Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

"Oh, dear god. She really shouldn't be having sex if she thinks people hatch." -- ruisenora, 2004-05-05

Unrelated items I seem to be about awake enough to jot down...

Along about the fifth time I read a post from someone bitching about and/or mocking the lastest raving lunacy from Alan Keyes, this song[1] popped into my head:

There was something sharp in my bed, poking me in the butt. Sharp and small. I hadn't eaten anything in bed that should have left large, hard crumbs, so I wasn't sure what it could be. Each time it woke me, I brushed my hand over the general area and fell back asleep.

When I finally woke up enough look for what had been poking me, I found it: one of Perrine's claws.

I would have expected to find a broken-off claw near the milk-crates she uses as a scratching post, or near the wooden step-stool in the bathroom she sometimes claws, not under the covers in my bed. I'm confused.

I stumbled across a different spin on original sin and the story of the garden, but you might want to be cautious about opening that link in environments where having cartoon sex on your screen will get you looked at funny.

It's a joke, but the artist touches an interesting theological hypothesis almost by accident in the process. (No, not about furries (read this if you're likely to get offended on that score, by the way).) Not an explanation that sounds right to me, but something I could see Harlan Ellison writing a story based on.

I've been feeling guilty when Perrine tells me she wants to play "chase" and my knees hurt too badly to run after her. I don't think she understands the words "my knees hurt". Sometimes I can convince her to jump at thrown toys instead (I'm still working on how to communicate that she should bring them back to me), but other times she just keeps giving me the "chase me" signal. Once in a while she'll sprint around the house on her own (Zoom-kitty!), I'm guessing for exercise, but she seems to prefer to have me chase her when it's time to run.

Sunday, as I'd mentioned, I went to the memorial picnic for John Gorozdos. It was also the date on which my uncle Ted was found dead in his home a year ago (he'd apparently died one or two days earlier). Today is butterfluff's birthday. A couple of weeks from now is my father's birthday. So I've had a lot of reminders of absent friends and kin lately, along with awareness of the upcoming holiday, which seems appropriate in some ways. I wonder which of them is going to stop by and say hello on Samhain.[2]