Just thinking about kitties

I have 2 cats aged 13 and 17 and 2 cats are really all a person needs, particularly when said person also has 2 large dogs.  But my cats are old and as awful as it is, I sometimes think about the cute fuzzy baby replacements I will get when they eventually shuffle off the mortal coil.

One day I shall have two cute baby fuzzy kitties and I shall name them thusly:

kitten number one shall be named Mewcifur – destroyer of worlds

kitten number 2 shall be named Cthmewlu – destroyer of sanity

Given my lifelong relationship with cats, I find these names wholly appropriate.

In other vaguely related news, well, vaguely related in that he too has a lifelong relationship with cats, next Thursday I get to meet Neil Gaiman.  I am ridiculously geeked.  If Amanda Palmer happens to be there as well I may pee.  And then I’ll ask her to sign the CD I am taking with me just in case while apologizing for smelling like pee.

 

Come with me and you’ll be …

in a world of surprisingly little imagination.
This will (hopefully) come as a surprise to many of you, but I am severely challenged in the suspension of belief / imagination department.  I suppose you could say I’m creative.  I like to do things with my hands.  I used to draw pretty well.  I kind of sculpt a little and am good at thinking of things to sculpt.  I can jury rig just about anything.  I’m good at stuff like that.  I can’t enjoy fiction like most people though.  Most books won’t hold my attention.  Sad movies never make me cry.  I get overly distracted by plot holes and predictability in scripts.  OMG, I do not understand pen and paper RPG’s.  People who refer to playing video games like they’re actually in them baffle me.  I just completely and utterly lack the ability to pretend I am someone else or to get immersed in a story I know didn’t really / isn’t really happening.  All of my witticisms are simply twists on existing things.  Puns, parodies, satirical jabs, and sarcasm.  Even my “art” if you can call it that, is reproduction or combining existing things in new ways.  This doesn’t really bother me or anything.  I’m just baffled by how others seem to do it so easily.

My daughter wears a fairy costume at renaissance festivals.  Her fairy has props and a back story, heck, she has a whole fairy world where different types of fairies live in different places and whatnot.  For example, she lives in a sunflower and drinks an elixir that makes her people sized so she can interact with humans when she wants to.  Flower fairies and tree fairies have bad blood between them.  They’re easy to tell apart though because tree fairies have pointy ears.  There aren’t really any rock fairies but it’s considered very posh to live in a geode.   She thinks they’re really too flashy and quite uncomfortable though, so she doesn’t really see what all the fuss is about.

I’ve worked at Ren faires for 7 years and I can’t even maintain the same accent all day, let alone come up with a back story.

It’s the same with Andy and his gamers.  They’ll play a game and then stand around and reminisce about it like it not only actually happened but like they weren’t all just there.  Or Andy will tell some story about gaming or airsoft or whatever and his friends all play along like he just got back from a tour overseas and is telling legit war stories.
I contemplated playing the Dresden Files RPG until I discovered I couldn’t just say I was Molly would have to create a character and then try to think and act like that character.  What?!?!  I totally can’t do that.

The ability to think in stories like that is just so weird and foreign to me.  Heck, even as a kid when we played Barbies I really just wanted to dress them up and fix their hair.  I never cared about whatever little scenario we were supposed to be playing out.

I’m not really sure what the point of any of this is other than it occurred to me to find it odd that the lifelong weird girl who wanted to grow up to be an artist utterly lacks an imagination.  I guess it’s a good thing I’m smart and a good technical writer or I guess I’d be screwed.  Also, I always did suck at ending things that I write so, um, the end.

 

Conversations in bed … bad cat jokes

I’ve been narcoleptic for a couple of weeks.  Not literally, but I have been fighting some nasty sinus crud and I suspect my blood pressure is high so by 7 PM or so I can barely keep my eyes open.  This has probably been a very good thing in Andy’s opinion because he hasn’t had to deal with my usual bedtime shenanigans.  Last night, however, I went to bed and Andy promptly began bothering me.  Well, he asked for it.

Andy HATES bad punny jokes.  I, on the other hand, LOVE bad jokes.  The more moan inducingly bad the better.  I revel in coming up with jokes to make Andy tell me I’m fired, or he’s done with me, or whatever.  The best part about torturing Andy with bad jokes is that he’ll laugh, and then hate himself for laughing.   It’s like having my very own one man Statler and Waldorf.  It’s fantastic!

So last night Andy was bothering me and I made some bad joke that I can’t remember now just as the cat was jumping up on the bed.

Andy: Ugh, why do I talk to you.  I should know you’re just going to come back with some horrible pun.

Me: It wasn’t me.  It was the cat.

Andy: Cats don’t make bad puns.

Me: Not true.  You just don’t notice them. You know why this cat doesn’t speak to you?

Andy: Why? (See what I did there?  He really sets himself up)

Me: He’s MEW-t

Andy: Moan

Me: Not really.  You want to know the real reason?

Andy: sigh why?

Me: There’s nothing MEWs-worthy to talk about.

(Andy rolls over so his back is to me.  I get closer to his ear)

Me: Hey, you know why the cat crossed the road?

Andy: giggles why?

Me: He was chasing a MEOW-se.

Andy: That was terrible!

Me: Don’t blame me, it was the cat.  I’m just translating.  I told you, cats make the worst puns.

Andy: Then I’m done with both of you.

Me: Why me?  It’s not my fault the cat is MEW-sless .

Andy: giggle That’s it.  I’m kicking you out.

Me: (moving the cat’s mouth to make it look like he’s talking) Oh no!  I’m afraid of outside! Where will I go?

Andy: The cat can stay until you find a new place.

Cat: Hooray!

Me: Will you help us MEWve?

Andy: I think they’re getting worse!

Me: I can do this all night, you know.

Andy: Yes, I know.  Coming up with horrible punny jokes is like your super power.

Me: I told you, it’s not me, it’s the CAT!  You know who the cat wants to vote for in the primaries?

Andy: (pretends like he is ignoring me)

Me: MEWt Gingrich

Andy: That was really awful

Me: It IS awful!  What a terrible choice.  It’s a good thing cats can’t vote.

Andy: sigh goodnight

Me: Awww are you un-aMEWsed?

Andy: Done now.  We’re done.  Goodnight.

I would have kept going but the cat was also done with me at that point and ran away.

Poor punny cat.  Haters gonna hate.