South Park Self

Whatev. Meow, yo. Here's a mouse.

I am not entirely enamoured of the feline tribe, right now. Not my feline tribe - or, at least, only my feline tribe by extension and adoption. Jo&stv are away bestmanning a wedding in the UK, and I've drawn catsit duty owing to the unaccountable whims of their previous steady catsitter, who went and got herself her own house. The duty entails feeding the cats daily, and also keeping a weather eye on the houseplants, garden and general property value. (The garden bit has been dead easy owing to the weather, which is currently rather pleasingly inclined to the vertical descent of water from above).

The cat-feeding gig has become somewhat fraught with danger, given my tendency to a slight unsteadiness on my pins even when sober, and the reaction of young Sproing, half of the jo&stv feline tribe, to the prolongued absence of his pink blobs. He becomes extremely needy and clingy, prone to walk just in front of one's feet nearly continuously, while he yowls and purrs in a slightly schizophrenic fashion and I fall over him at intervals, cursing. I can hear the yowls from the moment I get out of the car, as he lies in wait behind the front gate, presumably drawn by the sound of the engine. (It's amazing how quickly cats learn the finesse of engine note distinction which generally characterises only professional mechanics and Tony Stark).

The cat-sitting gig has also led to the occasional night spent in the house, by way of reassuring the kitties that they haven't been utterly abandoned. Sproing's state of clinginess is such, however, that he is a far from ideal bedmate. He curls up reasonably peaceably in the crook of one's knees, but is also driven, at random intervals during the night, to sashay up the bed to stick his nose into one's face, purring loudly. I am not accustomed to this. My own felines, by virtue of my fragile and dependent relationship with sleep, have been rigorously trained not to do this sort of thing. The third time he did it, it woke me up out of a fairly deep sleep in a state of disorientation which caused me to react instinctively and adversely to a giant, blurry, orange and white shape filling my entire field of vision - i.e. I went "aaargh!" and batted it away with enough force that he landed on the floor several feet from the bed. I am somewhat guilt-ridden about this involuntary action, but am pleased to note that (a) he appears unharmed and just as clingy, and (b) he didn't disturb me again last night. Also, you can see what I mean about the rigorous training of my own cats.

None of which, of course, prevents me from reacting with absolute approbation to the latest lovely quote from Joss Whedon. In reply to the query "Cats or dogs?", he gives us: "Cat! Dog: need need, poop, chew, need, lick, need. Cat: whatev. Meow, yo. Here's a mouse." Also, the Avengers movie is at about 96% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes, causing me high levels of anticipatory fangirly glee. ("The Avengers is neither overwhelming nor underwhelming. What it expertly is, is whelming." Hee). I'm going to go and see it tomorrow. Possibly twice.

In other news, I finally finished Mass Effect 2, as a result of which (a) I'm wandering around the house twitching vaguely from the withdrawal symptoms, and (b) this Harry Potter paper is actually taking shape. Also, as you may have noticed, (c) I'm blogging again. Blogging is clearly adversely affected by computer game obsessions, except, of course, when it isn't because I'm blogging obsessively about computer games. Watch this space.
  • Current Mood: apathetic a bit lost
I enjoyed Avengers. RDJ didn't steal the show. Scarlett Johannson wasn't annoying. Loki was much better than he was in Thor.
I saw Avengers last night - an excellent movie, if Superhero action is your thing (I guess it is my thing then)

Seeing that interview in the paper this morning made me happy.
One of our newest cats, Furious Purpose, is an in-your-face purring cat. She also likes to lick any exposed skin. She seems to have learned that a NOT THE FACE rule applies to licking, but has found several loopholes -- sometimes while she's sitting on my chest she will adorably but disruptively touch my chin with her paw, or go all the way to vigorous kneading (with claws out). The paw thing reminds me of Simon's Cat, except she hasn't gone after me with a baseball bat yet.

Noether also sits on my chest. She doesn't lick or knead, but likes to touch my chin with her cold nose. Also, her crushing weight rapidly becomes an impediment to breathing.

Aww, kitties.