|Tuckered out Blogger|
It’s been a heady 37 days since I began blogging every day. My sink is overflowing with dirty dishes and there are currently no fresh vegetables in the vegetable bin. I do have a couple of cartons of Thai food in the refrigerator that I picked up last night because I couldn’t eat any more cereal. Someday I’ll write a blog about the lady who owns the Thai restaurant here in town. She’s a piece of work–the Mountain’s version of the Soup Nazi. She’s the Pad Thai Nazi. But her food is filled with heroin or something and I have to eat it at least twice a month now. I’d eat it more often than that, but the lady scares me.
In the last month, I’ve learned about alexa, and klout, and opened a twitter account. My friend Anne has been a huge encourager to keep trying with twitter, and so, because pleasing Anne makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, I have. I maybe have sort of figured it out thanks to HootSuite and Melissa Culbertson at momcomm.
I made a big announcement that I was going to move over to WordPress and got scared and didn’t. Out of the blue, I’ve registered for two blogging conferences, BlogHer in San Diego and The Sits Girls in Atlanta. I’ve picked up a few more followers and people are commenting. But mostly I’ve been writing a lot. And reading a lot of blogs. Oh, and I changed my comments platform to Disqus which I hope will allow me to respond to your comments easier.
I started out this blogging experiment with one nearly dead bichon, Jean-Luc, AKA The Doo, my son’s rambunctious labrador, Georgia, and two very healthy kittens, Emma and Mr. Darcy. Jean-Luc is recovered from his injuries. Georgia is just the same as she always was. Emma, we’ll talk about some other time. And poor Mr. Darcy went to kitty heaven (where all cats are saved regardless of political or religious affiliations). Penelope Trunk says the worst thing a blogger can do is write about cats, so that’s what I’m going to do today.
My husband and I have a long, sordid history with cats. Generally how it works is this: We break down and we get a wonderful kitten that we totally fall in love with. And then we give it a good name. There’s been Luna, and Inky, and Jigsaw, and Mittens, and Mr. Darcy, and others I’ve forgotten. These cats never last. If we love them then they are doomed. I’m afraid the second I fell in love with Mr. Darcy I knew his little kitten days were numbered.
THEN, in our overwhelming grief, we run out and get another kitten/cat, it doesn’t matter, right away. But the replacement cat is always a terrible cat that we hate. BUT WILL NEVER DIE. We have a nine-year old cat like this that lives in the rafters of our garage; Sherbert. Sherbert was dropped on his head. It was an accident. Accidents happen. Then he ended up lost out in the snow for awhile. But he came back. And a few years ago he was inadvertently locked in our storage shed with the Christmas decorations for eight days without food or water. The gasman heard his sorrowful meowing and opened the door and let him out. I don’t know how he survived. He pissed all over our Christmas decorations.
I rushed to get him food and water. But he just stood there screaming cat curse words at me. For hours. And hours. And hours. To this day, he just sits in the rafters yelling at us whenever we open the door. He won’t come in the house. He bites you when you try to pet him. He’s horrible. We hate him. He will not die.
Because we’re not completely right in the head, and we never learn from any of our mistakes, we ran out in our grief over Mr. Darcy and adopted ourselves a new cat; Tucker. Tucker is the sweetest little bed kitty that there ever was. He is a four-year old neutered male found abandoned out in the woods covered with ticks. He hasn’t shown even the remotest interest in going outside, so I don’t think he wandered out there all by his lonesome (Whoever you are, shame on you!). The Humane Society had to shave off a lot of his hair, so now I have two badly groomed and sorta scroungy looking pets.
Tucker is really two cats in one. When I look at him I see this lovely little kitty:
|Tucker as he really is|
But I’m afraid that when my husband looks at him he sees this:
|The cat my husband sees|
He does have the loveliest green eyes. And he’s really cuddly and sweet. I think I love him already. He’s a dead cat walking.