When your neighbors are blaring salsa music until 5 am (no bullshit!), perhaps you don't mind. Perhaps you are out having your own carnaval until sunrise and don't even notice. But that is not how I am. After trying in vain to sleep through it (it is literally 7 feet from my bedroom--can't be done), calling the fuzz (can take hours and there's no guarantee of aid) and trying to read through it (HA!), I settled on Dumb Activities. I touched up some paintings, watched some cable, and did some photo excavation.
To make a long story short: I now have my first album cover. Now I just have to acquire some talent, write some songs, and record them.
Also used a larger version of the comic-style image in my placeholder page at the still-forming adairdevil.com.
Emmett, an adorable, fluffy, slightly cross-eyed cat who harbored a great devotion to food and my mom, died today. He was almost 15, which is a good long life for a cat, and to the extent that complete comfort and adoration make for happiness, his was a happy life. But at the end he was suffering so much that it was just terrible to see. So my mom had to take him, probably her favorite cat in a lifetime that has always had at least one cat in it, to be put down.
Rather than dwell on his death, though, I want to celebrate his finest hour: the time he saved my dad's life. It's true! Read on.
The Rashomon of Emmett
My dad's version, via IM the morning of the incident.
Please allow for the confusion of crossing IMs; we kinda talked that way online. Also note that my dad wasn't yelling, he just had a cramped laptop and would hit the caps lock key by accident a lot.
[my dad]:i am dizzy from the gas in the house
[me]: What the hell?
[my dad]:your mother left the gas on this morning when she left, I'aM LUCKY THE CAT WAS HUNGRY AND KEPT BUGGING ME
[my dad]:I'VE HAD THE FAN ON AND WINDOW OPEN FOR HALF AN HOUR AND IT STILL SMELLLS
[my dad]:IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME, MAKE SURE SHE GETS PROSECUTED
[me]: Can do.
[me]: Emmett saved your life!!
[my dad]:I'LL TALK TO you later, got to go now, have a good day
[my dad]:we're going on TV,
[me]: Get Emmett some Pounce
[my dad]:you know, the feel good show
[me]: I have no idea what you're talking about
[my dad]:touched by an angel or something
[my dad]:me and the cat
My mom's version, via an email to the family that afternoon:
|Subject: HERO CAT
One Len Iacono called here at approximately 9:30 this morning whining and complaining that someone had attempted to kill him by filling the house with noxious gas fumes from the stove which had been turned on at approximately 7AM. It seems the dial for the burner was set on "10", rather than having been turned to "light"
The plot was thwarted by a large, intrepid furball, aka Emmett, caterwauling and kneading the victim's body until he grudgingly awoke and proceeded to the kitchen amidst the acrid fumes.
Alanna, since you deal with the media, I suggest seeing if Miracle Pets is interested in this story.
The "perp" remains at large.
A friend of mine with whom I am engaged in mutual blogstalking (when you're as shitty a correspondent as I am, that's what things eventually devolve to) noted that she was getting a little worried each time I appeared in her RSS feed; it's been all homeless harassers, suicidal strangers, and dead pets.
To combat the downcast vibe, I present some more pulled sugar art. I won't bother showing the whole cake it ended up on, since it wound up very similar to a previous one. But it was oh so pretty and kinetic before it was placed.
to get my picture taken with Ricky Bobby.