The words, I mean. I typed, and they kept melting into an untidy dribble at the bottom of the comment box. Then I drank more wine and didn't care so much. Ignore the untidiness at the bottom. Unless blogger cleans it up.
Or the cat's think it's food and lick it up. We had one cat (Amelia) that liked chili. Some of you know my wife makes spicy food. Amelia licked her lips very thoughtfully for a long time afterwards, every time. I'm glad I don't know if burned a day later or so. Maybe that explains her periodic kitty box problems. Sebastian was fascinated by the smell of bananas, just totally fascinated. He'd sniff and sniff and sniff, but he'd never want to eat one. Crackers though, he'd have walked through fire to get them. Once I was holding them out at arms length. When he realized he couldn't reach up, he hopped up on me, then tried to walk out my arm. His balance was fine, but my arm strength was not up to holding about 17 pounds. After he fell off, he looked up for a second. As soon as my arm was out straight again, he hopped up and wrapped all 4 paws around my forearm and wrist, and that big maw reached for the crackers. At that point I gave in and fed him some. Nefertiti was a total slut for cheese. Any kind of cheese. She knew what the sound of the cheese drawer in the fridge was, and would be there in seconds. Not the veggie drawer. Not the fruit drawer. Just the cheese drawer.
A couple days have gone by and I was thinking it was time to mow the lawn. But it won't hurt it to go a few more days. It's not like it will go bad or anything. About the only thing that has to be done is take out the garbage and recycling carts. At first I thought these were the biggest boondoggle ever, but now that we've got a routine worked out I'm liking them. All I need to do is get a cart for the bottle returnables. In our case that's milk, OJ, some beer or cider, and the odd wine bottle that is not one of mine. People give us wine sometimes. No, seriously, they do. It's not like I'm going to say no.
The rule is that the carts are not supposed to go out before 7:30 the evening before, and have to be in by 7:30 that night. Ha. They live in our garage, to be more convenient for tossing stuff into, but most of our neighbours leave them out all the time. That worked out really well for us when garbage day was the day after yoga class, but now it means a special trip in and out of the garage. Talk about first world problems, eh?
I've had a couple good clicks out of my back, and it continues to improve. The real call of the basement is that it's cool. I was down there doing some stretching earlier, and didn't want to come back upstairs. I'll probably be sleeping on my yoga mat tonight.
The Stampede tourists are getting loopy in the heat. Walking around like they've been gut shot or something. Stopping strangers on Stephen Avenue and asking where the Stampede is. All around you lady was one response. One guy already had a huge red spot on his bald spot. He's going to be a hurting unit when the hangover starts to wear off. I'm not in touch with all my buddies, but haven't heard of any pending divorces so far. That has not always been the case for half way through Stampede.
Linda's work had a breakfast this morning. I was a bit nervous when I saw the banjo player, but it all worked out and the food was pretty good as these things go. I think I amuse Linda's coworkers. It's hard to describe. I'm not sure what she's told them about me. Considering THEY think SHE is the one that knows ALL ("we just ask Linda, she always knows") and her story is that she asks me.
It's much too hot to be comfortable with a cat in a lap. Which is too bad. They are very good lap cats. All the knots are combed out of Curtis's fur, and the clipped bits are filling in nicely. No doubt it's all the food he gobbles with the most disgusting noises, leading to the most amazing cat flatulence I've ever been subject to. Now he's got his nose up to the screen, wondering why I'm paying so much attention to the bottom of the screen.