Six Months In A Leaky Boat

Last week we finally caught Harry Potter and the Order, based on the book I still haven't finished. I will reserve my opinion about whether the director did the same. I realize it couldn't be an eight-hour movie, but I would watch Gary Oldman stand around in doorways being underused for at least three hours, then they'd better give him something to do for the next five. It was a good advert for the book, though.

Superhero Movie, the latest (I guess?) of that spoof series...that spoofs...movies. I enjoyed it, I actually laughed a few times even, which is generally unheard of.

Then I watched a lot of tennis. Oodles of tennis. Tons of tennis. And Jon Stewart. Then I found myself outdoors one night staring at my feet, and that never ends well. I'm still waiting for it to pass, actually. Now it's raining and no one can play tennis, so I have to watch other things. Like Frontline. Hmm.

You know how the sun has that warning label about not staring directly into it? I haven't quite figured out how to pull that off while driving. Everyone gets annoyed when I close my eyes, so that's out. The great thing is that even on these rainy days I still have the image of the sun burned into my retina. It's super!

I also dodged a bat and chased a raccoon this week. I wouldn't have noticed either, except the cats tend to pay attention to great big creatures infiltrating their space and they've not got the afterimage of the sun burned into their eye, so that also gives them an advantage. I had to walk up to the raccoon with a flashlight before we saw each other, and the raccoon was like, "HOLY CRAP!" and slowly scaled the fence. The bat just flapped about, avoiding us. Luckily these two incidents didn't take place on the same night, or I'd be checking for snakes and Indiana Jones in my hedges.

Six Months In A Leaky Boat

Friday Freakiness

Okay, I forget if I've mentioned that the neighborhood, having gotten uppity about stray cats, has seen a lot more field mice lately. This is dodgy speak for we had a few mice in the house. They came for the catnip, and stayed for the dog kibble. I swear, they threw catnip all over the place one morning. Which, I guess, is why my slinky guy was so kind to the one mouse he carried out of the house and let go a few weeks back. I never knew a cat that believes in catch and release, whatta guy.

We've got these "humane" traps that tip and lock closed when a breeze blows past them, and for a while we've had no takers on the bits of muffin or cookie or cheeto or kibble we put in there, but today...today there were so many ants in the trap that it tipped closed.

Why I didn't take a picture, I don't know. You would have screamed along with me. I don't know why I scream at the sight of loads of ants in places I don't expect them, but it's one of those nasty side-effects of being a girl, I guess. It all started when I picked up a paper cup that had juice in it...no, it's too disturbing to go back to.

I can't believe that many ants can hang out and get along, really. Ants rock. Outside of my house. Far, far outside.

Friday Freakiness

Check out our beaver!

A beaver, the first to be seen on the banks of the Bronx River, has been named Jose after the politician who cleaned up some of the mess which prevented anything but mutants from wanting to go for a swim.

200 years after idiots took out the last beavers in the area for a hat, this brave--and possibly gay--beaver decided to forgive humanity and build some riverfront property. He has no girlfriends coming to visit and will probably end up having to date one of the delightful local rats.

Provided the taxes do not drive him away, look for a happy beaver population explosion started by this one trail-blazing dam builder.

Check out our beaver!

Don't piss off Mama Bird.

Did I ever tell the story of how I became a liberal? Once upon a time, before West Nile Virus and termites took most of the birds and trees from our area, there was a red-tailed hawk in my tree. It was pretty stunning. They're big.

I mentioned it online, and someone made a crack that I should cook it. I responded in turn with my own crack about my neighbor who used to shoot at the ravens in our tree.

Apparently, calling the neighbor a looney did not go over well with a troll who knew how to keep his posts from being archived. I wasn't making the neighbor up, I couldn't, it's too bizarre (I think he eventually shot at something bigger than a bird, because they moved not long after). As the discussion went on, the troll called me a liberal, and I think he expected me to die of shame. I did not. And that is how I became a liberal.

Leaping ahead a few years, when the only birds left in the area are blue jays, I found myself swinging at one with a branch from my forsythia today. I believe I may have called the bird a few names the ornithologists union has not approved.

These birds are annoying my cats, you see. Never mind that the cats stare at them and do the feline equivalent of wolf whistles, these birds are capable of eye-pecking, and are threatening my cats, and so I flipped out ninja-stlye with a branch. I'd cut the branch, along with a lot of vines, in an attempt to remove the welcome mat for the blue jays.

I also very nearly severed my left thumb, but I'm used to doing shit like that. Luckily, I'd just cleaned my clippers the other day, and they're not nicked, so it was a clean slice. I can still work my mouse, as long as I keep the thumb tightly bandaged, so all is right with the world.

Still enjoying the Depeche Mode music, although if they play Devotional at 10 o'clock again, I will jump on a blue jay, take it up to space, and beat the satellite senseless with the largest branch I can find.

Don't piss off Mama Bird.