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I realize this is turning into a Cat Blog.  And, I should feel a twinge of guilt, but  I don’t.  I AM turning into The Cat Lady.  If you’ve been  to my house lately, the evidence would be undeniable.

Being in the committed, monogamous relationship that they are in, my cats consummated their marriage and the result is three preciously adorable white kittens with a smidge of their father just on the top of their foreheads.  All three of them, triplets, white, with a black ish paw print atop their precocious little beans.

And, being committed to Family the way that I am, I have no intention of splitting up this happy home.  So, yes.  I have five cats.  Don’t worry, Mr. has since been fixed, so there will be no more.

I named my kitten Hermes, and Holden, thinking I was going Greek named the others Hera and Apollo.  I was really going for Hermes like the designer, but what’s a ten-year old to understand fashion?  He wears plaid shorts with knee socks and deck shoes.

All this nicety goes without saying that Mr. is STILL a complete asshole.  No, no.  Not to me, per se.  Not on purpose, anyway.  Sometimes he may mistake my feet going down the stairs as playtoys, and attack my toes.  But, this is just a common misunderstanding between cats and feet.  It has nothing to do with the fact that my feet are connected to my person.  My person whom Mr. loves without hesitation.

He just really doesn’t like Others.  As I have mentioned.  Probably in at least nineteen other posts.  Because my effing cat is all I can seem to talk about.  Cripe.

He’s petrified of my grandfather.  Hides under the couch at the mere sound of his voice.  He hissed at my uncle today because Unc looked at Kitty.  Didn’t even reach out for a pet.  Just a look.  So I guess that IM not so much in an abusive relationship with Mr.  It’s just that I’m putting those I love in an inadvertant abusive relationship with him.

Kitty never particularly cared for Former Boyfriend, and while I took that as jealously, hindsight allows me to see it for what it really was:  Good Sense.

Holden has made a new friend this year.  A little Korean boy whose mother is here on a visiting scholar thing at our local university.  Tonite, Frederick is over for a sleepover, and Kitty has done nothing but stalk this kid, slinking in dark corners, apparently hoping to get a piece of him.  And, succeed in this task so Kitty did.  Bit poor Freddie on that skin between your thumb and forefinger?  Ouch.  We are making a terribly good impression on our visitors, aren’t we Cat?

I’m glad Holden’s little buddy is so good-natured, or we may have had a problem.  This was his first American sleepover and he was viciously attacked by an evil black cat.  With no tail to boot!

Yet, this is the same cat, who night after night, kneads the pillow beneath my head until he is perfectly sure that it is comfortable enough for him to lay down and simultaneously purr and headbutt me endlessly while I purr and pet him until we are both tired and full up with our love for each other that we fall asleep with his head buried in my hair and my arm wrapped tightly around him.  Thats love my friends.

…Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  I need a date.  preferably one without claws.


I’ll tell you this one thing:  I don’t think I could get through this without you.  You and all my other homegirls who have lifted me out of my self.

I love all my girlies.  In general.  Its so important to have friends.

I worry about BH when I’m not here anymore.  I know that sounds absurd, but I will worry.  He is so sure that he is all alone in this world.  That’s just so very sad.  Because, we aren’t alone if we don’t want to be.  All we have to do is reach out!

I feel so very blessed that I never have to reach out very far.  So THANK YOU for being there.  You know who you are.  You and you and you and you and you.

And, you, especially, Sister Rach.  Even though you may not think so, you are a great source of strength to me all the time.

I’m going to give you a book review here.  I want to preface this review by saying, this was not a particularly well written book.   It was rife with stereo-types.  There was a lot of unneeded swearing.  The ending was total trite.

I loved this book.  I cried all throughout it.  It touched me in my soul. 

The book!  The book!  Yes, yes, I will get there, but I have to say some more stuff before I get to it.

I have a lot of women friends.  I have a Best Friend Ever, a Super Good, But Could Never Be My Best Friend Ever, and then many Really Good Friends.  Also, to boot, I have One Friend That I Have Never Laid Eyes On, But Who Warms My Heart With Her Faraway Friendshipyness.

I love these women.  A lot.  I like being friends with women.  I love it.  I think its unnatural for women to NOT want to be friends with other women.  I find that women who say, “I just get along better with guys than girls.” are either a.)whores or b.)bitches.Boys are for screwing; not for forming friendships with.  Unless that boy is gay.  If thats the case then, Duh.  Good as a girlfriend, right there.  And, don’t kid yourself, either.  You do not have a lot of “good guy friends”.  You have a lot of dudes hanging around wondering who’s gonna bone you first.

Okay, so yeah.  The Book.  The book is Elegant Gathering of White Snows by Kris Radish.

Do you know Sark?  You should know her.  Elegant Gathering is like Succulent Wild Woman novel-style.

Its about women, and their friendship with each other.  Its about loving yourself.  Its about the love that comes with deep friendship, and this book relays that aspect without making that love seem perverted.  I’m not going to sit here and tell you the plot line of this book.  If you have good women friends than you should just read it.

Like I said, this isn’t the most well written novel.  But, there’s a little of some of these women in us all.  I would read some chapters and just cry and cry.  Because it reminded me of my mother, or because I knew that Christen must have felt that way when she lost her baby, or Lou might have gone thru when she was raising her boys.  It gave me a glimpse into Shawn’s divorces and one of the gals made me wonder if that is kind of how Erin is in real life (what with all the swearing…).  I saw bits of me, and all my ladies in this book.  And, Mel? This book is pink!

Reading Elegant Gathering made me want to have my own.  Hanging out in a room full of women and wine (or beer!!) and snacks, gabbing all night long about men and sex and kids and books and politics and religion and gossiping about people behind their backs?  Sounds like heaven to me.

*Um, I think you know, but my conscious is gnawing at me…I jest.  Kind of.  But, a little…I can’t help it if you are a whore.

I just finished reading a peice of shit book.  Normally, you know, I like to curb my language, but really?  This book is a peice of shit.

This book is The Little Friend by Donna Tartt.

I think I read another of hers; The Secret History.  And, I remember liking it.  At least I don’t remember hating it.  And I hate this effing peice of shit book I just finished reading.  I can’t believe that I wasted my time with this crap.  I would give you a review, but I don’t even know what the hell this book is about. 

I started reading it at the beginning of the summer.  But, it didn’t jump right in there and give me the goods right up front.   I’ve read books that start slow before.  Song of Solomon was really slow going.  But, hey!  It was good.  It was worth the effort.  So I put the book down for a while and banged out like 47 other books that DIDNT SUCK.   Then, I have nothing to read, so yesterday I pick this horrendously stupid paperback up and say to myself, “Self, let us finish this.”  Because I thought at SOME point, its gotta go somewhere.

I held on to this thought til the end.  Then?  In the end, I seriously wanted to throw it out my effing window.   I want to stomp on this book and shoot it til its dead.  I hate this book so much.

The quote on the front cover says, “The Little Friend seems destined to become a special kind of classic…It grips you like a fairy tale, but denies you the consoling assurance tha it’s all just make-believe.”  ~The New York Times Book Review

I have never been so proud that I don’t give a crippity crap about the Post’s book review.  The Post should fire itself for having said that.  I wish it would have been a fairy tale that IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII read the book.

I mean, I am going to have to make up an entirely new catagory for this post, this book was that bad.  And, friends?  I like to read bad books.  I mean, I don’t mind reading a pithy book.  As long as it GOES somewhere.

I’m not a book snob.  Really.  I will not read Steinbeck.  He makes me wanna sleep.  See?  I’m not snobby.  Though secretly?  Okay.  I DO think I’m better than you because I’ve read the Fountainhead…

I like CRIME NOVELS!  Or Detective Novels.  Whatever. You know what I mean…I’m just saying that I don’t think my taste in books is better than anyone else’s.  But you should know:  Do not pick up The Little Friend.  Just for this, I don’t think you should pick up The Secret History, either.  Donna Tartt should be punished for making me read 624 pages that LEAD NO WHERE.  JEEZ.  At least Jodi Piccoult goes no where in half pages.


In other news…Even though she doesn’t love me as much as she used to because I quit smoking (and I totally understand that sentiment…people who smoke are much cooler than those who don’t…I don’t even really like myself anymore…) I still love her.  And, not just for this.  Mostly?  I love her for him.  Oh, I joke.  Okay, I joke a little.  I heart Johnny…BUT I HEART Erin!!!  You know I do!!   (see?  I gave you your own new catagory, too!!)