At the very least it’s a, “Hey you may not have noticed, but I’m not too active on here any more” post.
- I’m perfectly healthy and definitely not crazy.
- I’m still at my wee part-time job and it’s lovely.
- Planning on doing long distance study next semester.
- Going to start learning to drive soon.
But the lifestyle I have at the moment has me in some sort of creative rut. It’s got this poor wee blog neglected!
Shockingly, I still think about how I ought to blog about once a week, but as of now I’m officially abandoning that goal. Maybe that’ll help me start afresh. I may blog occasionally, just not consistently. I promise NOTHING. It’s gonna be great.
So until I get my groove back, take care!
Thanks to this blog, I decided long ago that my next cat would be a ragdoll. Even though Blackberry died four months ago, we’re apparently not getting another one because my dad hates cats (!?).
Instead, it’s now my #1 goal for next year: get a cat when I go back to Dunedin. Cats are excellent for a reclusive weirdo’s mental health, after all! It also has the possible bonus of luring people into my house to see this cat and tricking them into being my friend.
The only reason I had a cat to begin with was because of Grandad. He was determined that his granddaughters would have little kittens for pets.
My grandad, he grumbled at everything, but also had a sharp mischievous sparkle (when I was younger he’d often tease me until I cried – more than that, he thought it was funny). He also had an affinity with cats, and all the strays in the area were friends with him. In the evenings he’d set out a bowl of milk and from a distance I’d watch them gather around him.
As a little girl with no pets at home, all these cats made visiting my grandparents the BEST. (This is how it started.)
I was eight when Grandad brought me a kitty of my own. Socks. I didn’t know he did this in spite of Dad. She immediately hid from me, and once my grandparents left that night I cried. After years of wanting a cat, I suddenly wasn’t sure whether I could look after one. Not to mention how my new cat didn’t seem too excited about me. (Obviously this changed!)
Halfway through my first year of uni Socks died, and as such she doesn’t have a big presence on my blog but SHE IS IMPORTANT OKAY.
A rambling paragraph about a certain fluffy tabby cat
She was super lazy and trusted me more than anyone. If I picked her up she was so relaxed that I could sort of flop her about in all sorts of directions while she purred. She was afraid of strangers, which made showing her off to friends impossible (NOT IDEAL). If she growled she sounded like a chicken. If she was mad at me for holding onto her for too long (sometimes we’d do this on purpose because omg chicken noises), she’d forget about it three seconds later and let me pick her up again. She’d trill a thank you when we let her outside. Even if I wasn’t paying attention to her she was happy just sitting by me, sometimes lovingly gazing up at me. If I let her sleep on my bed she’d catch me a bird the next day.
Despite being really dumb, she also looked very posh and disapproving a lot of the time. She was so goddamn precious you have NO IDEA.
And of course, Blackberry we found in a hedge a couple of years after Socks’s arrival. Blackberry was much smarter, feistier and more energetic… they really didn’t get along (or rather, Socks was terribly snobby).
I have said a lot
…but the important things to take away are:
- Grandad is to blame for my cat obsession.
- Socks is a cat you should know about.
- All my life, if I didn’t have a cat I have wanted one.
- (Not having a cat right now sucks so hard.)
My arms need to smother something with love and my pot plants aren’t fluffy enough!
Last week I received a text from an unknown number telling me to check my mail box.
I had just finished work, so I couldn’t skip a few metres down my driveway and have a look-see. The mystery tucked away in my mail box meant for a terrible drive home. I rocked back and forth in my seat, wailing and attempting Sherlock-esque deductions. I scrutinised that one singular text, who its sender could be, and what that exclamation mark meant and WHY AREN’T THEY REPLYING TO MY TEXT ASKING WHO THEY ARE.
I also got Subway, which it was pretty sweet.
Lo! The mail box revealed a note attached to a wee chocolate owl. The owl found its home in my belly, but the note I keep here on my wall because it makes me smile.
“THEN HOW COME THERE ARE TWO NOTES, HUH”
That is because I am a liar. The truth is that this has actually been happening over the last few weeks, and I am just a lazy blogger. In fact, a third note was delivered after I took the above photo. HOW SPECIAL AM I. Every time there’d be a text from the same unknown number, saying “Mailbox!”. That’s all. Not one hint as to their identity!
Last week my chocolate was a green frog. :3
Maybe one day they’ll betray me and deliver anthrax and bombs instead of cute notes and chocolate. In spite of that, I have to admit going to such lengths to assassinate me is so flattering that I don’t mind. It’s rather sweet of them~
Coast down driveway thinking, “THIS WAS THE BEST DECISION EVER MADE.” Turn onto the road and feel like I’m gliding. Want to go really really fast but legs won’t keep up. Thighs start to ache. Remember that cycling is a legitimate form of exercise. Why must something this much fun involve hard work/sweatiness.
Decide that I have now gone halfway. Pull off to side of road. Put feet on ground. Briefly fear that legs may not let me stand up as they’re now made of jelly.
Stare down road and watch the setting sun sink behind mountains. Wonder what superpowers I had as a kid that made biking around the farm so effortless. Is this what I get for getting taller, older, and addicted to the internet. (Yes.)
Turn around. Struggle my way home again, occasionally stopping because whoops my thighs have caught on fire. Oh no, wait, just unfit. Hope neighbours aren’t peeking out their windows and laughing at the cute fat girl on her retro bike.
Walk up driveway because it’s a gentle slope upwards this time and NOPE NOPE NOPE. Stagger inside on wobbly legs. Phew.
(I’m quite in love with my new bike.)
- The easter bunny left an origami surprise outside my door on Good Friday. :3 I still have not eaten its contents (never have I been so virtuous).
- It’s not even winter yet and rats are already scampering around in the ceiling. While we have that problem every winter (eughhh!), they’ve also gotten into the cows’ winter feed… something I don’t think has ever been a problem before. Looks like Blackberry was actually quite useful. Aww, cat.
- The novelty of having a job hasn’t yet worn off. Plus I got this SWEET BADGE.
- There’s an anonymous person who occasionally googles for my site and includes a message for me to see on my web analytics. It’s so adorable (also wooo secret messages!), and I just want to say: I have no idea who you are, but your support means a lot and I think you’re super cool. Thank you. <3
This post was mostly just to get back into the swing of regular posting, hurrrr. Bye, March! It’s scary we’re about to delve into April already.