May 6th 2012 3:10 pm
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We cannot divulge much at all about our lives, nor even make something up pending the return of such notions as leisure, and time. We are stalked. Relaxation of penultimately awful strictures only ever results in the sorts of events that, if they don't kill you, make you regret having called the police. If you're a girl. Victim blame is [explitive deleted] a thing, for real, in the here and now and not just on the Hallmark Channel or some old gritty after school special. And it impacts every other aspect of your life, when hitherto authorities throw in with cowards and their cravenly cohort.
hence the dearth of activity.
Think happy thoughts that this ends, with prosecution and incarceration that recovery and return to real life might then be approached, soon.
May 7th 2012 12:48 am
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Cheek rubs to all my new friends!
October 2nd 2012 3:41 pm
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Some big stupid dog keeps biting my head, when I try to pry my young charge Harlow from its jaws. WTF, big stupid dog! My head's kind of squished, eyes asymmetrical. But I'm still sharp as a tack.
Just can't munch the crunchies as vigorously as I'd like. Or at all.
Vet visit mañana. Last time, when mom was quite sure my legs were fractured, which is extra lame what with the dissembly of same way back when I first snuck thru a window and discovered those things called "streets" never quite getting back to perfect.
Swagger's a little wiggly, still. But not as annoying as the jaw thing.
Tomorrow. Wonder if Mom can figure out how to make me feel like a cool car cat by then. 50 catnip crunchies to her if she can magic Harlow into the car with me...
March 15th 2013 9:39 am
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There's news, so exciting, so amazing, we hardly know how to tell it. So we'll get to it the long way: Ash is turning out to be a very, very fine father to his foundlings. JeanLuc is the most brave, brilliant, best-trained-to-take-orders kittycat we have ever had the pleasure to make kissyface with: the house is not yet stable, what with the addition and subtraction now and then with nary iaotae of notice, of a very handsome man with a very erratic disposition which leaves us all a little bit awed, not sure we'd be so cool with the world after 36yr coming at it with Aspergers like he has... so there are not yet the toys, or steps built onto walls in sunbeams, or large swathes of pest-free play area in the verdant rolling valley that is the backyard, nor have the monster shrubs out front been carved into elephants and snakes as recently promised. JeanLuc has found drapery pulls to be most amusing, and leather ottomans great for claw-sharpening, though. And she has learned that these are not their purposes, that they inline mama to say "Please don't do that," and so she does not. Do that.
This is kind of amazing. Seriously.
She was brought up right in her early weeks by Miss Harlow, so we wonder not that she rules.
Miss Harlow, you see, is magic.
We worked very hard to help her, sure, even scooping up her friends and driving them to the new house in paws-on-dashboard observation mode along a very straightish shot route, and kept breathing when they and our beloved Abbott disappeared shortly thereafter when the aforementioned boy let them out before the furniture moved in... and we go back daily, then weekly, then sporadically and call and call and call and feed and stuff... but still this is just...
MISS HARLOW IS HOME. SHE'S HERE. SHE'S REALLY REALLY HERE. NOT INSIDE, NOT CLOSE ENOUGH FOR ME TO TOUCH, BUT SHE EATS, SHE HANGS OUT, SHE RELAXES AT MY VOICE AND I SWEAR SHE SMILE (((((((THISBIG))))))) AND I REALLY HOPE ABBOTT REAPPEARS WITH HER, SOON, BEFORE THE BOY is released from the jail he disappeared into several weeks ago, where we just found him learning to keep his mouth shut when said mouth and his red red hair and penchant for hardware stores gets him arrested for looking like a guy who vandalised a truck outside one of those stores, and held in solitary for lots and lots and crazylots of bail. But maybe we can help him with a home to anchor from and he'll find and bring some balance. it could happen. Abbott could reappear, blind and deaf and heroic. He could. He could if Harlow could find us and come home to a place she's never lived. And she did that.
Ash raised her right. And now he's learned to pull his punches, to not run so directly to his beloved when ecstatic at their homecoming, but to keep his tail curled high, his voice purring sweetly, his belly up and chest fluffy and clearly engageable for snuggles. JeanLuc lets him push her toward the door, when she puts just one toe off the curb into the street, where Harlow rightly bolted: he would nip, now jut nudges.
He's been given a second chance to do things very right, with our bestest girl, and tiny treasure.
We're beside ourselves. Yay.