Kitty Jail

The bad weather has stayed away all week, and turned out some stunning winter days in its place. The sun cuts through the windows with glaring white light. So I had hoped that my Friday would be spent productively gaining some Vitamin D and putting in a new vegetable garden at the new section.

Instead I slept. And sniffed. And slept a whole lot more. I probably went back to work too early this week, as the cold that I’d been shaking off quite successfully is back to knocking me around. And now Rob has it too.

The kitties are helping by joining in with the sleeping, when they’re not rampaging through the house trying to murder each other. I know it’s play-fighting, but they can get a bit carried away sometimes. Scrappy and Gomez (the brothers) are fairly evenly matched, but Scrappy is at least 50% bigger than his little sister, Eva, and he’s pretty relentless when he wants to be. After the third incident of “play” that turned into hisses and tufts of fur flying, I locked Scrappy in Kitty Jail (the bathroom) for an hour to get him to calm down. But at least he didn’t try to get her assassinated.

I promised myself that I wasn’t going to keep blogging about US politics, but there really isn’t much else to talk about when you’re spending your days sick on the couch. Plus the whole week has been littered with such spectacular disasters it’s like watching a parody of an election. There’s this big, obvious chunk of lying from the so-called “truth-teller”, (Dude needed to take a leaf from Oscar Wilde and learn not to sue people when what they’re saying is true). And then the rats abandoning ship and trying to pull it even further apart as they exit. Then the aforementioned public incitement to violence, which even Reagan’s daughter thinks was a very nasty thing to do. Oh, and this terrible grasp of both international politics and very recent history.

Although it’s inspiring a touch of glee to watch someone who’s already in a hole keep on digging despite all advice to the contrary, I can’t say that it’s giving me much comfort. The man is clearly a bit unbalanced and there’s a point where we’re just picking on the unstable guy. If the Republicans had put forward a more rational (and more centrist) candidate, they likely would have found Clinton easy to rout. She definitely has her flaws. Plus, it’s August. There are still nearly 3 months left to run.

As I set up the wedding yesterday, I tried to engage one of my colleagues in conversation about it while we worked.

“So did you hear what Trump said about Clinton picking a Supreme Court justice and how the Second Amendment people should deal with her?” I began, as I stood polishing cutlery.

“Is he the president?” the other woman replied, checking the reception tablecloths for creases.

I blinked. “Um, no. He’s running for president. America has an election this year.”

She looked up from her work. “So who’s president then?”


Shrug. “Never heard of him.”

Oh right. That’s why I don’t have personal conversations with most of my workmates. There just aren’t many points of connection between our lives.


Of course, when I let Scrappy out of Kitty Jail, all was instantly forgiven on Eva’s part. He’s a bully, but she forgets quickly and hopelessly adores him.

I’ll never be able to reach everybody.



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