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Jun. 16th, 2003 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dchenesWow, a whole weekend when it didn't pour down rain once! I feel absolutely ashamed of myself for not going outside and basking in it yesterday, but I think I needed a day of doing nothing, considering how much sleep I seem to have needed.
Saturday was a lot of fun. We went out with some friends and went hiking up and down Newbury St. for a while and had ice cream, and then we went to the friends' place in Medford and watched some rented anime (Argento Soma, which is more or less The Iron Giant with an anime slant) and had crepes for dinner. Mine was avocado and tomato and Monterey Jack cheese and spinach. Good stuff.
In the several months we've had them, I think I've heard about four or five honest-to-goodness meows out of all three cats combined. For some reason I find this rather odd. I grew up with a cat you could have conversations about anything with, as long as you ended whatever you said with "Right, Schwartz?" My mother tells a story about one of my grandmothers standing at the sink doing dishes and having a conversation with this cat for about half an hour.
Our next cat, name of Edison, almost didn't talk at all, except for when you stuck your head out the back door to call him. Then he would come running up the stairs talking to himself and going "Mrrrrrrrpppp?" all the way up. He meowed occasionally, and since he was a neutered male, he was a soprano all his life. It always amused me to have a big hulking cat with a little teeny voice.
So far Bonnie is the one who does most of the talking. She meows when she wants you to acknowledge her existence. "You know I'm here, scritch me!". Galileo talks to himself when he's chasing ants around the kitchen. "Mrrp? Mrrp. Mrrew. Mrrpp. Mrrew?" Zoe does what Edison used to. She'll jump up on the sofa and trill at you. What they all really need is brake lights. They'll come flying up the hallway and if you're not awake yet, or not paying attention, they'll run headfirst into your ankle. When they were really young and always beating each other up and falling off things, I used to wonder if they got bruised under their fur.
I keep muttering about making cookies or something. I would make scones if it wasn't humid out, but I learned my lesson last time. I probably left an entire scone's worth of batter stuck to the counter, the bowl, the spoon and myself. Baking always amuses me, because it was a rather improvisational process for a while. Before we had a rolling pin, I used to use a pickle jar. We still don't have anything to cut out cookies with, so I use water glasses. I'm not enough of a cook to make up the recipe as I go along, but I can make up the equipment. I guess in that respect, I'm my father's daughter.
Off to conquer the filing I skipped out on last Friday
Saturday was a lot of fun. We went out with some friends and went hiking up and down Newbury St. for a while and had ice cream, and then we went to the friends' place in Medford and watched some rented anime (Argento Soma, which is more or less The Iron Giant with an anime slant) and had crepes for dinner. Mine was avocado and tomato and Monterey Jack cheese and spinach. Good stuff.
In the several months we've had them, I think I've heard about four or five honest-to-goodness meows out of all three cats combined. For some reason I find this rather odd. I grew up with a cat you could have conversations about anything with, as long as you ended whatever you said with "Right, Schwartz?" My mother tells a story about one of my grandmothers standing at the sink doing dishes and having a conversation with this cat for about half an hour.
Our next cat, name of Edison, almost didn't talk at all, except for when you stuck your head out the back door to call him. Then he would come running up the stairs talking to himself and going "Mrrrrrrrpppp?" all the way up. He meowed occasionally, and since he was a neutered male, he was a soprano all his life. It always amused me to have a big hulking cat with a little teeny voice.
So far Bonnie is the one who does most of the talking. She meows when she wants you to acknowledge her existence. "You know I'm here, scritch me!". Galileo talks to himself when he's chasing ants around the kitchen. "Mrrp? Mrrp. Mrrew. Mrrpp. Mrrew?" Zoe does what Edison used to. She'll jump up on the sofa and trill at you. What they all really need is brake lights. They'll come flying up the hallway and if you're not awake yet, or not paying attention, they'll run headfirst into your ankle. When they were really young and always beating each other up and falling off things, I used to wonder if they got bruised under their fur.
I keep muttering about making cookies or something. I would make scones if it wasn't humid out, but I learned my lesson last time. I probably left an entire scone's worth of batter stuck to the counter, the bowl, the spoon and myself. Baking always amuses me, because it was a rather improvisational process for a while. Before we had a rolling pin, I used to use a pickle jar. We still don't have anything to cut out cookies with, so I use water glasses. I'm not enough of a cook to make up the recipe as I go along, but I can make up the equipment. I guess in that respect, I'm my father's daughter.
Off to conquer the filing I skipped out on last Friday
