Nymeria – Page 2 – Rant and Roll

Stirring up trouble

Hey dudes.

Do you want to know what is the absolute worst thing ever? Like, in the world?

I’ll tell you what: FIRE ALARM TESTING.

Yeah, I’m about two shrill shrieks away from a murderous rampage to end all murderous rampages.

Not to mention the fact that my poor cat is utterly traumatized.

At first, when it started this morning, she was all, “MOM! WHY!?”:

And as the day progressed, she morphed into a fragile shell of her former amazon-Dorne self, until I found her like this in our upstairs office:

The poor thing had eyes as big as saucers.

Urg. It’s now 5:08pm and THEY ARE STILL TESTING THE DARN THINGS.

If these bastards aren’t finished soon, I’m going to take a dump in their boot and cut the brake lines in their van. Don’t think I won’t do it!!!

WOAH.

Erm.

Okay. That was too much. Dial it back there Eth, you’ve gone too far.

Sorry folks, I don’t know what got over me there.

But seriously, my head is pounding, my ears are ringing – even my heartbeat seems all off.

In short, I feel like utter rubbish, and I look like it too.

(But not smell. I smell like vanilla deliciousness.)

About an hour ago, peering at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I instinctively recoiled.

“FIE! AWAY FOUL BEAST AND DIE!” I shouted (because as you know, I live in a Shakespeare play.)

Either way, things were circling the drain, AND QUICK. So what did I do to combat this malaise? This lethargy of the soul, and hideousness of the face?

I did what any (semi) sane vegetarian would do.

I made a vegetable stirfy.

Pics or it didn’t happen you say?

GOOD THING I BROUGHT THE BIG GUNS. Let’s dive in, shall we?

Eat some carrot pieces if you so wish. I often do.

Don’t forget the onion!

Or the garlic for that matter.

Preeeeety colours.

Add the eggplant early because it takes the longest to cook.

Muuuuushroooooooms.

Definitely take time to be a weirdo.

Sgt. Peppers

Why I’m so strong.

So saucy!

The final product.

Dig in!

p.s. I have a secret. I want to tell you all, but I must keep it safe until the time is right. FRODO BAGGINS!

Yep. Officially mad.

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.

Hey you beauty cats.

Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.

I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.

On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)

We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.

(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”

(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)

Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:

Onwards!

Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.

If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.

I promise that you won’t regret it.

Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.

I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”

Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)

But I did return, and I did buy the dress.

I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.

It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!

Meep.

The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.

This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:

Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.

It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.

Cor. What a life.

I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.

There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.

What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?

I wish you nothing but love and laughter, always.

On a hot tin roof

Hello humans.

This is Nymeria writing to you today. My servant, or “Ethel” as she asks you to call her, is otherwise indisposed this afternoon, and as such is unable to write her usual Monday post.

Are any of you familiar with the term brain melt?

Symptoms associated with this affliction often include stress, loss of sleep, fits of unstoppable laughter, and a much hindered ability to just roll with life’s little punches. I’m sure she is exhibiting a myriad of other signs, but my vocabulary is limited, and my aggressive cuddling regime has already calmed many of them.

So don’t fret too much.

I’ve seen her like get like this many times before in the time that we’ve shared a home together, and I’m happy to report that she has always managed to recover – and quickly at that.

(Also, let’s hope that she remembers to feed me on time tonight. Last night she was late by at least six minutes! It if hadn’t been for my continuous, obnoxious mewling at the food cupboard door, I’m not sure if it would have ever happened.)

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.

Things should be back to their regularly scheduled program soon enough.

Now if you excuse me, there is a chair I need fur up.

The sight of hair-free upholstery unnerves me.

Curiouser and curiouser

Good morning friends!

This is my morning view. Also how do people take photos before eating their treats? It is almost impossible for me.

My cat (who is in stealth mode in the above picture) is currently tearing about our home (which sadly means she is also tearing up our carpet each time she reaches both the top and bottom of our stairs.)

If I wasn’t so madly in love with her, there would be repercussions.

When she gets into these scamp moods of hers we like to say that she’s “riding her little horse” because of the way she gallops about the house (and the way her gait sounds like that of a young steed racing around a track.)

We adopted Ms. Nymeria from the SPCA a little over four years ago.

I had been badgering M forever to let us get a cat.

Being a remarkably patient, and loving man, he withstood this constant bombardment quite well (and with much grace at that.)

Because seriously, anytime he inquired about gifts, I would immediately, without thinking, blurt out: “A CAT.”

Hey Ethel, he’d say. What do you want for Christmas this year?

A CAT, I’d respond.

Hey Ethel, what would you like for your birthday this year?

A CAH! I’d say, not bothering to swallow that bite of my sandwich before taking the time to respond.

Hey Ethel, what do we need to pick up at the grocery store tonight?

A CAT! I’d answer. And milk, bread and cheese. But mostly though, a cat.

(That joke was always a laugh and a half for me, but obnoxious as heck for him. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.)

Come February 2008, M ever so nonchalantly asked me to come over to his computer. He picked me up, sat me in his lap, and together we looking through the pictures of the kittens that were currently available for adoption over at our local SPCA shelter.

Now, I don’t know about you folks, but there is a very limited time frame in which I can stay on one of those websites and remain a functioning, coherent human being.

Just looking at all the little ones that need homes thrusts me into sensory overload, and I become overwhelmed between two very conflicting reactions.

These are: MUST SAVE ALL THE KITTIES – and – OH NO THERE ARE TOO MANY KITTIES TO SAVE I AM POWERLESS IN THIS FIGHT.

It’s like all of my life force swells to epic proportions but is simultaneously sucked out of me. Like I turn into a superhero just before being administered a Dementor’s kiss.

Luckily, it wasn’t before long that we saw Nymeria’s picture and we both fell head over heels in love.

At the time she wasn’t Nymeria. She was Faye, who – “didn’t play well with others.”

We knew immediately that she had a touch of both Rhoyne and direwolf inside her.

The next day we went to the shelter, and along with the help of two stellar friends of ours, adopted the little Miss into our arms, heart and home.

And she’s been there ever since. Snuggling, purring, meowing (she talks, like, all the darn time), furring up furniture, ripping up carpets, going absolutely bat shit crazy when she sees other cats, sleeping on my feet, and sailing 1,000 ships to Dorne (just like her namesake of course.)

IMG_0214 - Copy — The beauty cat. And M's hair pants.

I always joke that Nymeria is my daughter – and while there is a healthy dose of both tongue and cheek in this statement – she is a dear, dear part of my family.

She was with us during our engagement, our marriage, both of our post-grads; she forgave us for going to England without her (that one took a while, let me assure you).

She is with us when we wake up, and when we sleep.

And I love her. (Even if at the moment she is scoping out my lemon bar.)

So what about you dear readers? Who are the furry friends in your life?

Nymeria and I would love to know.