So this morning I went shopping super-early (to avoid crowds 'n' whatnot) and I was on my way home, which is mostly on dinky little rural roads out in the middle of nowhere. I had just turned onto yet another dinky little rural road and started climbing the hill that marks the beginning of the thousand-foot "mountain" I must climb to reach where my house actually is (they don't call them "The Hilltowns" fer nothin!).
I apologize in advance.
While I myself don't care much for politics or political arguments in general, as usual I find myself in the minority, as everyone around me likes nothing better than a full-throated screamfest on a nearly daily basis. In a feeble attempt to streamline the process of a political discussion slogging toward where most political discussions eventually end up, I have made another short video of questionable taste and repulsive aesthetics.
Not me, mind you. The Favorite Husband. AKA Mister "I Don't Really LIKE Cats".
Of course, when the Favorite Husband "doesn't really like" an animal, it doesn't mean he doesn't like them. Trust me, he likes just about EVERY ANIMAL THERE IS. All it means is, if he had a choice between having THAT animal as a pet versus, say, a puppy, he would choose the puppy. He's just not an Incredible Cat Person. Neither am I, to be honest--although his parents thought differently so one year at Christmas all of my presents were kitschy kute kitten krap: posters and calendars and t-shirts depicting kittens playing with balls of yarn. I've always liked cats and I've pretty much always had them for pets, but I am not Crazy Cat Person. I like them a tad better than the Favorite Husband does, but, like him, I tend to like anything that does not actively try to draw blood from me, and that tendency sometimes gets confused with the whole "Cats are the most AWESOME ANIMALS ON THE PLANET" crowd.
We were both somewhat disappointed when, after a promising start, our little rescue kitten Sadie proved to be less than friendly. Don't get me wrong; she's here for life. It's just that her life is not the utopian purrfest you imagine it's going to be for adorable wee kitling crouched on your lap. Sadie grew up to be rather skittish and shy and distant, and it's more like living with a wild animal than a pet. Oh, well.
Enter Fred, the Maine Coon. Everything you've heard about Maine Coons, it turns out, is true. All the good stuff, anyway. He's not really a lap cat, but he enjoys hanging out in the same room with you, in a way that seems nonchalant but is pretty deliberate. If I am, say, doing laundry and running clothes from the bedroom to the washer, Fred follows along. If I go downstairs to clean the catbox there's Fred overseeing the job. And lately, if I make myself a sandwich on the kitchen table, there's Fred sitting in a nearby chair, watching the ENTIRE PROCESS from maybe six inches away.
It actually happened over a year ago, but we all know how Mojo likes to ponder and contemplate Meaning and Significance before releasing her carefully-considered thoughts to the universe. She thinks it makes her look way smarter than she actually is. Plus to be honest she’s just a lazy brute who doesn’t actually WORK at anything unless her hand is forced by the prospect of something even MORE boring.
So you could blame Mojo for this obnoxious foray into an animated rage comic complete with idiotic song.... or you could blame a year’s worth of rainy days that kept Mojo from skipping about outside, which she would much rather do than stay cooped up all day moving pictures around and dwelling on some of the, uh, interesting people she has encountered in life. Such as....Creepy Toll Booth Guy.
For those who may suspect Mojo is exaggerating a bit, as is her occasional wont for comic effect, I’m pretty sure my Favorite Older Sister, who was the driver and hence an even closer observer to this incident than Mojo, will testify in a court of law that this did in fact happen, in every grisly detail.
The bluets are out in full force right now. Any lawn worth its salt has big clumps of them, mixed in with dandelions and violets.
When I was a wee lass, coming home from school one day, I picked a bunch of them--probably off of someone's lawn, although back then we DID have large abandoned fields to walk through, as well--and presented them to my Favorite Mother. She made a BIG FUSS over my thoughtfulness and put the poor wilted things in her special purple glass vase in the center of the table. And she assured me that bluets were her most FAVORITE FLOWER EVAAR.
I have no idea if she was just Lying To a Child To Shut Her Up or what, but to this day every time I see bluets my very first thought is "Bluets! They're my mother's FAVORITE FLOWER."
Just another glimpse into the twisted brilliance that is Mojo's brain.