A new plan

Feb. 2nd, 2011 02:33 pm
desperance: (Mac)
I shall write a book. (All right, it's not that new. As plans go.) It shall be called The Chocolate Thief, and feature a photo of Mac on the cover. (For all his manifold faults and excesses, he is after all quite pretty.)

Five million people will then write to me, to say how bad it is for cats to eat chocolate. And I will tell them that I know this, and suggest they buy the book and read it. Which they will then do, because that is how these things work, oh yes.

[Since you ask, he bust into my hyper-secure chocolate locker overnight and gobbled down the truffles. Which appear to have done him no harm whatsoever, except for blighting his less-than-immaculate reputation for ever in my sight.]
desperance: (Mac)
Mac, sitting on the lid of the mushroom box, trying to figure out how to get it off.

Ordinarily he can do this, but I have meanly put it up high, where his only access is to jump up and sit on it. And then - well. The laws of physics are against him.

Which isn't going to stop him trying. There are mushrooms in there.

[Baz, meanwhile, continues to stare down the refrigerator. Which continues to dispense chicken at regular intervals. All is well in Baz-world.]
desperance: (baz)
So I was posting only yesterday about not being sure whose bed it was, when I woke in the night?

Heh. Not much doubt this morning. Must've grown colder; I woke up in the darktime and there were two cats - two! - claiming possession, one at my knees and one at my shoulder. Myself, I was scrunched up in the last six inches against the wall, where they had no doubt rolled me in an unusual communal effort.

Also, it was apparently bathtime for Barry, which might be why I'd woken up. He's a noisy washer, and right by my ear, and there isn't much else going on at 5am.

Baz has been a rare visitor these last few months; I'm not really sure where he's been sleeping, only not with me. It's nice to have him back. Even at the price of an early waking, and being too much of a wuss to make him move despite the growing discomfort and wanting to turn the radio on and and and.

(This post brought to you from the Lit & Phil, where I'm supposed to be working but not so much, really. I'm unaccountably tired, and mostly I just want to go home and read books. I have many books to read - new Iain Banks, new William Gibson, Hannu Rajaniemi, I'm halfway through GGK's latest... Students get a reading week sometimes. I want one.)

Mango fool

Jul. 20th, 2008 06:24 pm
desperance: (chilli)
I am aware that some of my people, even some of my best people are ... not quite like me. Honestly, I do know this.

They might, for example, not enjoy cooking as much as I do. Or shopping; they might not be natural shoppers. I know.

However. Things have come to a pretty underpass, when you send a man out for papaya to go in the mutton curry, and he brings back mangoes. Mangoes. Which you do not notice, of course, until you need to cook; by which time, its being Sunday, the shops are shut and it's too late to correct.

In vengeance, I have used the extra-hot chilli powder. He'll be sorry.

In other news,

the internal digestive troubles of a cat )
desperance: (Default)
I thought Mac was behaving more wildly evil even than usual. The reason? He is full of chocolate, for he has eaten my Kitkat bar.

He is dashing and diving all over the house, pouncing and biting and utterly bonkers. Squawking, too. "What was that? Look at that, Barry! Die, Barry! Eek!"

Barry is hiding in discreet corners.

Me, I am leaving home.

*exits, pursued by a cat*

ETA: didn't get very far, for 'tis rainy and wet and I don't feel utterly well. Mac still bonkers. It's quite funny, tho', 'cos he chases Barry and Baz dives into a defensible zone and Mac hurtles after and knocks something over - which brings them both to a sudden halt and a mutual investigation, "oh look, that falls over! It breaks! Who knew...?"

...And then they remember where they were, and there is more chasing and hiding and so forth.
desperance: (Default)
Am in the hot and steamy south, with all the windows open.

I have wifi, which I am determined not to use. QED.

I am not going to read my friends list; I have novels to read. And reading-glasses to read them with, for I am old.

I am most particularly not going to haunt my catsitters' LJs for any stray mention of the cats. That would be stalkerly behaviour, and I do not do that. Oh no.

I am genuinely and actually not going to be checking my e-mail, because I cannot remember the complicated URL I need for webmail access. My real life will be a blank to me for weeks'n'weeks. My Sooper-Seekrit Plan is that I will get a lot of work done in this interstice. Reality? Pfui. We snigger at reality, and commit humiliations upon it. I have already thought of the beginning to yet another story, tho' determined actually to finish some of those I've already started, tho' I was more properly hoping to advance the novel briskly...

Whatever. I shall write an opening paragraph, and then go for a walk. And buy coffee. I have been in this house for about twelve hours, mostly sleeping, and I have already drunk them out of coffee. *twitches*

Also, I just spotted a Mac-hair caught in my mini-mouse. Aww...
desperance: (chillies)
Soup of the day? Roasted cherry tomato and butternut squash, with chicken stock and a dash of cream, a grate of parmesan. Its name shall be nom-nom-nom. A little pesto might have enhanced it further, but I have none. Woe.

In other news, I was grotesquely flattered by an optician today, who stoutly refused to believe that I am as old as I am. Even the fact that I need reading glasses would not persuade her. (Why yes, I do have an attic; why do you ask?)

Also, Mac is a poor lorn critter who nobody loves. And he can prove it, too. He sat by the back door and mewed piteously, and I did not let him out into the yard; then he launched a determined campaign to steal my chocolate biscuit, and I prevented him. I told him he can leave home when he's seventeen; he's packing now. (He's two now, as it happens.)
desperance: (baz)
...So I come in from the shops and go straight through to the kitchen to unpack; and Barry's there, so I'm explaining this most unusual behaviour to him as I go:

"Look, these are croissants, I have to put these away before that Mac boy finds 'em; and these are chocolate bars, so ditto ditto; and this, this is real genuine cat food and we know he can razor-claw his way into these sacks, so..."

And I'm in mid-rant when it suddenly strikes me that I'm explaining this to Barry of all cats, wicked little Bazza who has proved himself entirely capable of razor-clawing on his own account; and since when did he become so much the epitome of virtue?

Since Mac moved in, of course. All things are comparative, and poor Baz has lost even his evil reputation, being put so thoroughly in the shade by whole new definitions of sinfulness...


Aug. 19th, 2007 05:51 pm
desperance: (Default)
As soon as you write something down, it becomes untrue. That's inherent.

Last night, I wrote how the bedroom was safe territory for Barry and me, all night long. Last night? Mac irrupted, and chased Barry from the bed. Twice. Then he came back one more time, searched the room for any trace of Baz (who must've been hiding elsewhere, poor sweetie), then nuggled down under the duvet, stretched out at my side and slept there all night long.


Aug. 18th, 2007 11:03 pm
desperance: (baz)
Despite my anxieties, I do get endless fun out of watching the cats' interactions. Most nights, Barry sleeps on my bed and is entirely untroubled by Mac, who won't come in till morning. Much of the day, the poor boy lurks under chairs or behind doors, for fear of being pounced on. At meal-times, though, Baz is The Man; he eats quicker than Mac, and if left unsupervised - as he usually is, my having other things to do than watch cats eat - will muscle in on the kid and pinch the last of his food too.

Today, he did the muscling halfway through the meal. I was in the garden, picking herbs; came in to find Barry at Mac's bowl. Happily, Mac is a student of the Higher Mathematics; he has figured out that 2=1+1. He had occupied Barry's bowl in lieu of his own. Quite why Baz would have abandoned half his own food uneaten, I dunno. A power-play of some kind, I guess.

Mac is also a student of the Higher Cuddle. He is an eroticat. When Barry sits on you, it's kind of like having your lap occupied by a warm and furry cinderblock, "here I am and here I remain". Very still, very solid. When Mac sits on you, it's an act of unmitigated sensual pleasure - nah, I'm being coy, which he is not. It's an act of sex. All wriggles and stretches and big eyes and "stroke my belly now - ooh - a little bit higher... Yes! Yes ! Yes!"

Also, my carrot cake? Is a big hit with the boys. I thought it was just the cream-cheese-and-butter icing, but apparently not. The body of the cake is fully acceptable. Carrots and all.


desperance: (Default)

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