December 14th, 2002

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It's All About the Cats

Jake and Coco spent the night on my pillow. Sparkle cuddled up with me when he was sure I wasn't looking. Sunny is still hiding under the bed so I won't scoop him up and put him back in the bathroom, (don't worry, it's a big bathroom) where he has been locked up with the other quarantined kitties.

Ping is playing with the little gnomey Animal Crossing characters on my TV screen. I left it on when I finally passed out from game-playing exhaustion at three fifty-four in the morning. Spooky 1 is crying at the door, while Spooky 2 is curled up asleep in a very happy ball.

In the bathroom, with the now locked door, (because Sunny, who even though he is now on the outside -- he figured out how to paw it open when he was on the inside -- might just decide to open from this side and liberate his imprisoned companions), Lui, Lucilla, Ruby Dee, and Twinkle are sniffing and planning their escape. They will try to weave trying to their way past my deftly moving feet. If they could they would flatten their bones -- with a wink to Scott -- and slide under the door.

On the toilet Lucilla crawls all over me and leaves scratched on both of my thighs, my arm, and on the back of my neck. I try to distract her with a tossed tampon. "Go get it Luci, fetch." Nah that only works with Sparkle and his babies.

In the shower I take a seat on the cold marble bench and cuddle up with Priscilla. When once she would have bitten me for daring, now she is grateful for the company, and makes little trilling sounds at the back of her throat. Her one remaining eye is still darty and strange, the mark of some kind of disordered kitty thinking. Then again who wouldn't be freaked out if they'd been abandoned at an animal shelter, wound up here with us, and then clawed out their own eye. I hold her up to the window so she can see out. There are birds cheeping in my neighbor's trees. The air smells crisp and fresh and there is the faint smell of smoke from last nights fire. I pet and kiss Lucilla and say prayers over her only eye. Hopeful kitty eyes watch us from the other side of the glass shower door.

Outside my bedroom, I step carefully over the big blue cat bed where Bluebell, Cio Cio, and Baby Angel are sleeping. I know Leon is in there somewhere, maybe under the pillow, he likes to tuck in there because he's naked -- without fur -- and he gets cold. I discovered this when I made the mistake of stepping on him, well only lightly, but I felt sooooo bad about it afterwards.

One of the Moes leans in and rubs against my leg while I walk to my office. I look down at his sweet upturned face, and he meows that incongruous girly-cat meow, the one that just doesn't go with his beat-everyone-up, pee-all-over-everything, macho-male-cat swagger. And yes he's fixed, but it's all my fault because I waited too damned long. I waited too long because I was afraid something might go wrong and either Moe or his brother would end up being one of those accidental statistical deaths from what is supposed to be a very common surgery. So I waited and by then they were peeing, peeing and swaggering, all over the house.

See he was my baby, Moe and his identical twin brother Moe, and they were so beautiful, sleek, black, silky, just well, beautiful, and I loved them so. I watched them being born, an accident of mating between black sphynxy Leon, and a newly arrived, sexually unprotected Precious, (I swear I didn't name her). And then these tiny people came. There were three of them, all black and shiny, with lovely Asian eyes, little half Siamese, half Sphynx miracles, and one of them didn't survive. And they became my babies too. I worried and fussed over them as much as there mother did, maybe more, and now they ruin my furniture, pee on anything I set down anywhere, beat up the other cats, and look up at me with their adoring slinky eyes.

At the office door, Precious, (remember, I didn't name her, he did, and no I am not homophobic just because I feel I should mention he's gay), shoves her oily body past my feet, and spends just the amount of time it takes to write this letter, staring at my elderly pet rat Rattie, and has now jumped to my shoulder, scratching my back in the process, jumped off my shoulder, and is lapping at my oatmeal and rice milk. And now... she is stealing my cheese.
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Look at this funny naughty picture called fallen woman. Oh and I'm reading How to Heal the Hurt By Hating, or rather I just finished it. Pretty funny, not rip roaringly so, but good enough. Okay off to deliver wine and pasta dinner baskets to a few local loved ones and then it's off to pick up the Beau monkey from his Ugio card tournament. Irma came by with the kids to get her check and Monica was crying because her Ugio or is it Yugio cards were missing and she thought either Beau or George stole them. I told her not to fret that I would get to the bottom of this card theft business, get her old ones back, and get some new ones.

I spoke to Scott's Daddy and his scary girlfriend last night. I've been avoiding them for many years. But I want to try to be kinder to them for Scott's and their sake. I'm excited about Scott's secret half sister coming. Am I allowed to tell you about this? Has Scott? He's so funny sometimes, plays his cards so close to his chest, why does he do that? Does it come from hurt? Why would such a wonderful dear man ever have to be afraid of loving anyone? Sucks doesn't it.

He's not like me though. I'll use my dog-petting metaphor. Whenever I see a dog, and I do mean WHENEVER I SEE A DOG, I run over and try to lavish affection upon it, yup, I slobber all over the dog. I never know if one of maybe three things will happen, a.) the dog and the owner will both enjoy my un bid affections and everything will be joyous, b.) the dog will bite me, c.) the owner will be a snobby shit and yank their poor dog away from me, or d.) the dog will try to shake my hand, miss, and give me a bloody eye. I had to add that last one because this recently happened. Now, when the dog and their owner are kind and receptive, I am on a dog-loving happiness high for hours, maybe even the whole day. But when the person, not the dog, because I never blame the poor dog, is mean to me, I feel this deep in my insecure fat girl heart and take it super personally. But I have a choice here, I can give up the joyous doggy greetings for the peace and security of knowing that I will never be judged, looked down upon, or hurt, that close up, by some rude stranger, or I can go on risking. I of course choose to go on risking because frankly who in their right mind would want to miss out on all that french doggy kissing? Exactly, but Scott has been bit, metaphorically speaking, so many times that he has given up the whole dog greeting business.

In the interest of spreading the love this holiday season why don't you go over there and pet the dog for me. Please?

Did Rob Lowe really quit The West Wing over a salary dispute? Is he out of his fucking mind? I just lost the audience there didn't I?

Love you,
Wacqui

PS: Okay I don't know if I've scared you enough with this last post, french kissing dogs etc. so just to be sure here it comes...wait for it..it's..circus clowns, aggggggggggghhhhhhhhh noooo nooooo nooooooooo....

You hate clowns don't you? Well, me too. My Mother had a secretary who was a clown once. A real clown, with mismatched wacky clothes, and a car with a big clown head on the top of it. She was scary too. I hated her, she judged me and interfered in family matters that were none of her business. She tried to turn my parents against me, and she was a liar. She was an evil clown, and she wrote poetry. I'm so glad she's gone. Okay well, just to be fair, I don't think all clowns are bad, there are probably some nice clowns, there, just to be fair.
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Silly Celebrity Chatter

I was shopping today at Fred Segals, I love this store, and hadn't been there in a while because I'm groovy-style shy. I used to go there a lot but hell it's so expensive and when it gets crowded, yeesh. Plus I don't like people checking out my clothes, my bag, my shoes, my hair accessories, gauging how much attention they should devote to me based on how much my accessories total out to be worth. I'm not imagining this. When I'm buying people are wonderful, so kind and helpful, friendly, super attentive, all you could hope for in a salesperson. But when you're walking around, it's weird. Anyway I wanted to see what they had going on for Christmas, thinking I might be able to pick up a few unique little gifts and get something to eat. It was celebrity packed today. Wall to wall industry folk, and medium level celebrities. I guess the bigger guns have their shopping done for them, or they come in during work and school hours like I've seen Goldie Hawn do.

Anyway it being the second to last Saturday before Christmas, it was jammed, and one of the gals I know there, who I bought some things from, was talking with me about the Osbournes. Apparently Sharon is a pretty regular customer, a big spender. She would be, the things there are all so unique and pretty and frighteningly expensive. Anyway she and the other salesgirl were raving about her. They had nothing but loving sweet things to say about her and the kids. They were talking about how not like they are on the show, in real life. They are super polite apparently, not bratty or spoiled acting at all, and Sharon likes to chat and visit with the gals when she shops. They said they hadn't seen her in a month at least and were worrying. When she started shopping there she was a size twenty-four, then she went down to a ten, and then the last time they saw her they said they were really worried for her because she was so thin and drawn looking, poor dear woman. I feel so sorry for her.

Oh and another salesgirl/gal/woman who walked up to us, and started talking about the show, works at The Roxy and the kids go there a lot, especially Jack. She said she thinks it's kind of cute in the way they try to sneak drinks. Other underage celebrity kids are much more demanding and shitty about it. Jack and Kelly have their friends get drinks for them and then they kind of sneak sips out of them, something like that. Although she did say that she thinks Kelly is getting a tiny bit tweaked out by her recent burst of fame, and most importantly, not, her style of dress, her clothes and hair, are becoming more refined, still quirky, asymmetrical, and young-retro-punkish, but more upscale even than before.

I loved the last episode. I love this show so much, it is my absolute favorite thing on television right now!

Trisha Yearwood parked her car next to me in a non-parking-spot at Fred Segals, and she was really nice about making sure I could get in my car. She waited to see if I could. She has a cute little black and white Shitzu I think. I'm pretty sure it was her. She was driving a shiny black Saab.