When I was totally mellowed out the pernickety old woman vacuumed up all my catnip that I have fallen in love with!!
This pic of me mellowed out before she did the vacuuming. See the leaves?
Why would she do that?
She said you’re not eating.
I didn’t feel the need to eat and she worries?
But last night she spread out a brown pillow case for me that had the rest of the catnip supply in it Tthat she had whip-stitched shut, she said. For me to spend the night on. Which I did.
This morning she took it away. To air it, she said.
What for? I like it the way it is. But anyway, she laid out the usual track of breakfast kibbles for me and I set off finding them, eating them along the way, and keeping body and soul together.
What happened yesterday is I fell off the palace. A shock to the system I tell you. The old woman’s too. So then I was crabby and when she touched me … well you guessed it.
The structure might’ve been made for smaller cats than me and the floors on it are all hard and slippery.
But probably she forgave me because today she spread a bunch of dried catnip leaves on the floor and I’ve been having fun rolling around in it.
The pillow case was meant to contain the leaves but spilled as soon as I had my way with it.
Well she did something stupendous! See this thing? All my evening meal spread over it and she expects me to engage with it!
She got it from a cat living on the sixth floor, a certain Dolly. Apparently Dolly didn’t like it and neither do I so far.
Of course I’ll be eating all the kibbles off it. I’ll eat kibbles however and whenever they come.
Nope, I’m telling a lie there.
One Saturday the old woman came home from shopping with a blue top. There’s a couple of holes in it where she pushes a few kibbles into the top of the top. And there’s this gold tingaling thing hanging in it.
That’s me studying it. So far it’s just easier to force the old woman to work it, and eat the kibbles as they roll out.
She’s wising up to me, though. she’s letting me starve, not reacting to any of my hints about getting more kibbles out. Soon I will have to ‘engage’ either with the blue top or with the castle.
Or with her. Her feet, for instance. Make her run to the kibble tin.
As you can see this is an embroidery of fireworks. I had a go at prompting the resident AI but result looked nothing likewhat I imagined.
Somewhere in the post below I burst out laughing. “Good to meet you, friend. Cleaning out the cat’s litter tray? I did that too sometime that night as I too was ‘resisting the advent of the new year’.”
I didn’t even watch any fireworks this year. Just recalled the most amazing display I … I’m going to have wrote about this on my laptop because apparently on the mobile I’m limited??? To two paragraphs? A busy night maybe. The data centers running hot.
OK, now on my laptop and the day after where I can spread out.
I just recalled the most amazing fireworks I’ve ever experienced. It was the turn of the millennium, back at the moment when 1999 turned int 2000. Everybody was doing something special. I was driving in my little old car hurrying back to town after picking up my young teenager from friends in the country-side. Hurrying to town to pick up my mother and drive to the nearest seaside fiesta and fireworks.
Was never going to make that. A doof (feral music festival) in the district straddling the road network had all the single lane roads gnarled up with parked cars. (In that country side, at that time, all tarred roads were single lane. When you met someone going the opposite way, you both had to drive with your left-side on the grassy road shoulder … in Australia we drive on the left… to pass each other before continuing again in the middle of the road.)
I was having to take byways and dirt tracks, and finally knew I would not make it back to town in time. My teenager was asleep by then probably with a bit of clandestine alcohol in his system. I stopped the car, the uselessness of what I was doing giving way to wanting to see something, anything, celebratory on this momentous night.
Even sitting in the car I was high enough that I could see a long way south along the coast … maybe 30 kilometers and north a similar distance. The dark, moon-glittering ocean worried at the eastern horizon. Across the track, a bunch of ghostly people gathered in the long grass. They stared into the valley at their feet, the deep doof-doof of the bass drum beat reached me easily in the car.
When I joined the locals, and looked down into the valley too, I saw a huge heart pounding down in there, red and swirling pink fog pulsing to the techno drum beat. Then, far down the coast, a rush of fireworks rose and hung like a huge sparkling teardrop forever imprinted onto my mind. Then the town nearer us lit theirs. Another huge tear climbed up the sky and hung there for a long second before dying to embers that fell and died.
Four or five of the small seaside towns lit their fireworks one after the other all the way north. One after the other. As if calculated that way.
Book 1 of The Captive’s War, a series by James S. A. Corey, published by Orbit in 2024
Science fiction through and through, the action begins on Anjiin, an Earth-like planet home to the humans in the story.
It’s a complex set-up saved from immediate confusion by a two page prologue introducing the Carryx, along with—it must be said—a bunch of exotic sounding people and planets that are not mentioned again.
Confusing. And yet, also on the first page, the speaker, the keeper-librarian of the human moiety of the Carryx, using just four words seems to summarize the plot.
But of course these authors (Yes, two authors now not really hiding anymore) using the one nom de plume. They wrote The Expanse an eight volume series that I enjoyed very much and apparently also wrote the screenplay for the TV series, also very good. Knowing their pedigree, I have expectations.
When I heard that they were starting another series, I wondered if they could repeat their success without repeating their worldbuilding? They covered a lot of ground in The Expanse I thought, and it’ll be hard to imagine another whole different universe.
I haven’t read a story for quite a while that takes nearly the whole volume to intro the protagonist. Though a bunch of humans make it in quite early in the piece, which thankfully gave me a few people I could relate to, they are not the primary characters.
Their names are similar but not the same as ‘our’ names. Dafyd is one of the humans. So is Campar. Night Drinkers are one of the alien groups.
There are maybe half a dozen alien tribes to get acquainted with, and they are much more alien than usual. Their various biologies are rendered in detail and I was reminded of their main features often enough that I could learn them.
There are re interpretations to get used to. Librarians are not the librarians we know. A medry … just does not ring a bell. A moiety is a term I last met in anthropology.
Lol, I’m at home. I just cleaned out the cat’s den and I fear she and I will be having a struggle at bed-time. A battle of wills where the Moggy-cat will try to convimce the old human to allow her to prance free.
Not going to happen.
I could go down to the Community centre and celebrate the coming of the New Year. Ring out the old and ring in the new. Something to do with church bells, I think. There’ll be mistletoe good cheer, alcohol and food.
Last time I was at a party I caught Covid.
And, you know, I’m over the swift progression of the years and the commercialized celebrations following one hard on the heels of the next. I will celebrate the coming year with a series of small but meaningful … maybe only to me but so be it … festivities. My resolution.
The joyful flowers bordering the community vegetable garden. A sea of basil in the background. And parsley nearly ready for harvesting to the right.
Wishing you a Happy New Year and a fabulous party if you’re celebrating!
Rita de Heer 