Missing Little Green Men; Feuding Cats

Sun, 07 Jun 2026 12:43:25 GMT

Whaddiya know. The cheap weed wacker did exactly what I needed it to do once I reassembled it so the retaining cap didn't keep falling off.

Of course, the feature I really wanted—six little green men who crawl out of the box, fall to their knees, and begin weeding out stumps and roots—was not available. That still needs to be a by-hand shovel job. Hey! You get what you pay for.

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The kiskas are hating heavily on each other this morning. They spend about 30% of their time grooming each other and 40% hissing and batting at one another. (The other 30% they spend sleeping obliviously on opposite corners of the Patrizia-torium.) But this morning, they were going after each other tooth and nail with such fury, I had to get out the spray bottle.

What set them off, I wonder?

Mabel was so pissed off about something that she actually woke me up around 5—leaving me under-rested for the Schlock alumni luncheon that I have somehow agreed to go to later today.

When I went downstairs, I found the front door wide open.

This is another one of the peculiarities of the House of Icky: The front door does not stay closed when it's windy out.

Fortunately, the house is in a remote rural area. Unless a serial killer has recently escaped from one of the local prisons, an open front door is unlikely to endanger me.

However! Molly likes to think of herself as an indoor-outdoor cat, and I have found her wandering outside a couple of times after the door has blown open. That is worrisome because if a hawk will go after a chicken, it will also go after a cat.

Did Molly wander outside last night?

Did Mabel wake me up to tattle on her?

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Chatted a little with Ichabod last night.

Realized that while I was quite good at keeping myself occupied and productive when I lived on the other side of the river, I am miserable at it here. Though I did try when I first moved here.

Really not much I can do about that: It is the place; it is not me.

But, of course, it feels as though it's me.

I'm part of an epidemic! Isolated senior citizens.

If I were more of an egomaniac, the Work in Progress would sustain me. I would think of this isolation as a kind of literary retreat and funnel all of my energy into words.

But my ego is simply not strong enough for that kind of role-play game. Yes, the words are important. To me. But I have no idea if they'll ever be important to anyone else, and I need involvement in stuff that is important to everyone else to round out my resume as a Real Human Girl.

Anyway.

I'll book the Michigan trip today.

If that doesn't work out... It's Ithaca.

One way or another, I need to start thinking about packing and moving logistics (ugh).

I was thinking I might hire Sarah to help me pack. Sarah is the sweet, over-burdened single mother who appalled me that one time at Schlock by dressing so the crack of her ass showed when she sat with a client. (She was actually a reasonably competent tax preparer.) I am probably going to need someone to help me pack. I'm really going to that luncheon today to get her contact info.

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Missing Little Green Men; Feuding Cats