The New Cat, an Update

So, while everyone else was learning this crazy cruise news, I was busy taking the new cat to the vet. Here’s what I learned. Pumpkin (who will need a pseudonym) is probably two years old. She is free of feline leukemia and fHIV. She doesn’t seem to even have worms. She’s missing the very tip of one ear, but it looks to be healing up nicely. And she’s way too thin, but the vet thinks she’ll fill out nicely. She is probably pregnant, but we’re spaying her tomorrow. I was concerned they’d think I was an asshole, but they thought it was for the best, not only because the world has enough cats looking for good homes, but also because a pregnancy would be very hard on her, considering how malnourished she is.

They could not get over how sweet she is. And I admit to being completely tickled, too, by how friendly and laid back she is. Even when the pit/lab mix “Crank Bait” (actual name) was sniffing at the carrier, Pumpkin just sat there like, “Eh, okay.” And she willingly ate her worm medicine.

So, the Butcher will go pick her up on Wednesday and then we’ll work on integrating her into the household.

Um, So, Folks Weren’t Kidding About This

I just got an email from Jim Ridley asking what they could do to help me win a cruise and I was all “A cruise? What?” And then I remembered that this came up on Twitter. And it seems that someone mentioning it on Twitter was enough to put me at 13th place.

I don’t know what this means other than that the online community in Nashville is fucking awesome.

And that I should maybe be a little more proactive about asking people to vote.

So, here’s the deal. First, it is highly unlikely that I’m going to win. Fucking Digby is on the list, people. Not to mention Markos Moulitsas. Digby deserves to go just as a matter of course (as does Pam Spaulding, Christ) and Markos has a little thing called “Daily Kos.” I write about my cooter and yell at our Democrats for not being good enough and yell at Kos for yelling at our Democrats. It’s a circle of stupidity and yelling. Much like Thanksgiving at the Phillips household. And even if Mike Turner had every firefighter in the state vote for me, it’s still not going to trump Kos’s numbers.

Still, I think it would be fun to go and, if I do, I swear to you right now, I will make a complete and blubbering ass of myself over Rachel Maddow. Do you think any of the other folks on that list are going to promise their readers that they will go total fan-girl on Rachel Maddow? I don’t think so.

I mean, four thousand entries and I made it to 13? How could a girl not die of delight over that?

So, if y’all would head over there and vote for me, I promise smooches for everyone!

Going from Two Cats to Three

Okay, internet, assuming the Butcher tracks down the new cat so that I can take her to the vet, we will be in possession of three cats. So far, the two cats we have have responded thusly to the new cat in the garage–the orange cat (who my nephew calls “Garfield” which cracks me up) hurries past the new cat as quickly as possible in order to get outside and the tiny cat just refuses to go into the garage at all.

So, what will happen when we bring her into the house? Will the tiny cat move out?

What can I do in order to ease the transition for everyone?

Fox Ran Out on a Chilly Night and Prayed to the Moon for to Give Him Light

In my head, these two things are connected–“The Fox” by the Waco Brothers, which you can find on this awesome CD (Let me tell you, if you have kids and need music that won’t drive you to drink while you’re driving them around in the car, this CD will be your salvation. And “The Fox” is probably the best song on the album.), and this rumination on the moon, which kind of tugged at my heart.

On a Lighter Note, I Have Some Questions

Look here (I think this is SFW, but it may cause you to look perplexed all day).

1. Is it weird that a werewolf doesn’t at least have arm pit hair?

2. He looks like he’s 14, right?

3. Is that a weird, subliminal face in the tree right over his shoulder?

4. Speaking of subliminal, “My crotch is the open, moonlit road?” WTF?

The Phone Call After I Went to Bed

I still pray. It’s a habit I haven’t given up. I don’t know if my gods are used to being prayed to, but I tell them that this is the way that I know and so that’s what I know to do. I pray, though, to all of my loved ones, friends, family, and gods, living and not living.

Sometimes, I think Christianity never stood a chance with me, because I cannot experience God in any way other than as my Dad’s boss. And it’s really hard to have a reciprocal, caring relationship with Someone you know can send your family off to stupid little things, without seeming like He’s acting against you, and with whom you have no recourse.

But I have a metaphor for my loved ones. They are, after all, my loved ones. We might have different ideas about what constitutes “best” but we all want what’s best for each other.

And so I was saying again what I said to y’all, about how I want to be a better aunt, about how I want my brother to get his act together, about how I am afraid for my nephews and want them to have better lives than they do. I was saying how I feel like I need to do something, but I wasn’t sure what.

And then I went to bed.

And then the phone rang.

And it was my brother, calling from the road, on his way home to Georgia from North Carolina. He talked for a long time about how miserable he is and I said, I know and I said how I can’t stand to see him take it out on his kids and I told him that he’s got to get his shit together. And he told me about how he’s been feeling and I said, “Yeah, because you’re clearly depressed, and who can blame you, with as hard as your life is?” And how it’s like this vicious circle of stupidity, and like he’s constantly shooting himself in the foot. And I told him that everyone is ready to support him, but it’s on him to actually do some shit to change his situation.

And he asked why I never said this stuff to him before and I said that he wouldn’t have listened to me if I did. And he admitted that he wouldn’t have, but he thought it would have at least sunk in later. And I said, maybe, but it’s not that much fun to lecture people who don’t want it (okay, it is, but that’s what the internet is for!) and then he said that I had always been the person in the family that lectured people when they were off track.

And I am still kind of laughing at that, of course, because, yeah, that’s true. It’s also true that I’m also the person who gets called bossy all the time. It tickles me this dynamic of “do this for me and then let me hold it against you.” I mean, I laugh because it sucks as far as dynamics go. And yet it never occurs to them that the second half of that dynamic might be why I stopped doing the first half.

So, it was a good conversation.

It also seemed particularly well-timed. And I told you all the woo-woo story at the beginning because I’m putting seven of my dozen eggs in that basket. The other five are still in the “this is most what you needed to hear in order to not have a long talk with Dad about this brother that might end in the money spigot being redirected.”

And I’m sorry and heart-broken that I need that second basket at all, but there you go.

Hope for the best, but be real.

I should get that made into t-shirts we can wear at Christmas.