Tonight’s air is stiller, hotter than I’d like for it to be, and I’m wasting time with my feet up on our Family Heirloom dining room table, some sweet jams courtesy of Quinn pumping themselves out of this ancient computer box. I’ve got one lamp on, and one set of string lights lit. I am alone, wearing (1) pair of blue jammie shorts, handed down to me by the Madre de Jake, (1) stripey yellow tank top I’ve had since three nice times ago, and (1) “sporty” bun hairdo. So, obviously I am having yet another glamour night.
Until recently, I was half-heartedly skimming Friedrich Schiller’s “Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man” which, you might guess, was titillating. Truth be told, I was more specifically splitting my time between facebook stalking former loved ones and pondering cats. So you can see the direction in which my interests have turned.
Turns out that I have quite a pile of fodder stacking up! This is both because I have excellent friends and admirers and also because the blog was until lately on YET ANOTHER hiatus, owing to the wild unpredictability of the girl who moves every three months (or less) and the lack of internet that is inherently coupled with that lifestyle.
Well. Let’s get this thing going, and clean out my kitty closet.
It’s time for Dead Flowers radio.
“We should make this for Raymond,” Quinn writes.
A cardboard cat rocket!? We most certainly should. Cats! Space!
Oh haaaay girl, hold up. Let’s re-introduce Raymond for all these nice people. Here are some recent images I took of the fine feline.
A few months ago, Cece sent me the following photograph with a message that read, simply,
I can only guess that she means our shared future. (Which one of us gets to be the cat?)
This is a relative noob entry, and I am in love with it. As part of a pro-spay/nueter campaign, this kitty warns against the dangers of In-Bread cats. Staci writes,
I thought you would find this to be sound advice, look what can happen.
Bon voyage, and off I go into the night. This eggplant/chick pea/coconut curry isn’t going to make itself, you know.
exes and ohs.
Take me down, little Susie.