In other news...

In the process of moving back home with my parents, several things had to happen. Firstly, I needed to pare down my booze cupboard. That didn't REALLY happen, other than orphaning the better part of a handle of Smirnoff and a traveler of cheap tequila at good ole 901 with some girls who would appreciate it. I also needed to thin out my wardrobe, which is not much to speak of fashion-wise, but the sweaters take up an inordinate amount of room. This absolutely did not happen, as I wasn't able to take the time to sort through things and stuff some bags for St. Vinny's.

Really, the only thing that did happen was me finding a home for my illustrious cat, Finnius Maximus: see photograph to the right. She was a wonderful cat. I rescued her from the Animal Control Shelter, where she'd been for several months. They'd found her down by the old tannery with a fishing net wrapped so tightly around her neck that it cracked her voice box and cut into her skin quite deeply. It was also embedded in both of her front paws, and this obviously took quite a long time to heal. By the time I gave her a home, all that remained of her ordeal was her ridiculous, gravelly meow, which sounded something like she'd been smoking through her trach for 30 years. And I loved her. She'd sleep with me, right up next to my pillow, and position herself just so so that, when I'd fling my arm across to hit the snooze button in the morning, my elbow would land on her for an inadvertent bit of petting. She'd begin to meow when she heard me come up my front stair, and she never actually tried to get out of the apartment, even when I left the doors open while I brought in groceries. She'd wait to jump up onto the couch where I was settling down until I'd thrown the blanket over my lap, as that seemed to be an internationally signal for "ready for Finnius." She'd sleep in the oddest positions in the afternoon, frequenly curling up in a little faux-papesan chair I'd enherited from somewhere. Sometimes she'd keep her back legs perfectly straight and wrap her front paws around them, tucking her head in, almost as though she were performing some amazing high dive. Her fur was unbelievably dense, and a bit like the fur on a squirrel if you, my dear faceless reader, have ever seen squirrel fur. Dark and variegated on the outer but tan and very, very soft on the inner. She had a bit of a problem with hairballs as her pelt was so incredibly thick, even when I brushed her every day. With the trauma to her neck and a history of malnourishment, she occasionally had trouble keeping her food down when she'd cough up a furball, but with such an incredible face, how could anyone hold it against her? She had the saddest eyes I'd ever seen on a cat, and like I said before, I loved her.

She's with a good person now, a friend of mine who's still a student at LakeState, and I know she's being loved on and taken care of, but I still miss her. Obviously.

... and that's the emotional news for today.