The cat who would be king

My cat runs my life. This will not be news to anyone else out there who is owned by a cat. But I'm blaming this all on my sister. It all started because the great white hunter always wanted to drink from the faucet in the bathroom. And, of course he always wanted to do that when I needed to use the sink, so I was forced to wait while he had his leisurely drink, because of course, cats are never in a hurry, unless you want to take them to the vet, and then they can run like lightening. But I digress. So baby sister tells me I should fill a glass for him and then he can drink from a glass, not the faucet. So, now I have to continuously refill his glass. Next step is to buy a fountain for him, which he doesn't like. So now we're back to the glass on the counter. But he only likes fresh water, so he has to see you draw the water, or he won't drink it. So, 10 years down the road and he's getting arthritic and can't jump on the counter easily, like he once could. So, now the glass is on the floor. But, it dawned on him this week that a glass on the floor is no better than a plebeian type water dish, so now he wants it back on the counter, but he must be lifted up to be able to drink. So, he comes to me, wherever I am in the house, meows at me, and I lift him up and fill his water glass. And all this started when he wanted to drink from the faucet. Meanwhile, baby sister has divested herself of the fountain she bought for her cats, but I still have mine. No wonder he thinks he's a god.

Granny Glo

Okay, I now know why you see old ladies with spots all over their shirts. I've become one of those old ladies. You seem to reach a point when you say, "I just don't care anymore." I guess that's me. As I'm noticing the spot on my shirt, I'm also tipping my glass forward and now there's coke in my socks. In my vague memory I can recall changing pantyhose because there was a small snag somewhere. Now I just move the 1/2 inch run to the back and pretend it's not there, or if someone mentions it, which takes incredibly bad taste, if you asked me, I feign ignorance and mumble something about it must have been the chair with the unsanded leg that did it. When did I morph into this mess of a person? Can the home be far behind?

The Post Office Visit

I had to go to the local post office this morning. (I am not sure, but I think I singlehandedly keep the postal service in business.) I was in line behind several people who required extraordinary help with their several packages. It was as if they had never mailed anything before. Patiently the clerk was helping them address and tape up their boxes. We all waited. Then there was the explanation of the 45 different ways to send these things, how many days it will take, and so on. This guy had a box that was going to cost over $100 to ship! I think I would just fly with it and take a vacation, it might be cheaper. And I didn't mention to this person that if they were sending it to AZ they were totally out of luck. I was down that road before. I was told an express envelope I sent took a whole month to arrive because allot of old people live there. I never knew you had to check the demographics of a location before you shipped anything. And I wondered if they were hauling truckloads of mail to the various nursing homes for sorting. The mind reels. That's the trouble with being organized. You expect the same standard from others. Someday we will talk about the people at the fabric stores who have to lay out their fabric while getting it cut, just to make sure that the requirements on the back of the envelope are correct, or the ones who buy 25 cuts of fleece. What does a normal person do with 50 yards of fleece?