Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
We didn’t see it at first. There aren’t a lot of lights on our street and there are plenty of trees, hedges and shrubs where small furballs can hide. I just happened to turn around as it darted out of hiding, heading straight for Pooch. It intended to introduce itself. I don’t know what kind of experiences it had previously had with canines, but they were clearly deliriously happy ones.
Every now and then Pooch meets a cat in the garden, but HER way of introducing herself involves chasing the cat into the nearest tree. A few of those cats will just turn around and look at her as she’s running towards them and she’s very unsure of how to deal with those. I had no idea how she would react to this one.
We didn’t really think that the dog would nibble the kitten, but we decided it would be best to move on before it caught up. Every now and then we would look and see Stalker Kitty running after us, staring at Pooch as if she was the worlds most shiny toy. Mr Chooch made several attempts at chasing it away. Each time it would hide in some shrubbery, but as soon as his back was turned, its little head would pop back out and it would be in hot pursuit once more. The only effect the scare tactics seemed to have, was that it no longer wanted to say hi to Mr Chooch. It was, however, dead set on saying hello to Pooch.
Pooch still hadn’t noticed that anything unusual was happening. Sometimes Pooch is kinda thick and not terribly observant. She mostly gets by on her looks.
As we walked up our driveway, the kitten was still following us. Because of it's short, little kitten legs, it never did manage to catch up to Pooch before she shot through the front door, heading for her water bowl at 100 miles pr hour. Mr Chooch then sprinted down into the basement to close the windows that we’d left open. Meanwhile I stayed outside to distract Stalker Kitty so it wouldn’t notice that there were ways into the house. It was a very friendly kitten. It smelled kinda like baby powder. I thought about stealing it, thinking it could perhaps live in the hobby room, or something, but reluctantly decided against it.
After I’d gone back inside, I watched Stalker Kitty through the window. Stalker Kitty was staring fixedly at the front door. After a few minutes a bug or something caught its attention. At that moment it completely forgot that we ever existed, as it chased whatever-it-was off into the night.
And that was the story of the very intense, yet very flaky Stalker Kitty.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
One of the things that I like about living here, is the lack of neighbours. There are only four houses on our street. That and a really big field. I pretty much went off neighbours the past year before I moved here. There were very spesific reasons for this.
For example, there was the Big Orange. For those of you who are new around here, the Big Orange was my landlord who had some… issues. To put it gently. After I pretty much escaped from my apartment (due to Big Orange being crazy and all), I ended up living across the street from Mr Immaculate Driveway.
Just like Big Orange needed his lawn mowed at the exact same time every Wednesday, Mr Immaculate Driveway needed his driveway CLEAN. Every single morning, afternoon and evening he would hose it down thoroughly. This would take from 20 minutes up to an hour and gawd only knows how much water. The black concrete would glisten. He also wanted to have walls of pretty masonry lining it. This is why he decided to hire a small army of pollacks to make his dream come true. That’s what people do in the ol’ country when they want carpeting or such done cheaply; they hire pollacks. Summer is high season for these things. Usually they get what they pay for.
The Pollack army arrived at the same time as summer vacation. I don’t think there’s anything quite as grinding as the sound of masonry. After a while, those buzz-saws start to feel as if they’re physically cutting into your brain. It certainly took all the fun out of sitting out in the sun. The enormous cloud of dust that they generated also did it’s part to spoil the mood. For the first couple of weeks, they would start working at 8am and keep going until 9pm, Monday through Saturday.
At some point during the hiring process, Mr Immaculate Driveway should have asked his new staff a question along the lines of: “would any of you happen to be masons?”
The answer would have been: “Not so much.”
Mistakes were made. Lots of them. That lead to the workers to keep working until past ten in the evening. This lasted for five weeks. I’m amazed that nobody tried to kill the guy. He would have come second to Hitler in a popularity contest.
Mr Immaculate Driveway had bigger concerns. His property was covered in stone dust. His beloved driveway rapidly turned a dirty sort of grey, despite a vigorous hosing routine. At first he tried to hose it down regularly, while the pollacks were working. That didn’t work, so as soon as the lads knocked off for the evening, he resorted to giving it a cleaning unlike anything it had ever seen before. He would put the hose away once it started to get dark.
The only time during those five weeks that we had a quiet day (other than Sunday), was that Saturday when it rained. I stood in the window, hugging my cup of coffee, watching Mr I.D. He was out in the rain with an enormous red and yellow umbrella, hosing down the driveway.
Can’t say I miss him.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
I took this picture out in the garden a couple of weeks ago. There are flowery things doing their flowery business all over the place, while trees are turning green and birds are chirping. I’m sure if I could work out what that thing is that makes those birdies want to get up at 5am and sing, I could stick it in a pill and own most of the money in the universe.
Spring arrived here for real around the end of last month. If I’d known that Denmark was a near-tropical country, I would have moved here ages ago.
This has opened my eyes to the fact that I may quite possibly be evil. When I speak to family and friends back in the ol’ country, and they talk about it being cold and snowy still, I just can’t help rubbing it in their faces. I’m sure they all hate me by now. If they don’t, then I’m sure they want to.
Friday, April 08, 2011
The exception to the rule is when I'm reading. I'll have my little reading light so that I won't disturb the mister, who gets along swimmingly with the sandman. It's completely impossible to keep any form of consciousness these days, once I stick my nose in a book. And the little reading light just keeps right on glowing its little brains out. After about a week it's no longer brainy enough for me to see anything. My nightstand drawer is stuffed full of dead reading lights. My side of the bed is where reading lights go to die.
When I was a kid, I though that all inanimate objects would come alive at night. Even something like a plastic screwcork had deep, complicated feelings in my world. My mother always wondered why it was so bloody hard to get me to throw anything away. I just didn't want to plummet things into depression.
If my childhood theory is correct, then I'm sure I'm an urban legend by now. Mother readinglights will tell their children to behave, or they'llend up in my nightstand drawer.
Of course, if my theory was correct, I would totally just puppy-mill the little buggers.
Maybe some day I'll get around to changing their batteries. But knowing me, probably not.