Some mornings, I feed the cats while Iris is still out for her morning constitutional. My theory is she makes her rounds of all the baby nests in the area, patrols for new life and squelches it. Anyway, that was the case today, and when she finally hopped up into The Window That All Cats Sit In at my house,
her breakfast was already there.
But this morning, she sat there uneating. Her food right below her. "Iris, your food is already there. Are you blin--oh."
Sometimes I forget.
Note I have zero pictures of Iris and Lily in that window.
I have a shit-ton of these, though.
They only ever go up to that window to eat, these particular cats do, not hang like all the other cats did. And before you ask, in order from top to bottom, those cats are
- Henry, Winston, Francis
- Anderson, Roger
- Winston, Anderson
- Roger
- Ruby
- A cat named Edsel
This house is bad luck for cats. No one tell that to my flower cats, who, really, have managed to survive longer than everyone else here, despite my throwing Lily onto the streets for 52 days and poisoning Iris with dog flea meds just recently, here.
Anyway, if you're wondering how June's Big Life of Budgeting is going (scroll down to yesterday's post, Annoying Pants), yesterday I went to a poetry reading, to see my friend The Poet read, and in case you thought they sold tickets to poetry readings, they don't. "Hey, man, you get tickets to that poetry reading? I gotta get scalpers or something. They were sold out."
I love this thoughtful art shot of The Poet. She's probably thinking about dicks.
Clearly right then she wasn't, you know, reading her poetry. Maybe someone else was, and I was politely taking photos with my cell phone, which I would never do, because appalling and awful. I think we were on a break. A poetry break. Anyway, that was free. And after, she came over, also free. I made her pay admission to enter my esteemed home, actually. So, profit.
Oh, and Faithful Reader Deb is sending me two (2!!!!) nail polishes to do my own pedicures. She wrote me and we picked out colors together. We gathered together to ask the Lord's blessing and also select nail colors. Here they are...
This is Fancy.
And this is Broody, and those pretty much sum me up. If only they carried "Bitchy."
"Fur-covered."
I wonder if, when I wear Butter nail polish, I'll talk like Butters from Southpark. I can only hope.
I gotta go. I spent more time looking up cat-in-the-window shots than I did writing today, and that is somehow your fault. I forget why. But I'll never forget it, and how it affects our whole family.
I'll talk to you tomorrow, when I guess I'll finally get around to telling you about the following...
Anne Frankly,
June
