Posts Tagged ‘beatrice’

Happy New Year and Notes

First of all, I’d like to wish everyone a happy new year. There will be no promise of losing weight, drinking less Pepsi, reading more books or anything of the sort from me.

Second, I am currently in Montreal for a few days—no more than a week. I have a few appointments and things to settle. Nothing of the “I’ll break your leg!” kind.

Third, I haven’t been very active online of late. I think it’s mostly because I’ve been quite busy with the holidays. Family dinners every two or three days don’t leave me with much time to chat, review and blog. I hope to return to working on the future of this site when I go back to my parents’ place. Here’s to hoping we finally get a router so my computer can be plugged to the internet.

Fourth, I hope my cat is going fine while I’m so far from her! Poor little scared thing. 😦


At Home, Now

I arrived home yesterday evening, but I only got time to sit down here just now, and even then I don’t have all the afternoon to myself for mindless browsing. So, I’ll just give a few observations and updates in list form.

  • My cat is still very quiet in the car. She was in there for 10 bloody hours and started mewing with impatience only around the last half an hour.
  • We ate at my godmother’s place for dinner (that’s the meal eaten around noon). There was delicious salmon.
  • Beatrice is still very scared and doesn’t go out of my room much—except, of course, when I’m downstairs, in which case she sometimes mews to tell me how terrible it is to leave her alone upstairs.
  • She woke me up twice during the night. Once, she had opened one of the drawers in my closet (?)…and fallen behind it, all the way to the bottom, opening the two other drawers on her way. The second time, it was because she was fighting with a plastic bowl filled with catnip, in an attempt to open it up.
  • My mother sometimes babysits my niece and nephew. They sleep in my bedroom, because it’s the one best placed and whatnot for that purpose. When I went to bed yesterday, the plastic that covers the mattress for when children pee in bed was still there.
  • How did we manage to need 10 hours for that trip?

A Most Traumatizing Experience

I am the furry one my mommy loves so much. She calls me Beatrice at times, but whatever.

I have been through a very scary experience, and it’s not over yet!

Two days ago, mommy got up as usual and started putting things into a big bag. I like big bags, you can sleep on them and hide inside. I didn’t get what she was doing. All of a sudden, she grabbed me and tried putting me into The Cage! We all know that cages are no fun at all to be in. Usually, when she does that, she takes me to some weird guy who puts things into my butt and keeps touching me all over. Weirdo.

In spite of my fighting very hard, she managed to put me into the cage. I meowed as a giant-not my mommy-took me downstairs, but it was all in vain.

I was put on top of another cage, and I’m certain there was another furry one inside that one.

We then spent hours and hours going through many unknown smells. I slept a little, but I must say I was quite scared and often was startled out of my anxious rest.

We finally arrived in a land I had never explored before. There were a lot of scary giants and I hid under a couch.

Mommy managed to get me out of there and put me into what I assume to be her bedroom.

Since that day, I have met two furry things. One of them is an enormous cat. I know him. I’ve seen him before and I can guarantee it’s him. The same fatness, the same smell, the same dislike of my poor furry self.

The other one is of an unknown species. It walks on all four, as is proper to do, and my instinct keeps telling me to run away. A very strange thing it is. Mommy keeps telling me it’s nice. How could such a scary thing be nice?

Dear Facebook User

I am not the girl you were looking for. I am not that friend you went to college with. I don’t know what about you, but I can personally recognize the picture of people I’ve gone to college with. Sorry for the enormous disappointment.

Now, I don’t mind us being Facebook friends, for what it means. You can send me messages even if you want to. Invite me to the occasional quiz if you feel like it. I would however very much love to know why you sent me a chain letter to be sent to your bestest friendz eva?

In other news, did I mention that my cat seems to have a crush on my roommate? She still remains very afraid of him, running to hide if he tries to catch her, but she definitely seems fascinated by him. She’ll watch him do whatever he’s doing, keeping a certain distance.

When he’s gone to work (at night), he often closes his door. She likes to sneak in there and sleep on his bed. She’s able to open the door when it’s locked, so I imagine that if she really wants to smell him all around her, she can get past such a trivial obstacle.

P.S. Why did my new categories get added with no capital letter at the beginning?

Vet Day

I was unable to fall asleep before something like 9 a.m., partly because I was talking about sex on Snark and partly because I was worried about my kitten.

Once I got up, I had to call the vet about a hundred times because the line was always busy. I finally was able to go.

Beatrice is not exactly at her full adult size yet, but she still is rather heavy to carry in her cage. My arms were tired and my hands are irritated from holding the cage. It was also really hot too, so I got rather tired.

The vet examinated her and asked some questions, mostly things I had already observed and been reassured by their good state (e.g. she ate and didn’t vomit).

He found that she wasn’t injured, except some minor scratches around her nose and mouth. It’s nothing more serious than, say, the injury you could get from falling off in roller skates.

The evaluation cost $45 CAN. FORTY FIVE? That hurt more than the accident.

Beatrice is right by now. She moves from one box to another to find some place to sleep. She tried the recycling box, then a red plastic box, now she’s in yet another…she’s cute.

Rambling rocks.

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