When the cat’s away, the mice…

If you are here because you’re curious about my sister’s recent obsession with giant sea cockroaches, go here and here.

In other news.

While we were away in Maine, our neighbor came in to take care of the cats. I left specific instructions on how much (translation: how little) to feed them, as they are on a weight loss regimen…and they each GAINED weight. Argh!

Here are the scenarios I have come up with to explain the phenomenon:

1. Neighbor didn’t see or read the note. Unlikely.
2. Neighbor tried to follow the instructions, but was undone by Charlie’s protestations (“I’M STARVING! THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE! FEED ME!”) and general cuteness, and broke down and fed them more. Hmm. This could be it.
3. I didn’t factor in the general sloth the cats would be subjected to (since they don’t go outside when we’re away), and without any exercise, of course they gained weight. Hmmm…yeah, that’s probably it.

Again, I say unto thee, argh.

Seventeen pounds of kitty love. This is Charlie.

It’s possible he’s only a smidgeon over 16.5 and the scale rounded it up. Actually, he could be only 16, if the scale rounded up .4 of a pound for me, and .4 of a pound for him, that would be .8 over…so maybe he’s only 16.2 pounds…but that’s still heavier than he was when we left.

Oh.My.God. I have turned into a control freak kitty mother.  Ooops.

Other things grew while were were away, as well.

The cantaloupe/watermelon patch went INSANE. You can’t even tell where one plant ends and the other begins. They’re probably making mutant hybrid babies right now as I type this. Kevin had to move all the stakes farther out to accommodate them. (The stakes and netting are there only to prevent the cats from doing unseemly things in the soil, but at this point, I don’t think they’d even be tempted – there is no more apparent empty space for a cat to get into much trouble. Certainly not a 17 or 18 pound cat.)

Daylillies bloomed while we were away! Every year, I forget we have these particular lillies – they’re on the edge of the ‘lawn’ among the fern and whatnot.

 

And look at these beauties! Aren’t they splendid?
They’re all frilly and girly! Hah!

  

Can you see Kevin hacking away at the cherry log in the distance? I have a very important role in the log splitting project: “hi honey! how are you doing?” and “yes, I’d love to rub your shoulders!” I take my job responsibilities pretty seriously. I am not, in other words, without feck.

No, I didn’t just use a bad word. I finally looked up the word “feckless” the other day. It’s one of those words that just REFUSES to stay in my head. Like “desultory”. There is a tiny black hole/wormhole in my brain where such words get sucked out into the quantum field, where my alternate reality selves are having a picnic with them. Also, it – we’re back to “feckless” now – is one of those words that’s always got a suffix – you never hear about someone having feck.

Or someone being couth.  Or ept.

Kevin and I have a running list of these words, but naturally none are coming to mind at the moment.

Oh, here’s one: how come you never hear about someone being recombobulated? Or flowered?

I’ll shut up now.