So right now I'm supposed to be stuffing myself with sweets, except I got a jump start on that yesterday with tapioca pudding which just happened to be on sale at C-Town for $1.99 for six. This morning I'm more concerned with my sudden resemblance to Rick Perry, as I've been able to come up with three positives about giving up this apartment and can only remember two of them.
One - and I can get quite giddy with excitement about this - would be having only one bank account and checkbook, and the other is not having to clean the place before I leave; whatever number three was was as good as those two, I thought at the time, but it's as gone from my head as the third government agency Perry was going to abolish, so I hereby step down from my fight for the Republican nomination for president.
In the meantime, I have to rouse myself enough to do a bit of packing, except that now I don't know what I'm packing for. I'd thought this would be the last weekend I'd be here for perhaps two years, hysterical laughter, and now I'll be back down in four days time, as even if sub-tenant does move in, he won't do it till next weekend and that will give me a day to mail all the books I haven't packed yet because of being thrown for a loop by the landlord's attorney's letter.
With Saturn stationing almost exactly opposed to Venus, whatever bug has taken up residence in my blood stream settling in for an extended stay and the prospect of moving out of this apartment after 38 years, I don't seem to have very much energy for anything, let alone packing. The only really constructive thing I can think of doing is hoofing it down to C-Town before they run out of tapioca pudding, and making sure I have a spoon in my computer bag for the bus tonight.
29 January, 2012
28 January, 2012
Sun Opposed to Pluto - The not-such-a-bombshell Bombshell
So I get down to New York last night for the final get everything sorted before the sublet begins on February first to find a slim certified mail envelope from the landlord under the door. It's much too thin to be the lease renewal for April, but even so, when I open it this morning and see the refusal to allow the sublet and the refusal to renew the lease in April, it's still a shock and I have to sit down for a while before I stop shaking.
And 20 Hours Later:
Enough of a shock that, added to some caught-from-Star-Child mysterious bug that I was already in the grip of pardon my syntax, I spent the rest of the day flat on my back watching episode after episode of The Human Jungle, eating tapioca pudding and drinking Theraflu.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning, immediately climbed up the ladder to the top of one closet, took down the box of Cardsox samples that's been up there for 25 years, emptied them all into a big black trash bag, climbed up the ladder to the top of the other closet, took out the comforter/quilt my mother gave me 30 years ago, stuffed that into the same trash bag, put on my raincoat and took the bag downstairs out on to the street for big trash pick up day; I was already too late for my landlord's contractor, so had to put the bag next to the trash of the pet shop next door. This probably means his carrier will refuse to pick up my bag, and when I go to the post office today I'll be walking over soggy pairs of white lace socks inside A Little Present for the New Baby greeting cards.
Time for another tapioca pudding. I think it's called comfort food.
And 20 Hours Later:
Enough of a shock that, added to some caught-from-Star-Child mysterious bug that I was already in the grip of pardon my syntax, I spent the rest of the day flat on my back watching episode after episode of The Human Jungle, eating tapioca pudding and drinking Theraflu.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning, immediately climbed up the ladder to the top of one closet, took down the box of Cardsox samples that's been up there for 25 years, emptied them all into a big black trash bag, climbed up the ladder to the top of the other closet, took out the comforter/quilt my mother gave me 30 years ago, stuffed that into the same trash bag, put on my raincoat and took the bag downstairs out on to the street for big trash pick up day; I was already too late for my landlord's contractor, so had to put the bag next to the trash of the pet shop next door. This probably means his carrier will refuse to pick up my bag, and when I go to the post office today I'll be walking over soggy pairs of white lace socks inside A Little Present for the New Baby greeting cards.
Time for another tapioca pudding. I think it's called comfort food.
23 January, 2012
Venus Square Uranus
You can read as many interpretations of this aspect are there are predictive astrology sites online, and not one of them will say "You will be in a very fetching short magenta smocked top on the top of a ladder stowing fabric you cannot bear to part with in the top of a closet, expecting a phone call from your sub-tenant-to-be telling you when he will arrive, when the outside doorbell rings and there he is downstairs."
He was off by fifteen (time) minutes of exactitude, but Uranus triumphs once again; as Michael Lutin always says, If you think you can predict it, you can't, if Uranus is involved. He of course says it in a slightly snappier way, but that's the best I can do, having just woken up back around the corner in Cambridge after the best night's sleep I've had for a month. Can't remember sleeping till 9:30 am, but if yet another two solid days of sorting, packing, stowing and trashing the artifacts/detritus/remains/results of the past 38 years is what it took to achieve it, I'll happily go back to waking up at six, thank you very much.
No - I lovingly embrace <eye roll> my new life and am perpetually stunned at my naivete in thinking it had begun two Novembers ago, when I went back to my roots as a babysitter and moved into the hallway, as Uranus was sextiling the Ascendant. And of course, it had, except I wasn't expecting it to lead so smoothly (!) into the new new one that's just started.
Ah well - no time for rumination when one sleeps so late into the day, especially when the wheelie bag has to be unpacked and its contents stowed somewhere so one can return to New York to fill it up again in three days time.
He was off by fifteen (time) minutes of exactitude, but Uranus triumphs once again; as Michael Lutin always says, If you think you can predict it, you can't, if Uranus is involved. He of course says it in a slightly snappier way, but that's the best I can do, having just woken up back around the corner in Cambridge after the best night's sleep I've had for a month. Can't remember sleeping till 9:30 am, but if yet another two solid days of sorting, packing, stowing and trashing the artifacts/detritus/remains/results of the past 38 years is what it took to achieve it, I'll happily go back to waking up at six, thank you very much.
No - I lovingly embrace <eye roll> my new life and am perpetually stunned at my naivete in thinking it had begun two Novembers ago, when I went back to my roots as a babysitter and moved into the hallway, as Uranus was sextiling the Ascendant. And of course, it had, except I wasn't expecting it to lead so smoothly (!) into the new new one that's just started.
Ah well - no time for rumination when one sleeps so late into the day, especially when the wheelie bag has to be unpacked and its contents stowed somewhere so one can return to New York to fill it up again in three days time.
20 January, 2012
back in the saddle again
or at least on the bus, so pardon lack of capital letters; it's a bit cramped, and my hand/wrist/arm movements are restricted.
this is my first trip back to new york since moving up to cambridge and my new domicile almost two weeks ago. while i *should* have come back down last weekend, as there's still so much to do in the apartment, i simply could not summon the necessary energy to do it and decided instead to go back around the corner and spend some time with sweet pea on the saturday night, as my employer and my job were away for the night; not a great idea, as my head was still swirling with the events of the ha ha holidays.
It felt very uncomfortable to be back at the scene of my crimes <ha ha again>, and having sweet pea almost ignore me didn't help. god knows he's never been the cuddliest of critters but at first he would barely let me pick him up, which did nothing whatever to elevate my mood and made it clear to me even one's pets join in the fun when Saturn is stationing opposite one's Venus. When employer and job appeared unannounced on Sunday morning I could scarcely remove myself from the premises quickly enough, and hoofed it back to the novelty of my own room with a door, where I managed to lose myself again in black and white films noir for the rest of the day.
the good news? a second counseling session, during which i was not so distraught i could hardly speak, allowed me to get a lot off my chest re being cast as the villain of the piece, and while I'm nowhere near the stage of engaging in playful banter with my employer, I can at least manage to speak to her without choking.
sheesh - with that as the good news, it makes one shudder to think what the bad might be, although the good news there ha ha is that there really isn't any; it's now two weeks that i've been separated from sweet pea so it isn't news. o - the monthly 750 dollars it will cost me for my door isn't exactly cause for celebration, but there again, i am in love with herbert lom. i think it's my scorpio descendant.
this is my first trip back to new york since moving up to cambridge and my new domicile almost two weeks ago. while i *should* have come back down last weekend, as there's still so much to do in the apartment, i simply could not summon the necessary energy to do it and decided instead to go back around the corner and spend some time with sweet pea on the saturday night, as my employer and my job were away for the night; not a great idea, as my head was still swirling with the events of the ha ha holidays.
It felt very uncomfortable to be back at the scene of my crimes <ha ha again>, and having sweet pea almost ignore me didn't help. god knows he's never been the cuddliest of critters but at first he would barely let me pick him up, which did nothing whatever to elevate my mood and made it clear to me even one's pets join in the fun when Saturn is stationing opposite one's Venus. When employer and job appeared unannounced on Sunday morning I could scarcely remove myself from the premises quickly enough, and hoofed it back to the novelty of my own room with a door, where I managed to lose myself again in black and white films noir for the rest of the day.
the good news? a second counseling session, during which i was not so distraught i could hardly speak, allowed me to get a lot off my chest re being cast as the villain of the piece, and while I'm nowhere near the stage of engaging in playful banter with my employer, I can at least manage to speak to her without choking.
sheesh - with that as the good news, it makes one shudder to think what the bad might be, although the good news there ha ha is that there really isn't any; it's now two weeks that i've been separated from sweet pea so it isn't news. o - the monthly 750 dollars it will cost me for my door isn't exactly cause for celebration, but there again, i am in love with herbert lom. i think it's my scorpio descendant.
10 January, 2012
Jupiter Trine Sun...
...and Venus square the Ascendant and by the time my first day of *work* in a month is over all I'm good for is falling into my new bed in my new dwelling place and pretending to read one of the New Yorkers that accumulated for me while I was away; definitely a case of "the slowest moving planet wins" as Saturn reaches one degree off an opposition to natal Venus, and/or whatever else is going on in the background that I'm unaware of.
09 January, 2012
Full Moon Square Sun
Surely symbolism couldn't get much better than this, with the above in Cancer perfecting yesterday as I unpacked all my cardboard boxes in my new room and hung what few clothes I brought up here in my new and gloriously empty closet.
Dave Myers was scheduled to arrive to tie the mattress to the top of his van at noon, and after spending more than three weeks getting ready for him, I was pretty sure I was safe in going to a friend's house the night before for *relaxation* and setting the alarm for six, which would have left me more than enough time to box up all the things I needed to and do a quick run to Tal Bagels on 86th for one last flat sesame; what I didn't take into account, O astrologer heal thyself, was the true nature of a full moon, so when I finally got up at 8:30 after turning the alarm off twice I *shouldn't* have been surprised to find an email from him saying he'd gotten an early start and would arrive at 10:30.
I still managed to be almost ready when he called at 10:15 - who needs to shower every day anyway? - to say he was across the street (and by that time the woman whose apartment I was going to move into had emailed to give me the exact address), so it then became a matter of throwing everything little I could see that I thought I might want into one last box and retrieving Sweet Pea from under the bed. He'd made himself scarce since the morning before when the wheelie bag first came out and disappeared completely when his carrier appeared at 10 yesterday, but the bed pulls out easily and I've got long arms, and by 11 the black van was heading up a devoid of traffic First Avenue en route to my (yet another) new life.
Dave Myers was scheduled to arrive to tie the mattress to the top of his van at noon, and after spending more than three weeks getting ready for him, I was pretty sure I was safe in going to a friend's house the night before for *relaxation* and setting the alarm for six, which would have left me more than enough time to box up all the things I needed to and do a quick run to Tal Bagels on 86th for one last flat sesame; what I didn't take into account, O astrologer heal thyself, was the true nature of a full moon, so when I finally got up at 8:30 after turning the alarm off twice I *shouldn't* have been surprised to find an email from him saying he'd gotten an early start and would arrive at 10:30.
I still managed to be almost ready when he called at 10:15 - who needs to shower every day anyway? - to say he was across the street (and by that time the woman whose apartment I was going to move into had emailed to give me the exact address), so it then became a matter of throwing everything little I could see that I thought I might want into one last box and retrieving Sweet Pea from under the bed. He'd made himself scarce since the morning before when the wheelie bag first came out and disappeared completely when his carrier appeared at 10 yesterday, but the bed pulls out easily and I've got long arms, and by 11 the black van was heading up a devoid of traffic First Avenue en route to my (yet another) new life.
07 January, 2012
Mercury Square Chiron
Not much doubt about how this manifested - reduced to tears when on the phone with a good friend from Silver who was showing some understanding of and empathy towards the current state of affairs in my life, all the while dealing with her own bowl of cherries in a way I can only wish I could emulate. Timing could hardly have been worse; my proposed sub-tenant was due to arrive any minute to hand over the security deposit yet still I found - cue string section - a lump rising in my throat and the hot tears coursing down my cheeks at the thought of Star Child being the innocent and unwitting cause of so much turmoil and unhappiness, and maybe even the instigator of my new life as writer of bodice-rippers and tear jerkers should this overwrought and purple prose continue.
Today - Saturday - the day before the Big Day of the full moon in Cancer exactly square my Sun when the moving van is due to pull up outside to deliver me and Sweet Pea to our new and separate lives in Cambridge if the woman I'm going to be living with ever lets me know her address, I am blessed enough to have Mercury trining Venus from the Eighth, which I suppose means I need to get myself down to Daffy's on 57th and spend some of that other-people's-money-which-is-now-mine-until-I-get-the-refusal-to-allow-sublet-notice from my landlord and try on the jeans I thought I liked when I saw them last week. It's a good thing I don't actually need them, or I'd be thinking of that "Beware of ventures that require new clothes" quote, and taking a few more bags of books to the thrift shop instead.
Today - Saturday - the day before the Big Day of the full moon in Cancer exactly square my Sun when the moving van is due to pull up outside to deliver me and Sweet Pea to our new and separate lives in Cambridge if the woman I'm going to be living with ever lets me know her address, I am blessed enough to have Mercury trining Venus from the Eighth, which I suppose means I need to get myself down to Daffy's on 57th and spend some of that other-people's-money-which-is-now-mine-until-I-get-the-refusal-to-allow-sublet-notice from my landlord and try on the jeans I thought I liked when I saw them last week. It's a good thing I don't actually need them, or I'd be thinking of that "Beware of ventures that require new clothes" quote, and taking a few more bags of books to the thrift shop instead.
05 January, 2012
Mercury Trine Mercury
This will be over in a couple of hours, and as I'm meeting a friend in an hour I'd better get something down in 0es and 1es pronto, she said polyglottily, not that I don't have much faith in myself or anything. Whether it's the title subject, Venus in the 11th or a little break from Saturn opposed to Mercury before it starts to oppose Venus in earnest, today for the first time in weeks I felt halfway alive and able to contemplate a little bit of the future. An email game of Lexulous with my Silver UpWords buddy which I almost won cheered me up more than it probably should have done, but who's judging?
Several more CDs got imported, two more bags of books went to the thrift shop, the last unexplored mystery box on the top of the closet got looked into and a few more morning pages notebooks bit the dust. I think I said on here a couple of days ago that they were first on the list that day for dumping, but that proved to be too optimistic and I've only been doing one a day. The one I picked up today and started to shred turned out to be the 2001 one incorporating 9/11, and that one I couldn't destroy. Couldn't read it, either, but it received a presidential pardon and will be hanging around a bit longer.
The Mercury-ist thing was getting an email from the company that's published several of my plays requesting my signature on the contract they attached which lets them publish *my* work in .pdf and .ePub formats. Fine by me, I thought, consenting immediately and trying not to listen to the little voice in my head telling me it was academic anyway and could as well be on paper towel for all the difference it will make. I heard it, but I'm not dwelling on it, choosing instead to focus on whether I'll have a slice with sausage or pepperoni when I go out; I haven't made any new year resolutions, but it's my intention this year to get my priorities straight.
Several more CDs got imported, two more bags of books went to the thrift shop, the last unexplored mystery box on the top of the closet got looked into and a few more morning pages notebooks bit the dust. I think I said on here a couple of days ago that they were first on the list that day for dumping, but that proved to be too optimistic and I've only been doing one a day. The one I picked up today and started to shred turned out to be the 2001 one incorporating 9/11, and that one I couldn't destroy. Couldn't read it, either, but it received a presidential pardon and will be hanging around a bit longer.
The Mercury-ist thing was getting an email from the company that's published several of my plays requesting my signature on the contract they attached which lets them publish *my* work in .pdf and .ePub formats. Fine by me, I thought, consenting immediately and trying not to listen to the little voice in my head telling me it was academic anyway and could as well be on paper towel for all the difference it will make. I heard it, but I'm not dwelling on it, choosing instead to focus on whether I'll have a slice with sausage or pepperoni when I go out; I haven't made any new year resolutions, but it's my intention this year to get my priorities straight.
Venus Conjunct Moon
Only thing I can really pin on this from yesterday is my proposed sub-tenant emailing to see if today would be a good day for him to drop off the security deposit, and with Progressed Venus in Taurus, I guess that's as good as any for a manifestation.
Other than that, a day like all the others since I've been down here; sorting, packing, throwing out, ripping up, importing another three or four of the music CDs I'm supposed to be selling, attempting to amuse Sweet Pea in his miserable captivity, a couple of trips to the thrift shop and watching a few more 1940 English films noir on YouTube; an attempt to be less xenophobic and watch The Killers failed after five minutes, but I did like Brighton Rock.
So onward and onward is the only way to go. Will my landlord (who I just discovered was away for two weeks over the holidays, not one, let the sublet go forward? It's in the hands of his wife, he tells me, who if she has objected has probably done so to the address in Cambridge, as that was the contact information I so cleverly gave when I sent the Return Receipt Requested Notice of Intent to Sublet. Worst case scenario is I get up to my new dwelling place on Feyerweather on Sunday with the mattress tied to the top of the van and find out the sublet's being contested, but I'll lug those boxes up the stairs when I have to, or, to use a more easily understood metaphor, cross that bridge when I come to it.
Doubtless inspired by all the films noir I've been absorbing, my intention (!!!!) was to continue with the suspenseful questions as some kind of clever wrap-up to this post, but I've lost interest - a kinder way of saying I'm not up to it right now - too many boxes of books to take to the thrift shop.
Other than that, a day like all the others since I've been down here; sorting, packing, throwing out, ripping up, importing another three or four of the music CDs I'm supposed to be selling, attempting to amuse Sweet Pea in his miserable captivity, a couple of trips to the thrift shop and watching a few more 1940 English films noir on YouTube; an attempt to be less xenophobic and watch The Killers failed after five minutes, but I did like Brighton Rock.
So onward and onward is the only way to go. Will my landlord (who I just discovered was away for two weeks over the holidays, not one, let the sublet go forward? It's in the hands of his wife, he tells me, who if she has objected has probably done so to the address in Cambridge, as that was the contact information I so cleverly gave when I sent the Return Receipt Requested Notice of Intent to Sublet. Worst case scenario is I get up to my new dwelling place on Feyerweather on Sunday with the mattress tied to the top of the van and find out the sublet's being contested, but I'll lug those boxes up the stairs when I have to, or, to use a more easily understood metaphor, cross that bridge when I come to it.
Doubtless inspired by all the films noir I've been absorbing, my intention (!!!!) was to continue with the suspenseful questions as some kind of clever wrap-up to this post, but I've lost interest - a kinder way of saying I'm not up to it right now - too many boxes of books to take to the thrift shop.
04 January, 2012
Sun Conjunct South Node
So just as I realize that this is happening and think what a joke it is, I get an email from a woman working for the company that handles all licensing for the BBC in America thanking me for registering on its Motion Gallery website, offering to create a free account for me on her company's website, which will open up its full potential, asking me if there's specific footage I'm looking for, telling me she would love to learn more about the project I'm working on and letting me know she's looking forward to working on it with me; all this because I've been trying to find any visual record that might exist of Tony Hancock dressed as a budgerigar in a cage, one of the more enduring memories of my formative years.
I've spent much of the festive holiday season surfing YouTube for footage of English *comedians* I remember from my youth, all of whom turn out to be tortured miserable souls in private life who ended up killing themselves, not that that has anything to do with being reminded of Tony Hancock dressed as a budgerigar and becoming obsessed with finding the clip. I got as far as discovering it was part of a 1958 BBC Christmas With the Stars show (the clip's been removed from YouTube for copyright reasons), which set me off searching the BBC archives, which led to registering, which led to email from nice lady eager to work with me on my next project, which led to another Google search in which I was able to track down the clip on a torrent site, only to find I had to pay $1.99 for an unlimited three day download period and that MasterCard payments were not currently being accepted.
I know when I'm beaten. Out came the sewing kit, the new black bath towel and the penguin hat, and I started to make the swimming robe I promised Star Child for Christmas. Follow your north node and everything will come to you, as someone I once studied with always said.
I've spent much of the festive holiday season surfing YouTube for footage of English *comedians* I remember from my youth, all of whom turn out to be tortured miserable souls in private life who ended up killing themselves, not that that has anything to do with being reminded of Tony Hancock dressed as a budgerigar and becoming obsessed with finding the clip. I got as far as discovering it was part of a 1958 BBC Christmas With the Stars show (the clip's been removed from YouTube for copyright reasons), which set me off searching the BBC archives, which led to registering, which led to email from nice lady eager to work with me on my next project, which led to another Google search in which I was able to track down the clip on a torrent site, only to find I had to pay $1.99 for an unlimited three day download period and that MasterCard payments were not currently being accepted.
I know when I'm beaten. Out came the sewing kit, the new black bath towel and the penguin hat, and I started to make the swimming robe I promised Star Child for Christmas. Follow your north node and everything will come to you, as someone I once studied with always said.
02 January, 2012
Sun Sextile Mars
Nothing like the above for finally digging in and getting your apartment ready to sublet, once you've wiped the puke out from between your toes. I took a deep breath yesterday and took down the ten page-a-day diaries - 1974 to 1984 - from the top shelf of the computer room and systematically ripped them apart one by one and dropped the pieces into the trash, making sure to empty the coffee grounds on top in case a scrap of paper caught anyone's eye on the way to the landfill; ten years demolished in less than half an hour.
I'm still left with the notebooks from my discovery of The Artist's Way, a singularly humorless 'spiritual path to higher creativity,' that never-the-less got me through a horrible patch in 1996; the recommendation was that the reader sit and write 'morning pages' until, if I'm remembering correctly, four pages of notebook had been filled with whatever came pouring out of said reader's head to clear it for the day. They're first on the list today for the trash can and the coffee grounds.
The apartment's been in complete chaos ever since I got here almost three weeks ago and started clearing it out. We're not talking decluttering; we're talking packing anything I think I might want/need in the next two years to take up to Cambridge, storing what I think I might need/want again when I move back in so can't yet bear to throw away, and carting all the rest off to the thrift shop. Not what you'd call a festive holiday season occupation, but after yesterday it's at least beginning to look as though I've accomplished something, even if it's only emptying the book shelves in the computer room and piling what I'm dumping in the hallway.
When I first started the process I thought it was what it must be like if you were dead and then faced with the task of going through your own belongings and emptying out your living space, but that of course would be easy, assuming you could overcome the minor detail of bringing yourself back to life. You wouldn't need any of it and it could all go. As I get deeper into it, it's more like going into the Federal Witness Protection Program and simply eliminating anything that has to do with my almost 67 years of existence from the apartment, not quite so simple as I've lived here since 1974.
However, this is all getting way too philosophical for the title subject and with its effects still lingering, I need to get going on the closets - as soon, that is, as I've ripped up those morning pages and dumped some coffee grounds on them.
I'm still left with the notebooks from my discovery of The Artist's Way, a singularly humorless 'spiritual path to higher creativity,' that never-the-less got me through a horrible patch in 1996; the recommendation was that the reader sit and write 'morning pages' until, if I'm remembering correctly, four pages of notebook had been filled with whatever came pouring out of said reader's head to clear it for the day. They're first on the list today for the trash can and the coffee grounds.
The apartment's been in complete chaos ever since I got here almost three weeks ago and started clearing it out. We're not talking decluttering; we're talking packing anything I think I might want/need in the next two years to take up to Cambridge, storing what I think I might need/want again when I move back in so can't yet bear to throw away, and carting all the rest off to the thrift shop. Not what you'd call a festive holiday season occupation, but after yesterday it's at least beginning to look as though I've accomplished something, even if it's only emptying the book shelves in the computer room and piling what I'm dumping in the hallway.
When I first started the process I thought it was what it must be like if you were dead and then faced with the task of going through your own belongings and emptying out your living space, but that of course would be easy, assuming you could overcome the minor detail of bringing yourself back to life. You wouldn't need any of it and it could all go. As I get deeper into it, it's more like going into the Federal Witness Protection Program and simply eliminating anything that has to do with my almost 67 years of existence from the apartment, not quite so simple as I've lived here since 1974.
However, this is all getting way too philosophical for the title subject and with its effects still lingering, I need to get going on the closets - as soon, that is, as I've ripped up those morning pages and dumped some coffee grounds on them.
01 January, 2012
First Steps into 2012
It's a good thing I don't believe in signs as the first thing I did after getting out of bed this morning and heading for the bathroom was to plonk my right foot into a large soft puddle of puke, a well-thought-out symbolic message left for me by Sweet Pea overnight as he contemplated his year ahead, who obviously does. Believe in signs, that is. Leaving them, for humans.
Perhaps he was just telling me he doesn't like the new dinner I've been feeding him - Meow Mix Market Select assorted bits of Real Something and Whole Something Else in a rich gravy or flavorful sauce, instead of the Friskies Fancy Feast Gravy Lovers delights he'd gotten used to. Somehow I doubt this as with the Gravy Lovers all he ever did was lick up the gravy and leave the solids and with the Meow Mix he's been cleaning his dish every night for the three weeks we've been down here. It can't be that it was a new and different flavor that didn't agree with him, as last night's dinner was the second half of the can he had the night before, so unless it had been sitting in his stomach for twenty-four hours like a fragment of an underdone potato ha ha it wasn't that. Close inspection of the puke as I stood on one foot in the kitchen and wiped it out from between my toes with a piece of paper towel showed no cockroach or other insect remains, and no hairballs.
I do know that cats throw up, as the sun rises every morning and sets at night, if not with quite that regularity, and it's not the first time Sweet Pea has done it. I have a remarkable photo from last summer in Silver of a midmorning puke of his left on the front porch that contained one baby bird, a caterpillar and what looked like a very small snake but could have been a frog, and in that case no further research was needed for the reason.
By the grace of Craigslist, I'm saved from further rumination on the beginning of 2012 and what might be to come in the remaining three hundred and sixty five days (yes, it's a leap year) and fifteen and a half hours as I need to go and count the exact number of Trollope Society books I'm trying to flog and have just had a nibble about. Gosh, perhaps the year is going to be a mix of good and bad - oops, sorry - rewards and challenges. Good thing I don't believe in signs.
Perhaps he was just telling me he doesn't like the new dinner I've been feeding him - Meow Mix Market Select assorted bits of Real Something and Whole Something Else in a rich gravy or flavorful sauce, instead of the Friskies Fancy Feast Gravy Lovers delights he'd gotten used to. Somehow I doubt this as with the Gravy Lovers all he ever did was lick up the gravy and leave the solids and with the Meow Mix he's been cleaning his dish every night for the three weeks we've been down here. It can't be that it was a new and different flavor that didn't agree with him, as last night's dinner was the second half of the can he had the night before, so unless it had been sitting in his stomach for twenty-four hours like a fragment of an underdone potato ha ha it wasn't that. Close inspection of the puke as I stood on one foot in the kitchen and wiped it out from between my toes with a piece of paper towel showed no cockroach or other insect remains, and no hairballs.
I do know that cats throw up, as the sun rises every morning and sets at night, if not with quite that regularity, and it's not the first time Sweet Pea has done it. I have a remarkable photo from last summer in Silver of a midmorning puke of his left on the front porch that contained one baby bird, a caterpillar and what looked like a very small snake but could have been a frog, and in that case no further research was needed for the reason.
By the grace of Craigslist, I'm saved from further rumination on the beginning of 2012 and what might be to come in the remaining three hundred and sixty five days (yes, it's a leap year) and fifteen and a half hours as I need to go and count the exact number of Trollope Society books I'm trying to flog and have just had a nibble about. Gosh, perhaps the year is going to be a mix of good and bad - oops, sorry - rewards and challenges. Good thing I don't believe in signs.
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