Home Improving

The Boy and I got married in December so we’re having a reception at the end of June. That’s the way everyone does it, right?

The reception is a casual gathering at our house, which means there are things that need to be done. Like making room in the garage by unpacking boxes that have been there since we moved in two and a half years ago. I did that today. I even ran a Facebook contest to see who could guess how many hot glue guns I’d find; it is so much easier to buy a new $3 gun than take time looking for one you already own. I’m up to four glue guns with some more boxes to go through tomorrow. The winner, of course, gets a glue gun.

Kitten Thunder did not approve of my working in the garage. They supervised as well as they could from the office window.

Yesterday, I planted things to make our driveway pretty for the party. I even painted the pots Zensai, my now deceased bearded dragon, used as basking spots and put them over his burial site with his favorite snack planted in them.

Kitten Thunder did no approve of this, either. Out is not an acceptable place for The Girl.

The Boy came home from the train club and, before even coming inside, mowed the lawn.

I took Obi out onto the porch to show The Boy that the brown kitten didn’t approve. A belly needed rubbing, after all.

This afternoon, The Boy took an ancient thermostat out of the wall so we can painted the very scuffed stairwells. It left a big hole which required a big patch. He also pulled off the wallpaper. That was too easy.

Kitten Thunder did not approve. There was a big mess on the stairs where they like to thunder. And a Boy. Boys don’t belong on steps without supervision.

All this disapproval has been exhausting. Since The Girl has not been available to hold him for his nap, Oliver had to go to the next most comforting place. He is on two bags, in a sunbeam, next to the toy box, with the magic toy making stick.

Poor kitten.

Advertisement

What’s in the Box?

Obi and I have been eagerly eyeing the box on the dining room table for several days. The Boy, I’m assuming more oblivious than malicious, has not opened it. And he has left it sitting there. Taunting us. For. Days.

DAYS.

Suddenly I was a kid again, painfully awaiting the time when I would be allowed to open the box. My Christmas present.

Mine. And Obi’s.

Finally, today, The Boy told me that I could open the box. Obi immediately took his portion of the present.

 

And I took mine. Down to the courthouse. Where The Boy and I got married today.

 

Oliver says he’ll take The Boy’s last name, but I am NOT to hyphenate it when he is in so much trouble that I use his full name.

Obi just wants to make sure he gets to keep his box.

A Stoney Story

My friend Sarah is celebrating the fifteenth anniversary of me wearing a pink gown. Okay, so she’s celebrating her wedding. But that pink dress was a big part of the day.

Back then I was still living with my parents and we had three cats: Stasha, Poco and Stoney. Stoney and I had a love/hate relationship. He loved my magic scritchy fingernails. I loved to pick on him.

One week before Sarah’s wedding, I was picking. I don’t really remember what I was doing to him but I do remember the moment he had had enough. He sighed. It was the heavy, through the nose sigh that said someone has to be pummeled. Since my picking was supposed to be good natured, I decided to leave him alone.

As I was walking away, something made me turn around.  I turned just in time to see Stoney launch his 20 pound fuzzy self at my head. I was able to get my forearm up to deflect him but I ended up with a huge gash down my arm, a deep black bruise from wrist to elbow, and a black eye because the force of the impact made me punch myself in the eye.

A week later, for the wedding, I accessorized my dusty rose dress with a bruise of plum and olive green topped off with a six inch long scab. It was not subtle. All of Sarah’s wedding pictures were rearranged so that arm could be away from the camera. The black eye, mercifully, had faded.

Please note that I am standing on the wrong side of the bride and my icky arm is behind her, but NOT touching the white dress.

There is still a thick line of scar near my elbow from the incident. There is another scar that crosses it from another incident where I pushed Stoney to the heavy sighing phase. Stoney, it seems, was not satisfied with leaving his mark on my memory.

Happy anniversary, Sarah and Jason!

***

It’s Thunder Thursday! Today I bring you Chris’ June Bug and Miso. First, a little bit of InAndOutTV.

"Let me in!"

And then, a demonstration. On how to be sneaky. And how to be…less than sneaky.

"Some things are good for hiding."

"Some things are not."