was a rough day at work, yesterday.  Heck, if it comes to that, it is BEEN a rough past few days.  The day before yesterday went fine, but it was so cray-cray et biz-ay that I came home, tried to draw/write, quivered, grew irritated, tried to prop myself up, drooled a little, but was frankly too exhausted to go on.  Fell into bed and deflated into sleep at . . . I think, 10:30.  And yesterday . . . Ugh.  Everytime I go into work, thinking to myself ‘feeling good, not going to arse anything up, going to be a good little F. and do everything right!” . . . Well, there must be something inherently wrong with me, because no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to do things right.  As I put it to coworker El, “I am Don Quixote, forever tilting at the windmill of . . . Me.”

. . . Oi, Sancho!  Stop weeing in my helmet, you KNOW that is not what it is for!

So, anyhoo, Thank Lord it is Friday.  Interview was not so much an interview, but it went well enough.  Will be painting for peanuts very soon, it seems.  Always good to have a bit of extra cash, though.  Especially as I am trying to save up for Something Special for A Special Occasion . . . He he he, so cryptic!

. . . Oi, Sancho! Get your fat ass out of my begonias!  How many times must I tell you to keep that thing on a leash?!

OH CRIKEY . . . It’s a flipping GORGEOUS day out there, so I saw fit to fling my windows open and give the flat an airing.  Unforch, I have to shut the cats into their little kennel when I do this because Ru is just dim enough that he might actually jump out.  I’d like not to let him fall two storeys to become cat-pizza on the driveway . . . So, I only did it for about twenty minutes, then I closed the windows most of the way, leaving about an inch and a half’s gap not large enough for a cat to get through . . . Or so I thought.  I let them out of their carrier and sat back down to blog.  Next thing I know, I hear a little miaow . . . I look over my shoulder and Zeke has wedged his head through the gap and BECOME STUCK.  Good Heavens . . . I freed him and he looked up at me all wide-eyes and derp-face.  I swear, his eyes are so huge and so blue, when the light hits them and his pupils contract, it makes them look bulgey and weird and almost creepy.  Rather like Elijah Wood in that respect . . .

. . . Oi, Sancho! Stop harranguing me about your stupid duke and go back to your insula!  Haven’t you got some lashes to give yourself?!

At any rate, Dulci- I mean, K. is on a plane home, the noo, having survived the dread first year at college, hurrah!  I wish you Godspeed, my love, and I can’t wait to see you on Monday!  Tell me, have you finished the chocolate fairy-bunny I sent you for Easter, or does it still look like a rabbit version of Nike of Samothrace?

. . . Oi, Sancho . . . How about these sheep, eh?