theology&geometry

Freckleface and Gingerballs turned three years old on April 20. I simply cannot let the date of their birth pass without posting this picture, which I know I have posted on this blog before as a lolcat but which still cracks me up mightily, even sans words.

It’s really weird that I thought Jack was a girl back then. He grew up to be a big ol’ boy. And Sally is my little ninja. Right now they’re lounging on the pet beds in the office — Jack to my left and Sally to my right — just waiting for me to go to bed so they can either crank up their energy and stalk around the house like tiny psycho tigers OR sweetly get in bed with me and keep me warm. I never really know what they’ll be in the mood for from night to night. They like to keep it interesting that way.

Here’s to finally being out of those terrible twos!

If, for some reason, you find yourself unable to find any photographs of cats on the internet, might I direct you to this compilation?

In this, a rare moment of calm before work, I am sipping slowly on a cup of coffee and gazing out the back window in the dining room, trying to catch glimpses through bush branches of what’s going on in the back yard. Ever since I decided to battle the raccoon by only putting the feeder out while I’m at home and awake, my hungry bird population has plummeted. It makes for a quieter and less expensive existence, but I’ll be honest: I miss watching the bird fights that get going when there are thirty or so winged ones out there fighting over six feeder perches. Birds can be mean as snakes. The morality play is made even more amusing by the squirrels that gather beneath the feeder for the seeds that inevitably drop when one bird is picked off a perch by another.

But right now? There’s a lone squirrel on the roof of the shed, waiting. I think he knows there’s a deadline.

•••

I spent part of the morning at the Mid-South Baby Expo with Courtney and her mom and little baby Daphne bug, who spent her time wisely, napping in a sling just beneath Courtney’s chin. We perused the vendor booths and saw a lot of cute stuff, a lot of useless stuff, and a shit ton of pregnant ladies. I imagine everyone around me will be pregnant until I turn 40 or so. It takes some getting used to. But I suppose it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I’m coming around, I think. I don’t get a squeal-filled charge out of baby clothes or super expensive plastic vomit-repelling diaper bags like a lot of women apparently do, but I do have a super sappy spot in my heart reserved for the idea of growing a little family and spending some quality time with a quirky little human who carries a capsule of DNA inside her that was pulled from a place in me that I would have otherwise not known existed. Traits from great-great-great grands I’ve never met could show up in a little one and square dance with those of the ancestors of my lover. What a wild thing to contemplate. I imagine that once you’ve made that leap, it’s hard to imagine ever having not. I’m still on this side of the canyon, listening for some trace of confidence in the echo. Nope. Not there yet.

•••

These things taste like Crunch Berries. Which is to say they are awesome.

•••

This is the face of evil that destroyed some of my favorite posters last night. He apparently spent the evening trapped in my bedroom closet, where I was keeping the posters so that, everyone say it with me, he wouldn’t destroy them. Sigh.

Now that those evil posters won’t be threatening his freedom anymore, he’s decided to stalk and destroy the flowers I brought home Wednesday night. I hid them in the bathroom the first night so that he would forget about them; when I first walked in the door with them and he realized there were fresh blooms to be consumed, he went NUTS and got a crazed look in his eye and charged at me, looking straight at them. They’ve been on the top shelf of the black bookshelf in the living room, sort of behind a few things so he wouldn’t notice them. That is, until earlier today when I moved that stuff out of the way so I could see them more easily. Then he noticed them. And he has, between bouts of coming over and trying to splay on the very keyboard on which these words were written as they were being written, been working the nearby windowsills to get closer to them.

They’re going back in the bathroom when I leave.

•••

You can see I’ve fallen victim to the Hipstamatic charm, too. I’m a sucker for a $2 toy.

Upon arriving home from work tonight, I stepped into my kitchen and, as I do most nights, flicked on the back porch light to give the back yard a good once-over for burglars and rapists (you call it paranoid, I’ll call it being extra vigilant). My eyes scanned the yard and I noticed immediately that my bird feeder was AWOL. A-motherfucking-gain!

And then I looked directly below where it usually hangs, and saw THE MOST FEROCIOUS AND HUGE HAGBEAST OF A MAMMAL I HAVE EVER SEEN! Okay, that’s not true. But I did see a rather fetching, portly raccoon munching away at the feeder’s spilled contents. He hadn’t even flinched when I’d turned the light on. Or when I’d run to get my phone so I could get (horrible, awful, no good, very bad) video. Or when I started getting incensed at his nerve and knocked on the window and spat a mean name at him.

So I said, “Kitty, let’s go kick some raccoon ass!” to whichever cat happened to be tangled up between my feet at the time, and tromped back to the back bedroom, whose door is a smidge easier than the kitchen door to swing open dramatically and make a big scene. And then, in a fit of adrenaline-fueled bravado, I summoned my inner redneck (the same one who, when challenged in traffic, gets all crazed and starts tailgating and throwing up rude gestures and following cars down narrow and obscure streets), flung open the door and charged toward the furry thief, who managed clumsily to scale the ivy on the fence and take off to who knows where. And then I brought the feeder, which has been largely emptied, inside and stuck it in a closet. The cats are relatively sure I’ve hidden the goddamned Holy Grail in there, and are doing their best to seduce and paw and mew the door into submission.

Until I can figure out a way to repel raccoons, I guess I’ll be bringing the feeder in every evening before I head to work and putting it back out when I wake up. OH, FUN! Although, in all seriousness, that will probably save me $50 a month in food. These birds are eating me out of house and home! Which my mother said would happen, repeatedly, but a girl just has to see for herself sometimes.

Last night I had a friend I hadn’t seen in a while over to watch a movie and just hang out. The cats were not content to be shy and hide. No.

Jack jumped onto the counter where we were preparing food, which made me freak out because EW CAT HAIR! FOOD! So I shooed him and tried to guide him off the counter in a way that wouldn’t disturb any food, but sure enough, he took a ceramic bowl of dipping sauce down with him. It shattered and splattered sauce everywhere. Everywhere. I yelled at him and he stayed hidden for an hour or so.

Meanwhile, Sally — never one to be upstaged — wandered into the living room as we were watching a movie and positioned herself right in front of the TV and proceeded to hork up everything she had ever eaten, right there on the floor. Not once, but twice.

It was like having moody adolescents around to remind the grownups that they were there. AND THEY WERE BORED.

Mewfest from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

A man who mews more than a man really should + a woman naively saying aloud, “I wonder if there are any cat apps” + a mewing man’s quick app store-searching fingers + two already suspicious cats = this.

If you have cats, turn the sound up because it is going to drive them BATTY.

Not long after this photo was taken, the devouring began.

[Project 365]

My apologies in advance for all the mundane videos I will no doubt inflict upon you because I can.

This phone has a real hard-on for YouTube, but I’m a Vimeo gal. Anyone know when a Vimeo app will be up and running? Or is there one I’ve missed?

Perhaps had I had more time and motivation and small bits of turkey and construction paper, I might have made a sequel. But it’s been quite hectic around here, so let’s just revisit last year’s Thanksgiving Story.

A Thanksgiving Story from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I was so busy actually moving that I didn’t really take any pictures of the actual move in progress. I’m so grateful to Evan and Shane and Ashley for helping me, though. There is no way in hell I could have gotten it done without them.

Moving the cats to a new place has been the most hilarious and annoying thing ever. As soon as I let them out of their carriers at the new place, they bolted for hidden corners — bookshelves and closets. Sally especially was bewildered and unwilling to do anything but watch the movement with eyes big as planets. Observing them inspect every corner and door and box has provided plenty of laughs for me, but I’ve also had to yell at them to get off boxes, stop pawing at doors, get off the counter, please don’t eat and then barf up the leaves, etc. And the mewling. Holy crap. They just love to mewl so sadly and pathetically at 5 a.m. I hope that will stop eventually, because if it doesn’t, I’m gonna pull an Ursula on they asses and put their glowy little voices in a shell necklace and then laugh an evil, hearty, boob-jiggling laugh.

In my delirium during the sickness and the move and my exhaustion, I made up an ongoing Twitter story about how the cats staked out a closet and proclaimed it Catsylvania. Jack is the envoy and Sally is the queen. Samantha Y suggested that I get someone to illustrate the tweets. So, bored with unpacking, I did just that. You can see the first few installments of the Catsylvania Chronicles here if you are felinely inclined. Some day I will regain my sanity, but don’t hold your breath.

[Project 365]

Someone just wouldn’t leave my side while I was sick.

[Project 365]