Heh. If I “phoned in misanthropic” I’d never go to work, and end up living in the street, fated to deal with the hordes of humanity that I can’t stand. I like og’s version in the comments — “phoned in stupid.” Somedays I feel like doing that. Today I had the sudden thought that I’ve been promoted past my competence — and I’m not even a manager or anywhere near such a position. Thank God. If I was there would probably be blood flowing daily…
I’m not a knowitall about religion and I am no good at eulogies so I still haven’t figured out anything to say about Rob Smith’s death. Except he always had very nice things to say to me, which I now don’t think I deserved.
Anyway, upon closer examination in the bright light of late Florida afternoon the cat that was yowling outside my window and keeping me awake didn’t look so much of a horny would-be seducer of neutered females as an older, starving, possibly abandoned animal that some turd in human form didn’t want to take to their kewl new home somewhere (or if they were college students, a breed that infests my neighborhood, didn’t want to take back home). There’s a vacant lot overgrown with woods next to my apartment building. I was talking over the problem of the cat with some of the other people in the complex and they told me that the above-described turds in human form liked to use the woods as a drop-off point for the pets they didn’t want anymore. As we were talking, one of the neighbor ladies had her very large but very friendly dog with her and he wanted to make friends with the cat (really — I have never seen a more pathetically friendly huge black dog) but the cat was having none of it. Up went the spine, back went the ears, and the cat slunk off into the bushes. Later that night was the fierce storm which started with the thunder-of-God that I described in an earlier post. Right after that thunderclap the heavens literally opened up — it was like being under a waterfall. The entire next day and night there was no sign of the cat, and I thought either that thunder had given it a heart attack, or it had drowned in the rain, or it had just decided to find someplace where buckets of water weren’t being poured over its head by crazy humans with huge dogs.
Naturally, after wishing it away for several nights, I couldn’t stop worrying about the poor thing. God must have decided that I needed something to feel sorry for besides myself. And tonight I heard a familiar sound:
“Meow. Meow. MEOW. MEOW.”
There he was, standing at the corner of the patio, looking for a sucker. So I gave it some food. And you know what? I haven’t heard a peep. It was just hungry. Of course, now I know I will probably have regular visits, and my own (indoor) cat looked kind of pissed off, but I didn’t give him any of her food. She eats special dry food for indoor cats. (She still insists I give her pieces of my toast.) A friend of mine had given me several cans of cat food, but I don’t feed my cat more than a few occasional spoonfuls of canned cat food, as a treat. The outdoor cat thought it was fine, though, and hosed it right up.