Tuesday is a good day for chores.
It’s quiet around El Rancho Pendejo. Herself races off to the Lab at 5:30 in the a.m. and it’s just Your Humble Narrator and Miss Mia Sopaipilla manning the battlements. Cat’lments. Whatevs.
Sometimes I’m up before The Boss hits the door running, sometimes not. This morning I managed to see her off and then got down to brass tacks, as the kids don’t say anymore.
Miss Mia must be greeted, loved up on, given a second round of food and drink, and her litter box unburdened of its dark freight.
Then the Winter Palace is to be prepared for Her Majesty, after which I may offer myself a little sumpin’-sumpin’: coffee; toast with butter and jam; either oatmeal with dried fruit and nuts or yogurt with granola; an apple or mandarine; a scoop of crunchy almond butter; maybe a mug of tea.
The news is to be scanned but not dwelt upon lest it hamper the digestion.
This morning saw the last slice of bread slide down the rathole so a new loaf was in order, and I set that machinery in motion.
Next I congratulated myself for taking a moment yesterday to rake up the pine needles scattered across the lawn by last Thursday’s window-rattler, with the goal of restarting the irrigation system for a quick spritz this morning, when I noticed our bird feeders were getting low. So I filled those up. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.
This short detour threw a slight hitch into my gitalong. The next items on the schedule were exercise and grocery shopping. If I hadn’t stopped to pat myself on the back I could’ve squeezed in a quick trail run before the sprinklers came on (I wanted to be around to make sure nothing had frozen up during our short cold snap).
Running afterward would put me at the grocery noonish, which is not optimal; the amateurs scuttle out of their holes and get in everyone’s way at noon and 5 p.m. I like to do my shopping between 9 and 10, or sometime after 1, when only pro hunter-gatherers are working the aisles and the registers don’t look like The Big I at rush hour.
Thing is, the meal I have planned for tonight is a slow-cooker deal that wants four hours in the pot.
So, yeah. Here I sit, muttering to myself (and to you) while I update my grocery list, avoid the news, and wait to see whether the irrigation system erupts like Vesuvius.
Mad Blog Media 
Life in the fast lane, heh?
Me, up, three cups of Kona blend, look at the news, fix a breakfast of Bob’s Red Mill steel cut with raisins and pecans with scrambled eggs on the side. Off for a blood test to check my lowish sodium level while Sandy terrifies the ‘hood with the Duffinator. Then out to give the landscaper my annual offering for cleaning and trimming my giant 25 by 50 foot back yard. Lunch next, and then tickle that Gibson before the jam session at 1430. Retirement is not for the weak!
Well, we had an easier day than Referee Sanders in the Senate. Figures one of the jerks was named O’Brien.
Ho, ho. As Charlie Pierce notes, “Even our congressional punch-ups have become cheap and useless.”
Meanwhile, Big Gummint drops its mitts long enough to keep the Big Gummint open a while longer.
Remember the old P.J. O’Rourke quip? “The Republicans are the party that says government doesn’t work and then they get elected and prove it.”
My morning has gotten, sadly, simpler. Old Maile, the 19 year old feline, who needed medication as well as victuals twice a day, collapsed last week and was dragging herself around with one front leg folded under and not even able to get into the litter pan, which I had swapped out for a 2″ tall pan a couple months ago due to her arthritis. Then she stopped eating. This time the leg collapsed due to bone cancer. Was time for her to go.
House seems awfully empty and Annie, the dog, keeps wondering where the cat is.
Life is a cruel beast in that many our best friends and companions have to pass on before us. My thoughts and condolences to you Khal. Don’t hesitate to spoil that pooch of yours.
Aw, shit, Khal, I’m sorry. It’s heartbreaking when our friends travel on without us. They wouldn’t do it if they knew we’d miss them so.
Khal, that’s one crappy day you had to deal with. So very sorry. Our own 19-y.o. Junebug had her last almost a couple months ago, leaving us with one instead of the two. Or the three we had a couple years back. Never gets easy. I think of all of them every day. One day it will be another one of us, maybe me. Life is hard. Thinking about it too much might be harder still. Stay strong.
Jeez, sad tales. Condolences, Dave. “Never gets easy” is exactly right. We’ve lost two of the three critters we brought with us from Bibleburg, Mister Boo and Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment). It’s just Miss Mia Sopaipilla holding down the fort now. Small wonder she gets coddled like a newborn.
Here she is in October 2007 shortly after we brought her home from the Humane Society in B-burg. Oh, lawd, she was a vigorous little pisser, even with the feline respiratory bug.
My heartfelt condolences, Khal and Dave. We love them so much, and they return our love multifold. That is why it hurts so much to let them go. But, the common denominator is love, which makes all our lives richer and more rewarding. Dale in Mid-MO
Khal, I bet you made everyday better for Maile. It’s all we can do for them, and I think it’s all they want and need from us.
So, you folks around Patrick’s pickle barrel know there is a song coming.