mariness

1. As I mentioned, my mother's birthday was Friday. She likes orchids and, greatly unlike me, can actually keep them alive and make new blooms appear on them (orchids take one look at me, consider the situation, and unanimously agree that death is the better option.) So my brother and I stopped by Lowe's on our way to get her an orchid.

And there, on the shelves, was something I'd never seen before: a brilliant, almost glowing blue orchid. Blue is not my mother's favorite color by a long shot, but the orchid was so gorgeous I decided to risk that bit and grab it anyway. I was in a nice mood of self-congratulation until we reached their condo...

...where, while waiting for my brother to untangle the balloons, I read the tag and saw that the color had been created by what the tag called a "magical process" and what I call "dye." Any new blossoms will be white. So, for all of my attempt to get my mother a nice unusual orchid I got her a fake one. Oh well. Hopefully the dye won't ruin the plant's push for more flowers.

2. Alas, her birthday lunch was distinguished by some of the worst service we'd encountered for awhile -- a full half hour passed before anyone came to ask us for drinks (by which point we said we were just going to order everything at once) and then things went downhill from there.

Lesson learned: even an unexpected extra half hour waiting for food is not enough time to explain to my father everything that's going on in Game of Thrones and why a certain character on that show isn't dead yet. ("What's happening? They kill EVERYONE ELSE! Why aren't the dragons burning him up? THIS IS A VERY CONFUSING SHOW." Take note, HBO, take note.)

3. Speaking of Game of Thrones, I had the chance to finally play the Game of Thrones board game, and I am amused at how, just like the dynamics in the books, the board game is almost joyfully unbalanced. This does allow players greater opportunities to screw with each other later which again, much like the book.

4. The bifocals keep making me dizzy and are giving me flashes of green and blue (it's the combination of bifocals/prisms in the lenses) so I am pretty much using them for computer use and reading only and otherwise using my sunglasses until the new non-bifocal glasses arrive. This in turn has left me rather cranky. And, as the cats firmly and painfully pointed out this morning, with a tendency to forget that the cat food bowl is supposed to be replenished on a regular basis otherwise the CATS WILL WASTE AWAY TO NOTHING and HOW CAN I SLEEP THROUGH THAT POSSIBILITY? Your regular reminder that crankiness can be contagious, though right now, the Grey One is curled up into a small ball, the very picture of contentment. She, of course, doesn't have to wear bifocals.

For those of you waiting impatiently for Les Miserables next week, the Little One would like to offer up his latest poem, which he feels perfectly captures the spirit and meaning of the original novel:

One scratch more –
Another day, another lap moment
This endless road to nirvana –
This human who scratches my chin –
Surely she'll do it again!

One scratch more!

I was not scratched enough today –
will I be scratched enough tomorrow?

One scratch more!

Tomorrow she'll be typing away again –
And yet that does not scratch my chin!

One scratch more!

One more nap here on my own –
One more look of her not caring –
What a life I might have known,
I'll just walk into her lap!
She'll be sure to scratch me there!

One scratch more!

One scratch more – wait, where is my tuna?
I must nip this in the bud,
I must sink my little teeth in,
I must mark my point with blood!

Watch her run amuck,
watch her squawk and curse,
note how this results in hands in my fur!

One scratch more to my nirvana!
Tomorrow I'm certain has lots of scratches for me in store!
One scratch more!
One more scratch!
One scratch more!

So I shall help it out:

Some furry creatures decided to take advantage of a certain unmade bed this morning:

( Cut for large image. )

After carefully researching an infallible bastion of current knowledge, the humans of this household have determined that the following actions are not considered torture of cats under the Geneva Conventions:

1. Shutting the door to the laundry room.

2. Shutting the door to the laundry room after failing to notice that a cat was trapped inside.

3. Opening the door to the laundry room thus inadvertently allowing a cat to enter.

4. Failing to leave laundry in the laundry room for the cat to sleep on.

5. Removing a cat from a dryer.

6. Removing a cat from inside a dryer.

7. Not allowing the cat into the laundry room following the above incidents.

8. Making coffee instead of scratching the cat. (In fact, the failure to make coffee may possibly result in some actions that could be considered torture of cats.)

9. Turning on the Roomba.

10. Allowing the Roomba to venture near a couch, bed, or chair.

11. Allowing several dogs unrelated to the humans owned by the cat to be walked, on a leash, on a sidewalk several feet away from a window containing a cat. (While we're on the subject, your humans would like to note that they have no, but no, control over pedestrians on the sidewalk, a group that includes all pedestrians who happen to be accompanied by Interesting Animals.)

12. Venturing outside without the cat.

13. Typing.

14. Consuming ice cream without the assistance of a cat.

15. Consuming peanut butter, which cats do not like, without the assistance of a cat.

16. Removing cat paws from a keyboard.

17. Removing cat paws from a keyboard two seconds later.

18. Removing cat paws from a keyboard for the third time three seconds later.

19. Placing the cat on the floor because the cat continues to put cat paws on the keyboard.

20. Sole or joint use of a pillow by either human.

21. Requesting the cat to not stand right in front of the screen during a Leverage rewatch.

22. Using a can opener to open a can of black beans instead of tuna, especially since the cat would not be getting any tuna anyway even if that were the can getting opened, not because the humans of this household are cruel individuals or unaware of the pleasures of tuna, but because the cat keeps putting paws on the keyboard.

23. Rain, particularly because you are indoor cats.

Your request for tuna as some small compensation for these matters is therefore denied.

Two unrelated notes:

First, a friend I had not seen in some time stopped by unexpectedly yesterday, brought my way by funeral ashes, iPhone issues and a failed GPS. I leave you all to figure out what that says about my life, but it turned into a delightfully unexpected late afternoon/early evening.

Second, I am sorry to report to you that this house is currently filled with Unrequited Love.

Said Unrequited Love comes from the Little One, who adores, but adores, tgregory3 and wants to sit on his lap and be held in his arms. After all, my brother does wonderful things like walking around and cooking fish and sometimes even – try to restrain your admiration – putting a cat up on a window so that the cat can look at squirrels and birds. Alas, although my brother is willing to occasionally scratch the Little One's head and back, this is not a mutual love. He actually – I hesitate to reveal this to you – prefers the other cat, on the false basis that the Grey One is prettier and more importantly quiet and does not yowl all the time and does not try to climb on him.

To repeat, this, alas, is false. Well, only partly false. It is true that the Grey One does not try to climb into his lap, since the Grey One rarely tries to climb into anyone's lap. (She has started to climb into mine, always, without fail, when I'm on a typing roll and have finally realized how a particular scene, poem or essay should go, standing right in front of the screen and daring me to pay attention to words instead of her beauty, grace, elegance and sudden need for adoration and belly and chin scratching.) Her general response to the presence of strangers – demonstrated last night – is to find a small dark corner someplace so that no one will be blinded by her beauty and so that she does not have to suffer looking at other people. (I am gathering.) Also, convince them never to return again by deliberately missing the litter box. (It's deliberate. She knows where the litter is, she does not have an infection, but she does know that this is an effective way to punish me since it so obviously ticks me off.) And she is certainly a remarkably beautiful and elegant cat of high breeding. (You can take her word for it.) And considerably smarter than the Little One – probably the most intelligent cat that has ever owned me. (Having figured out the bathroom faucets, she has begun watching me and my brother in the kitchen. This is not going to end well.)

BUT SHE IS NOT AT ALL QUIET.

Trust me on this.

As soon as the house has been safely cleared of other humans, it begins. Quiet chatter at first, leading into full fledged rants. This cat may genetically be only half- Siamese, and show very little of this in her face, but her vocal cords are entirely Siamese. (I sense the biologists amongst you questioning this statement but it's entirely true.) She has been known to howl for hours on end. Hours. Over what, I can't tell you. Presumably the sad state of the universe.

Until someone else arrives, at which point she goes utterly silent. And the Little One, who is mostly quiet when no one else is around unless he sees an outside dog or cat to sit on, starts his howling.

Which means that no one, but no one, believes me when I try to say that actually, SHE'S the loud one. Oh, sure, people have heard her howling in the background when I'm on the phone (she disapproves of phones, although sometimes she will hide under the bed in her disapproval) but they assume that she's the Little One because he's the one that will be vocal when they stop by. Sigh.

In the meantime, my morning has been filled with howls from a frustrated Little One, since my brother – prepare yourselves for a terrible shock – has insisted on doing yard work and house repairs and even reading a book all without the help and company of a cat. (The book reading was particularly egregious since, as we all know, a cat can always enhance the pleasure of reading a book by putting a helpful paw right on a page, or, as I have discovered to my distress, a Nook. Slight digression: yes, a cat paw on a Nook will flip the Nook forward several pages, and it is my current belief that the next generation of the Nook needs to learn how to distinguish between a human finger and a cat paw, and I don't want to hear that this is physically impossible.) Horribly distressed, he came over to curl up beside me, and seemed comforted for a bit. And then my brother – prepare for an act of infeline cruelty – STOOD JUST OUTSIDE THE WINDOW and didn't EVEN reach through the glass to pet the cat. I know. I was shocked too.

This is why my weekends so often seem long. On the bright side, the Little One has made friends with the puppy next door (although, in sadder news, the puppy has not yet been successfully turned into a pirate. I understand children are continuing to work on this.) So some love continues to grow.

Excuse me. I see the cat needs more comforting.

Three entirely unrelated bits of news:

1) I take on the most controversial of the Narnia books, The Last Battle, over at Tor.com

2) Just in case you didn't hear yet (although I'm pretty sure most of you have) George RR Martin has announced a publication date for Dance of Dragons.

I'm with you all in saying I'll believe it when I see it, and probably on my own of feeling a little sad that now that both Patrick Rothfuss and George RR Martin are delivering/have delivered their long awaited novels, I can't exactly point to them as excuses for not getting my own fiction work done, gulp, gulp.

3) I have a washer/dryer again.

Unfortunately, the first thing that entered the dryer was a black and white cat. I took his squeaks during the removal process as a sign of approval. For the curious, he was less helpful than he thought he was during the installation process, failing to understand that the Lowe's delivery guys were there to plug in the washer and hook up the dryer vents, not scratch a cat. I suppose from the cat point of view that's an understandable mistake.

1) Happy Festivus to all! Here, I am pleased to tell you that the holiday has gone quite well and according to custom with the Grey One knocking down a pole. (Well, ok, technically the Swifter, but, a pole is a pole and she liked watching it fall since her grievances, apparently, are poles that stand up and faucets that could be running water, but aren't, so, it counts as a Festivus sort of thing.)

2) For those of you not quite sick of Santa Claus yet, I chatter about L. Frank Baum's biography of the tireless toymaker over at Tor.com.

3) And, this is my favorite site of the day: Law and the Multiverse, in which two attorneys carefully explain how the law applies to superheroes and supervillains. Particularly useful for any of you who may be expecting Doomsday to throw Superman through your house this holiday season, or, in the case of at least one of my readers, expecting a certain comics writer to throw Spider-Man through your house in hopes that this may end various internet flame wars. (Memo: no internet flame war that I have been aware of has ever been improved by the throwing of a superhero through the average suburban home, but it is true that I am not aware of everything.)

Apparently, this cat has still more grievances to share, and it is Festivus, after all, so later.

I chatter about puppets, false nostalgia, changes in children's writing and the Rundelstone of Oz over at Tor.com today.

In completely unrelated news, I am saddened to tell you that the Grey One has been kept out of the guest bedroom ALL DAY because a certain person has been using it to assemble furniture. I am saddened mostly because the result of this has been irritated claw marks up and down my stomach. I suspect that most, if not all of you, would argue that assembling furniture is a perfectly legal, unremarkable and indeed beneficial thing to do. You, however, are not a cat who was expecting -- nay, demanding -- that she be allowed to take her daily nap in the guest bedroom because clearly the couch and my bedroom and various chairs and floors and windowsills are completely unacceptable at this time for nap purposes.

It's a good thing she hasn't learned to type yet. She would put every other internet drama queen to shame, I tell you. To absolute shame.

So in an unexpected twist of events, the internet works. The bathroom – not so much; the toilet in the main bathroom is not at all present, forcing me to trek to the half bath, and while water runs into the bathtub just fine actually getting into the tub is an exciting, exciting thought. Also, kitchen sink for toothbrushing for the moment.

Also, I found the cats. To be strictly truthful, they found me: the Little One started howling before I even reached the door, divebombed my legs as I made it inside, and proceeded to refuse to leave my skin – not just my side, but insisting on being physically on me – for the next several hours, waking up every few minutes to happily headbutt and lick me again and then push against me. He's still here. I move, he follows.

I did not see the Grey One for awhile, although after one of the headbutting instances I raised my head and thought I saw something that looked like a grey ghost streaking by. At about 4 am, however, I felt very firm paws on my face and arms, and this morning I was gifted with a long, hard infuriated stare. I understand that this move does not—

Ouch. She's back and pawing at my chest. With claws. I could be wrong, but I think she's kinda pissed.

More later, including con reports, when I'm less exhausted.