Writing. And Fish.
I've once again discovered that having a novel about to come out is the single best motivator in the world. In an effort to avoid doing any work on it whatsoever, I have completely cleaned up and edited some old manuscripts, submitted three of them, started a couple of new stories, and reorganized my painting area.
If I can manage to keep the threat hanging over my head long enough, I might be able to clean the house and do the yardwork that needs doing while still in "avoidance" phase, before I actually start the damn thing and apathy kicks in.
I can't think of a graceful segue for this, so all I can say is "Hey! Speaking of things you can kick, Fish looks like a goddamn football!"
No, seriously. She is getting fat.
The other cats are afraid to go into the room where the food is, so she's been eating most of it. While I think we got it sorted out, the damage has still been done and she looks as though she is halfway through an impressive pregnancy.
I prided myself on having at least one cat of a healthy weight. No. It was not to be.
She is still very active, though, so what the added poundage translates to is extra noise. The extra fat in her ass has ruined her ability to corner on rails, so now she slams into things at high velocity every time she decides to chase Phantom Spaceman through the house at 4 a.m.
I've bought her toys to try to keep her exercising. She swats desultorily at the jingle balls and catnip mice and various other little toys, but they just aren't her thing. She has preferences, you see.
What Fish likes to play with:
1) Fritz.
2) Dessicated cricket parts.
3) Rolls of toilet paper. Alternately: Kleenex.
4) Invisible, tail-biting viperfish. We're pretty sure that's what she's attacking when she starts having a warp-spasm on the computer room carpet.
I'm afraid if it's not on this list, she won't play with it. It's deplorable, really.
Now, because it's not fair of me to talk about the Fish without showing you the Fish:
I don't need to tell you what that looks like, do I?
She spends a lot of time trying to pull his face off. Note the membranes closing over her eyes. She is like a shark. She can smell stuffing a mile off.
All's well that ends well.
Yes, I am incapable of ending a Fish post without showing her at her cutest and most pettable. This is all deception. The minute you touch any of her White Parts, she turns into a bloodthirsty little monster.
I will now let you return to your scrolling, confident that I have done my duty to the easily-amused by posting pictures of my cat instead of actually coming up with, you know, content.
If I can manage to keep the threat hanging over my head long enough, I might be able to clean the house and do the yardwork that needs doing while still in "avoidance" phase, before I actually start the damn thing and apathy kicks in.
I can't think of a graceful segue for this, so all I can say is "Hey! Speaking of things you can kick, Fish looks like a goddamn football!"
No, seriously. She is getting fat.
The other cats are afraid to go into the room where the food is, so she's been eating most of it. While I think we got it sorted out, the damage has still been done and she looks as though she is halfway through an impressive pregnancy.
I prided myself on having at least one cat of a healthy weight. No. It was not to be.
She is still very active, though, so what the added poundage translates to is extra noise. The extra fat in her ass has ruined her ability to corner on rails, so now she slams into things at high velocity every time she decides to chase Phantom Spaceman through the house at 4 a.m.
I've bought her toys to try to keep her exercising. She swats desultorily at the jingle balls and catnip mice and various other little toys, but they just aren't her thing. She has preferences, you see.
What Fish likes to play with:
1) Fritz.
2) Dessicated cricket parts.
3) Rolls of toilet paper. Alternately: Kleenex.
4) Invisible, tail-biting viperfish. We're pretty sure that's what she's attacking when she starts having a warp-spasm on the computer room carpet.
I'm afraid if it's not on this list, she won't play with it. It's deplorable, really.
Now, because it's not fair of me to talk about the Fish without showing you the Fish:
I don't need to tell you what that looks like, do I?
She spends a lot of time trying to pull his face off. Note the membranes closing over her eyes. She is like a shark. She can smell stuffing a mile off.
All's well that ends well.
Yes, I am incapable of ending a Fish post without showing her at her cutest and most pettable. This is all deception. The minute you touch any of her White Parts, she turns into a bloodthirsty little monster.
I will now let you return to your scrolling, confident that I have done my duty to the easily-amused by posting pictures of my cat instead of actually coming up with, you know, content.