Well. I got up, made coffee, and now I sound like the Beatles. Dragged a comb across my head. Which isn’t true because if I did that I’d be doing my Bernie from Room 222 impresh. Won’t you chortle at my relatable reference?
I fed everyone and then watched all and sundry eat each other’s food. I have given up at this point. They alllll want the forbidden food. The bad boys of food. Although I don’t know how $99 special stomach food can even count as a “bad boy.” Milhous, the world’s finickiest cat since birth, only likes that stuff. It’s what he lives for.
God knows I’ve tried. I’ve bought him every kind of food, from highbrow to lowbrow. From organic moose ground with a catnip pestle to rat whiskers off the factory floor. And nothing tickled his fancy like Iris’s you-have-pancreatitis prescription kibble. So.
Welcome to my blog, where I spend inordinate amounts of time telling you the minutia of my pets. Come in! Have a cat-furred seat! I’ll just drag a comb across my head.
I didn’t plan to become this person. This cat person who is writing you about cats with a cat on her wrist.
It just evolved.
Forest looks so grown up in that photo, but sometimes I think the camera doesn’t capture all his fluff so he looks older. In truth he’s something of a pipsqueak. He’s already six months old and only weighs 5 pounds However, I dewormed his ass, literally, and I weighed him this week and he’s gained half a pound already, so. I’ve also seen him hit the vending machine a LOT.
What would be in a cat vending machine? Mice. Moths. Yarn. Empty boxes.
Anyway, talking endlessly about cats is not why I’ve gathered you here. I need help with my bucket list.
First of all, I abhor the phrase bucket list, so there’s that. Second of all when they updated my work computer they made it so emails FLOAT across my screen, which I hate. It’s not start time yet and still, whilst I write you,
“Work, June, work!”
No matter how long I work at night, I can’t get ahead. I keep thinking, if I just work really late this one night I’ll be caught up. And then in the morning there is a cacophony of Hi, June emails.
I used to work with someone who would send me work on our chat feature, which is fine, but she’d always just start off, “Hi, June.” The emails that float across my screen only show me the first few words, that inevitably start with a greeting, but I promise you when I open them AT 8:30 AND NOT ONE MOMENT SOONER, they will have actual detail in them. The job at hand. Where I can access it. The job code. The due date.
But THIS person would just message me. “Hi, June.”
I cannot tell you how that irked me.
WHAT? WHAT WHAT WHAAAAAT? Just give me the work. You know I have to do it so just send it to me. I do not wish to be all, “Hi, Plinda. What’s up? Yeah, it was good. Not long enough! Hahahaha! I need a vacation from my vacation. Hahahaha!”
Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I’m too nice. No. Maybe I’m not good at that bullshitty small talk you’re supposed to do in an office. I’m more tell-you-about-my-yeast-infection-in-the-breakroom.
I’m authentic. Isn’t that the buzzword now? Except I actually am.
Anyway, my list of things to do before I expire. My bucket-of-chicken list.
I was thinking I don’t have one, and since there’s a plague on I thought I should get one. My bucket list (ugh) used to be to own real perfume, but Marvin’s very sweet aunt sent me real perfume in 2008, so that’s done.
When you aren’t athletic it makes life harder to categorize. My hobbies aren’t volleyball and jousting. I don’t enjoy soccer matches and wrestling. One is sort of at a loss when one is indifferent to athleticism. So doing something sports-related isn’t on there.
Also I’m not big on travel. Makes me anxious.
However, one thing on my list would be to see the Northern Lights. I saw them once, believe it or not, driving from my college town to my hometown, one late-fall night, if I recall. I took the country road way so it was dark and I pulled over. I was alone and there weren’t smartphones, so it was just me and my memory recording it. I didn’t know you could even see the Northern Lights in Michigan, but I did.
Anyway I’d like to see them again.
And maybe kiss a leopard. But I’m not sure that’s actually possible. Might be the end of m’lips.
So, you know me. What’s something I should add? What’s something I might like? What about a fro like Bernie from Room 222?
I have to go. It’s three minutes to “Hi, June” acknowledgment.