Happy Mittwoch!
While I was out of town, I asked Mother Ripley if she’d stop in and check on my cattle, because they resort to hooliganism when I’m gone. She said she went over Sunday morning, and they were all very subdued. She didn’t refill the huge bowls of food I’d left, because they’d hardly touched them. She gave them water and treats. Then she set to cleaning up the plant they’d knocked over. I’m still somewhat unsure of how they managed to knock the heavy metal pot with the weeping pussywillow* over, but they did so with flair, bouncing it off the love seat and onto the living room floor, denting the side of the pot. She said she got out the vacuum and couldn’t figure it out. When she finally got it running, it didn’t work well, and as she dragged it across the rug, it was leaving wet spots. She swept up the dirt instead, stashing the plant where they couldn’t mangle it further, although I’m pretty sure Cocoa still chewed it a bit. Apparently the cheap jute rug from IKEA doesn’t take to water well, because the stain stayed put. I walked in Monday night and found my cats cowering on the rug near a big wet spot, which caused me some massive panic, as they’ve not been known to express themselves with urine in the past. My carpet steamer was shoved in the corner of the closet (the vacuum was untouched). There was a pussywillow in the sink. Their food bowls were empty. Also, the access panel for the tub in the dining room wall was laying on the floor, because apparently Chiva decided to tinker with the plumbing while I was gone. The animals pretended to not know me until I got out the cat treats my mom had left, and then they were my buddies again. Until I went to bed and they spent the night scrambling around the apartment fighting, and I kept waking from a dream about them spilling Sea Monkeys all over the floor. I love my pets! Really. By the way, did I mention my Sea Monkeys are now old enough to get it on? Believe me, I’m watching for it. I’m thinking I should set up the stereo nearby with the Pornosonic soundtrack. I am very very excited about my new classes, which begin in a week or two. I’m taking a tarot class with Homie, meditation at one of the 2,500 Buddhist centers in Minneapolis (I picked the one with the Sanskrit classes, because I am way down), and Iaido: THE ART OF THE SWORD. Did you get that? Let me just say it again: THE ART OF THE SWORD. Yes, I was supposed to take Qi Gong with Kore, but this was just too damn good to resist, and she promises I will not have to do Judo rolls until I puke. You have no idea how often I’ve regretted my lack of stick-fighting skills lately. I’m thinking with the travel journal, I’m going to shoot for more photos, fewer words. This means that technically I should be able get it done quicker. Fewer words is hard for me because I am a storyteller, a Gemini unable to weigh the value of one unimportant detail against another, and also I sometimes have trouble shutting up. Oh, wait! You already read this crap. You know that. So once I remove the 50 or so frightening pictures of myself and resize the rest, we should maybe be good to go. Yesssss. Sammich time! Bye now.Jenni * Did that gross you out just a little? Because it did me.