highs and lows
I’ve had an odd week, both harrowing and elating. In the interest of laziness, I’ll just do a rundown and then expound when I feel like it.
On Thursday I went with some friends to Thursday at the Square (a free concert series in Buffalo) to see Better Than Ezra, who are still rocking after all these years. At one point, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, but the porta-potties were all the way at the back of the square, and I didn’t want to miss “Desperately Wanting.” As soon as that song was over – and of course they vamped and took their sweet time, the cheeky monkeys – I sprinted through the crowd. It was worth it.
Then we went to a bar, had a few drinks. I myself had two Arrogant Bastard ales. Lovely.
On Friday I finally got a tattoo I’ve been talking about for ages, the Buffy scythe, on my right inner forearm. I went to HOD on Elmwood, and they did great work, fast. It is my first color tattoo, and it is lovely, even know when it’s healing and peeling and looking much grosser than it will in a few weeks. I turned 31 on Friday, and this was my present to myself.
On Saturday I had a little party with some friends, very low-key, except that three of my nephews came up, along with mom and Billy and Billy’s boy Marc. They weren’t exactly chill, but they were fun. Owen especially was hamming it up for everyone, as usual.
I made some great appetizers – blue cheese on baguette slices, drizzled with honey and put under the broiler until the bread got toasty. Bruschetta on baguette slices, with mozzarella over the top, put under the broiler until the cheese melted. Tons and tons of cupcakes. And the typical cheese and crackers (Ritz Roasted Vegetable Crackers are delicious), and chips and salsa, and olives.
On Sunday, a friend and I went and saw “Up,” which was amazing, and sad in parts and hilarious in parts.
And now for the harrowing part – while I was on my way to the movie theater, I encountered my cat Floyd, who tried to follow me. I told him no and continued on my way. And then he disappeared.
A little back story, which I may have already given here – Floyd and Charlie were both born outside, so as soon as it was nice out, I started letting them out here. They both had collars and tags, which they both managed to lose. And it almost doesn’t matter, because people in the neighborhood complained and worried about the cats whether they had tags or not. Indeed, even though Charlie had a tag that said he was an outdoor cat, people would flip past that tag and get to the tag with my number and call me INCESSANTLY, “I found your cat, is he OK? Is he allowed out here? Do you want to come pick him up?”
And at first, I was like, Wow, people sure are helpful in this neighborhood. (But also Wow, people sure don’t care about Shon’s cat Banyan at all). After a while, I started to get really annoyed, and then downright pissed off. Some of the people were trying to be helpful. But some of the people were obviously letting me know that THEY didn’t think that cats should be outside, that I was such a bad cat owner because I let them out in the scary neighborhood. People, these are MY cats, and I know them, and I get to decide whether they come outside or not! Seriously, people who would never tell you how to raise children or treat a dog will get in your face and go on and on about what you’re doing wrong with your cats, in their opinion. Ridiculous.
Last week, Charlie disappeared. I looked around the neighborhood, I asked a few people if they’d seen him. I worried a little, but then I figured that Charlie is so friendly, someone probably thought he was a stray and took him home. Charlie would enjoy himself anywhere, and he’d quickly forget about us. But dammit, he would come home to my house if someone hadn’t snatched him!
So when Floyd disappeared after Sunday, I was not only really worried, I was also really pissed. I wondered whether a judgmental neighbor was teaching a lesson, or whether we had a cat-snatcher in the neighborhood.
On Tuesday I posted an ad on Craigslist for both cats, though I didn’t really have a hope of hearing about Charlie. I would have posted flyers next, but a man e-mailed me, said he’d found Floyd late Sunday night and taken him to the SPCA on Monday. I picked Floyd up yesterday, paid $45 for all of the tests and inoculations that they gave him, and took him home. It was actually kind of sweet, I got there and the woman at the front desk took me back to where the stray cats were kept. As soon as I saw Floyd, I said, “FLOYDIE!,” and he got all excited and started meowing for me. And the workers were bummed, because Floyd had become a bit of a favorite.
Now, on the one hand, I was happy that the man took care of Floyd, and I thanked him profusely, and I meant it.
But, when I see a cat that I don’t know, my first instinct is not to drop it off at the SPCA. Since I do not know the cat, I also don’t know whether or not the cat has an owner, and whether or not the owner lets the cat outside on purpose or not. Too many variables, and if you put on top of that the possibility that someone could be at home, sad that their very dependable cat hasn’t been home in a couple of days, why chance it? Now, if a cat is obviously very sick and is obviously homeless, that is a different story. But a cat not having a collar is no indication whatsoever of a cat not having a home, or of a cat being lost, especially since those breakaway collars break away way too easily, in my experience.
For now, Floyd is an indoor cat, not only because well-meaning people won’t leave him alone, but because I don’t like that he was wandering around busy intersections. In the very near future, I’m going to see if I can train Floyd to walk on a harness and a leash, so that he can enjoy the outdoors fairly responsibly. And he is also getting a new tag and a new collar that won’t break away.
And since he came home, he has been cuddling with me non-stop. I know, Floydie. I know.
On Thursday I went with some friends to Thursday at the Square (a free concert series in Buffalo) to see Better Than Ezra, who are still rocking after all these years. At one point, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, but the porta-potties were all the way at the back of the square, and I didn’t want to miss “Desperately Wanting.” As soon as that song was over – and of course they vamped and took their sweet time, the cheeky monkeys – I sprinted through the crowd. It was worth it.
Then we went to a bar, had a few drinks. I myself had two Arrogant Bastard ales. Lovely.
On Friday I finally got a tattoo I’ve been talking about for ages, the Buffy scythe, on my right inner forearm. I went to HOD on Elmwood, and they did great work, fast. It is my first color tattoo, and it is lovely, even know when it’s healing and peeling and looking much grosser than it will in a few weeks. I turned 31 on Friday, and this was my present to myself.
On Saturday I had a little party with some friends, very low-key, except that three of my nephews came up, along with mom and Billy and Billy’s boy Marc. They weren’t exactly chill, but they were fun. Owen especially was hamming it up for everyone, as usual.
I made some great appetizers – blue cheese on baguette slices, drizzled with honey and put under the broiler until the bread got toasty. Bruschetta on baguette slices, with mozzarella over the top, put under the broiler until the cheese melted. Tons and tons of cupcakes. And the typical cheese and crackers (Ritz Roasted Vegetable Crackers are delicious), and chips and salsa, and olives.
On Sunday, a friend and I went and saw “Up,” which was amazing, and sad in parts and hilarious in parts.
And now for the harrowing part – while I was on my way to the movie theater, I encountered my cat Floyd, who tried to follow me. I told him no and continued on my way. And then he disappeared.
A little back story, which I may have already given here – Floyd and Charlie were both born outside, so as soon as it was nice out, I started letting them out here. They both had collars and tags, which they both managed to lose. And it almost doesn’t matter, because people in the neighborhood complained and worried about the cats whether they had tags or not. Indeed, even though Charlie had a tag that said he was an outdoor cat, people would flip past that tag and get to the tag with my number and call me INCESSANTLY, “I found your cat, is he OK? Is he allowed out here? Do you want to come pick him up?”
And at first, I was like, Wow, people sure are helpful in this neighborhood. (But also Wow, people sure don’t care about Shon’s cat Banyan at all). After a while, I started to get really annoyed, and then downright pissed off. Some of the people were trying to be helpful. But some of the people were obviously letting me know that THEY didn’t think that cats should be outside, that I was such a bad cat owner because I let them out in the scary neighborhood. People, these are MY cats, and I know them, and I get to decide whether they come outside or not! Seriously, people who would never tell you how to raise children or treat a dog will get in your face and go on and on about what you’re doing wrong with your cats, in their opinion. Ridiculous.
Last week, Charlie disappeared. I looked around the neighborhood, I asked a few people if they’d seen him. I worried a little, but then I figured that Charlie is so friendly, someone probably thought he was a stray and took him home. Charlie would enjoy himself anywhere, and he’d quickly forget about us. But dammit, he would come home to my house if someone hadn’t snatched him!
So when Floyd disappeared after Sunday, I was not only really worried, I was also really pissed. I wondered whether a judgmental neighbor was teaching a lesson, or whether we had a cat-snatcher in the neighborhood.
On Tuesday I posted an ad on Craigslist for both cats, though I didn’t really have a hope of hearing about Charlie. I would have posted flyers next, but a man e-mailed me, said he’d found Floyd late Sunday night and taken him to the SPCA on Monday. I picked Floyd up yesterday, paid $45 for all of the tests and inoculations that they gave him, and took him home. It was actually kind of sweet, I got there and the woman at the front desk took me back to where the stray cats were kept. As soon as I saw Floyd, I said, “FLOYDIE!,” and he got all excited and started meowing for me. And the workers were bummed, because Floyd had become a bit of a favorite.
Now, on the one hand, I was happy that the man took care of Floyd, and I thanked him profusely, and I meant it.
But, when I see a cat that I don’t know, my first instinct is not to drop it off at the SPCA. Since I do not know the cat, I also don’t know whether or not the cat has an owner, and whether or not the owner lets the cat outside on purpose or not. Too many variables, and if you put on top of that the possibility that someone could be at home, sad that their very dependable cat hasn’t been home in a couple of days, why chance it? Now, if a cat is obviously very sick and is obviously homeless, that is a different story. But a cat not having a collar is no indication whatsoever of a cat not having a home, or of a cat being lost, especially since those breakaway collars break away way too easily, in my experience.
For now, Floyd is an indoor cat, not only because well-meaning people won’t leave him alone, but because I don’t like that he was wandering around busy intersections. In the very near future, I’m going to see if I can train Floyd to walk on a harness and a leash, so that he can enjoy the outdoors fairly responsibly. And he is also getting a new tag and a new collar that won’t break away.
And since he came home, he has been cuddling with me non-stop. I know, Floydie. I know.
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