The Basket War

There is ongoing drama at my house lately over possession of a certain cloth-lined, wicker basket. It came to me containing care package goodies when I was sick. I have since eaten most everything that came in it, and as I type this, I'm drinking the last of the pumpkin spice coffee (that detail was thrown in just to make you jealous). After it was emptied, I placed it on my bookshelf/window seat, and The Peanut promptly put a little pillow in it and put her beloved Teddy to sleep.

When it was time for Teddy to get up, Dongo, my fat kitty, took possession almost immediately. For days she sat in the basket on the pillow staring out the window and contemplating finally writing her memoirs. Squishy, my skinny, gay kitty, watched her from the other side of the bookshelf/window seat in quiet, passive/aggressive resentment and told himself over and over that he didn't care for wicker baskets. He finds them tacky.

About a week ago, I came home from work to find Squishy in the coveted wicker chaise and Dongo on the floor staring up at him. She was not blinking. The contest over possession of the basket has since escalated daily. I often find it overturned on the floor and both cats seething in separate parts of the house.

Tonight, I heard the familiar creaking of wicker sticks as they stretched to accommodate Dongo's girth. I then heard a low growl coming from Squishy, so I turned around partly to watch and partly because I don't want to die at my computer just because I had my back turned at the wrong time.

When Dongo stood to face Squishy's challenge for the basket, she raised her paw and slapped him on the head a total of 22 times. I swear to god I counted them. 22 slaps in rapid succession.

I have finally decided I need a video camera.

Halloween Fever

I'll tell you this, and then I'm going to bed...

I cannot wait for Halloween! The weather is just starting to chill a bit - not too much, but just enough to feel like fall. I keep hearing the theme from Halloween in my head, and I'm desparate for blowing leaves and "punkuns."

$50 says I have my house fully decorated BEFORE October 1st. I'm going to buy fresh corn on the cob for roasting and pumpkin seeds to season and back for us to snack on. Caramel apples will be a goal this week or weekend, and The Peanut and I will watch at least one Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin special or something like it. My house will smell like popcorn and hot cocoa.

And I'll be writing some spooky stories to share with you.

Be prepared. I have the fever - but good.

Drip drip drop little August showers

I love rainy nights. I do. And, please, tell me who the hell doesn't? It's still warm, and the rain is doing that constant white-noisey washing of the tension in my soul until all I can feel is relaxed and craving warm tea. Why does thunder make me long for fall? I know it is close, but I want it now. I want the smell of it. I want the farm grown pumpkins being sold in large carboard boxes on street corners. Bring me the howling wind, the harvest moon, the smell of trees aging, and the gray skies of the old age of the year 2008. I will never stop being in love with Autumn, and I will never stop seeing August rainstorms as love letters reminding me that he is on his way back home.

I cannot wait to roast seeds and nuts and get creative with hot juice and spices to drink. Corn on the cob, people! Corn on the cob!!! Chili! Potato soup! Venison stew! Pumpkin pie! And yes, brace yourselves... you know it's coming... I never change...

HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I need to find a copy of "The Lady in White" and "Something Wicked This Way Comes" (and quite possibly "Escape from Witch Mountain") just to keep me from losing my mind until October.

Yee-ha!

Martyr

I need just one more chair in the living room of the thimble we live in. The cats have taken over the couch (they are looooong cats), the coats have taken over the white chair, and Faeron has taken over the fuzzy orange chair.

I don't try to move the pets or the coats.

"Faeron, do you want to sit at your Dora table and color?"

"I am trrrrying to read this, mama," says the four year old who cannot read with an impatient sigh while she turns the page of the sales brochure we recieved in the mail.

In Faeron's little green Dora chair, my eyes are just level with the keyboard, so most of what I wanted to blog about just isn't worth the trouble tonight.