So I’ve decided that sometimes I just want to write stuff. And dammit if I’m going to support a whole ‘nother blog for that like an idiot when I’ve got this nice and juicy one right here to use. So sometimes, I might post some things that aren’t exactly book-related. It’s my blog, after all. If that devastates you, well… You should probably see someone about that, mkay?
Here’s a thing for you: My Blackbirds review got a mention over at Terrible Minds. That squee you heard was the squee heard round the world. Seeing my blog linked there was sort of like Christmas — except with booze instead of presents and lots of swear words instead of O Holy Night. So it was like Christmas, but better. I waited all day to come home and say that. I hope you’re happy. (I know I am.)
Here’s another thing.
My apartment building has a stray cat for a mascot. No one’s really sure who he belongs to, but someone got him a nice dog cat house and set it in the woods near the parking lot. He has his own bowl and everything. We don’t even know the cat’s name, despite the fact that he’s been hanging around for the last three or four years.
So my husband, the Artist, calls him “Hef”, after (of course) Hugh Hefner. Why? Because of the attitude, man. This cat is popular with the “molly”‘s (which Wikipedia tells me is the term for a female feline). Hef has lady cats following him around at regular intervals, but when he’s not living it up with a foxy female, he’s usually sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the parking lot.
This cat has no fear. He routinely sprawls right in the center of the drive between parking spaces, and does not deign to move when a car pulls in. He’ll glare at you – haughtily – as you park and extricate yourself from your heavy metal death-dealing machine. Then he’ll yawn and go back to grooming himself, as if to say, “Of course you will work around me, for I am King, pesky monkey-thing.”
Seriously. I can hear him thinking it. Damn cat.
You can view a full-size version of not-Hef at Flickr by clicking on the picture to the left.
What was the point of this story? Simple. I didn’t have one. I was just illustrating the point that it’s my blog, and I’ll say what I want. And I’d have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids.
