One of my twin baby boys, Meow or Mew, I think it was Meow, was so cute this morning. When I opened my eyes and looked at him he just kind of trotted up to me, leapt up onto my side, laid (I never get this one right, my Mother is forever saying, "Darling we don't lay down, chickens lay eggs, we lie down") down and started purring. It was soooo sweet.
The white boys are just a wee bit stand offish and rarely lay on me so this was a nice surprise. I wonder if this is because they're young, and even though they've both been "fixed," are still full of male kitty hormones. I feel bad about fixing the cats, I mean I know I should, I know we have to for the sake of all of those cats that are being murdered every day in our so called animal "shelters" but it does seem unnatural to me and unfair of us, in our great big human way, to pass sentence on these creatures who live with us and go around hacking off their balls and removing their uteruses. I really hate the whole, "Yeah but they get less cancer this way," argument because OF COURSE THEY DO, any time you remove someone's organs, well, then there's going to be a pretty much zero chance of their getting cancer in that missing organ, sheesh.
Cancer, Mary, Mary, Cancer. I can't say or think the word without thinking of her. I have to check in to see how she's doing. Fucking cancer, fucking evil ass motherfucking cancer. See there's a little bit o' the profane for you. Dear God, please wipe out all of Mary's fucking evil ass motherfucking cancer, and may it never come back, thank you.
I was thinking about my cats and their gender differences this morning while I was watching them. They really are little walking bundles of male and female cliches, and not in a good way. I feel like I'm betraying my own favorite sex when I say that the men are mellower, easier to get along with, and the women can be, well bitchy. Mini Harina will just whack away at people for no reason -- cat people I mean, she's nice to humans. She'll get in a mood and start smacking away. I feel sorry for the big dumb boy cats who come loping along and get smacked by her just because they came too close. They get this kind of sad confused look like, "What'd I do?" I half expect her to say, "You don't have to DO anything. Just apologize for once God damnit, will you just learn to apologize." I suspect Scott is laughing at this point, or I hope he is. I could go deeper and list some of the crappy things the guys do, like peeing all over the place, but I won't because I'm running out of time. I have to go to Downtown, LA to pay a ridiculous fifteen dollar fine and get back in time to pick up Beau and go to the doctor, ack, ack, ackitty.
Sitting on the topmost shelf in my bedroom Caspar spots Malibu on a shelf beneath him and prepares his attack with a stoic glare.
An unsuspecting Malibu is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him.
Take that you unsuspecting Abyssinian.
Malibu fights back against a sneaky just out of reach Siamese.
Esther strolled in at eleven thirty today. Grrrr. She told me that it was because of the bus but there are a couple of caveats to this a) She's always late and I've already had to adjust our schedule for her so she can begin every day at a super comfortable ten in the morning, b) I know that busses stop more frequently than every hour and a half, so even if she'd just missed her regular bus, there would have been another one in, at most, another half of an hour, and c) She keeps herself tethered to the busses because she won't learn to drive even though I've given her lessons and keep offering to.
I know I sound like a bourgeois white chick, but that's just par for the course because quite frankly, and let's just cut to the chase here because no matter how often I dye my hair pink or turquoise, I am a bourgeois white chick who uses expressions like par for the course. It's just that I get so frustrated with her sometimes. She's making a hundred tax free dollars a day and barely works seven hours with plenty of big long food breaks and chatty phone calls taken throughout the day. I feel guilty complaining because I'm so grateful to have her, grateful that she stepped in and is helping us out, and there's the added complication of our having been friends for so many years. I love her. It's hard to be someone's boss when you're also their friend. I don't want to risk looking for someone to replace Ana, I just want to coast along like this for a while, with Esther working the week shift and her sister Concha working weekends.
At least this way I know what I'm getting, I won't have to run an ad in La Opinion, sift through hundreds and hundreds of calls, interview dozens of people, twice, and because I am such a poor judge of character, end up with the two craziest women of the entire bunch. Seriously this is what I just did, the first one was a glue-sniffing massage whore, (nothing against massage whores, whatever you do in your free time is your business, and if you can make money selling it, hey, as a woman in this society, I'm all for it, I don't even like the word whore), who together with her scary-ass, pit-bull-fighting, (no offense to pit bulls, I have one myself, just don't want people hurting them or training them to hurt anyone else,) gang-banging, (nothing against gang...just kidding), boyfriend, concocted a sweet little plan to extort ten thousand dollars from me, that involved my having to bring the police here and wear a wire, fun, fun, fun, and the second woman I selected, my second choice, culled from a list of hundreds, was Ana and she turned out to be, well, you know the story.
Esther usually worked on weekends only and then would add a day here and there as she felt like it. This naturally drove Ana, and everyone who ever worked for us, crazy because we could never plan things, considering we never knew when she would show up to work those extra days she needed. Now that Ana's freaked out, and run off thinking that I had been secretly videotaping her having sex, (please tell me I told you this story?), Esther has had to work a regular five day week for the first time in years so of course I should cut her some slack, and of course I do, but I don't have to like it. We run a big ark here and it takes two of us to keep it running smoothly. Bla bla bla. I wish I had the stamina to do everything that needs to be done around here by myself so that I could keep the hundred dollars because it would be so much less stressful to have that extra money, but then I really wouldn't have a life, and we'd all miss Esther. Oh well, I'm sure I could have problems that are a lot worse than having a lazy, super-defensive, fiery but dependable, friend for a housekeeper, like...oh, say...cancer, AIDS, famine, or a minor exchange of thermonuclear weapons. I hate to write about this stuff because I worry that her son, our dear friend Eduardo, might read this to her and hurt her feelings when all I was doing was venting my feelings. Oh the joys and complications of keeping a LIVE journal.
I have many, many, many more journal entries from our Maui trip, and loads of pictures, and I had the weirdest dream last night, but I don't have time to put any more up today. Maybe later. In the dream I had suddenly been chosen as one of the next twelve American Idol finalists and somehow American Idol and Law and Order SVU had merged and my old friend Maria was there giving me advice. I had to select and memorize a song, pick out a dress and shoes, get my hair and makeup done, and get myself to the studio for a taping within minutes when I didn't even know where I was going. I thought, "OMG why am I doing this? I'll be the oldest and worst singer there." Then I met some faded Surreal Life lead singer guy who I had loved in college and we hooked up and had weird sex in his dumpy apartment. Afterwards I somehow made it to the set where Maria told me she had beat breast cancer and I started crying and hugged her. Weird, weird, weird.
Okay, I'm off, finally. Love you guys,
Remember our last rescue kitty Whitey? Here he is, isn't he cute? He still bites but now it's more of a love bite than a I'm going to kill you kind of thing.