Nothing of Consequence

I’m struggling with how much to say. That Facebook makes everything seemingly real-ish, where everybody can get in semi-protected nooks and cranny’s if they are paying attention. Do I speak of what is truly on the front, middle, and back of my mind, or do I keep it safe and easy-peasy? I’ve encountered this same struggle with this blog, but now it’s rattling around again. There’s a nice balance that has been happening here. But nice is different than good. Easy-peasy is boring, but also part of everyday life, which can be a relief.

Do I speak of things like how I worry about my 75 year old sweet mother who struggles to stay well, or about how I have spent a lot of this year trying out a relationship that I never thought I would encounter again, and that I am letting it go now for real, or how I reconcile who I work for with what I believe, or that I don’t really know what to focus on right now, or how difficult it is to find friends in this town that are similar to me – the gay aspect being one, or that I enjoy living on my own and like the company of my fur posse more than spending time with most anybody.

No. I do not speak of these things.

The Great Cat Cold Watch of Fall 2009

Which is mildly better than Butthole Watch: 2009, where the house was full of splattered poo. I was speaking with some intelligent people the other week, and they mentioned one reason they don’t have animals is because they would have to pick up poo daily. I quickly went into contemplation mode (painful. every time.) and realized that yes, yes I do. I pick up poo daily. From a dog and two cats. Every day, from them all. At least 3 poos. (Gus often buries his near his weekly bird kills, so I do not bother unless I’m pulling the poo OUT OF CHARLIE’S MOUTH because he found it inside the fenced yard) I digress.

I feel used, abused, and also poor – I mean really, feline colds for possibly all three of them. (And do not get me started on The Great Flea Treatment – a family member irresponsibly, unwittingly & without permission took a guest’s dog with fleas to the cabin.) But I learned something new: Lysine helps cats keep their defenses up so colds don’t get too bad. It’s something that also helps humans, and it’s a natural remedy. Gus, The Bringer of Evil, is the culprit, and the Vet told me it’s better than him bringing mouth/throat herpes or chlamydia. And I was all, if he could just bring beer instead…

Poor quirky talkative Chi Chi, with her throat all red and a lymph gland all swollen, and the hoarse whisper of cussing in Spanish. la madre terrible, por qué es usted haciendo esto a mí. It has come to this: Wrapping her tightly in a towel, like the Virgin-Whore she is, and forcing the antibiotics and lysine down her sore throat.

Shut UP. I did. I know.

The Facebook.
It was Never going to be in my world. Murphy’s Law. Said Never.
And then – I did. I don’t know. Just whatever.
One of the last few hold-outs.
Also, Fur Posse don’t care ’bout this crap. They keep it real.