Back in the spring, our Masset cat Matilda gave birth to kittens, and it was awesome. She gave birth to them on Melissa's sweater, and then, in the night, carried them one by one to the basement, laying them out gingerly .... on our clean laundry pile. I woke up in the night at this point, hearing the desperate mew of kittens, and when I could only find Matilda bathing herself and smacking her chops menacingly, I came to the only logical conclusion available: MATILDA ATE HER KITTENS.

Obviously I was wrong, as was soon discovered on Kitten Hunt 2007. The next night, when I was almost asleep, I woke to the sound of meows again... Matilda had carried each one of her kittens up two flights of stairs to my room, which is where they stayed for the next month or so. Homes were found for all three kittens -- one to Max's friend down the block, and the other two to a fellow hospital employee, and all of them seem to be thriving. And are huge. Seriously, Matilda may have mated with a leopard. Or an Eagle. OR A LEOPARD EAGLE HYBRID. OH MY GOD, COOL.


Anyways, this is the entry I've had drafted in blogger since the kittens began.

Goodbye Kittens... Jax's black heart is secretly breaking inside.

The last of the kittens have gone to their new home and this house is now officially kitten free. A lack of kittens equates to a lot of disappointed neighbourhood children as our house was the most awesome place ever for a good 10 weeks. Because, besides our seemingly endless supply of perogies and Melissa's mean perogy cooking skills, we had three insanely adorable kittens roaming around the house... taunting Jax, stealing Jax's food, experiencing Jax's wrath in the form of glares from the stairwell and 10 minute growling sessions, letting Jax bathe them gently, gingerly when he thought no one was looking. He is an awesome stepfather. He believes in tough love, seasoned with just a few passing inclinations to feast on his stepchildren. Especially Goblin.

The kittens were born on March 22, 2007, and originally there were four. Little Neil Patrick Harris, TV's Doogie Howzer M.D., died a few days after being born. He had some problems from the get-go: a breached birth and an injured tail, he seemed the weakest of the four. We buried him under a tree in a friend's yard, after an impromptu service.

The other three kittens are happy and healthy! Violet (also known as Kleeborp) was sick for the first few weeks of her life and ... well. Let's be honest. She was really gross. But we pet her anyway and she grew out of it and turned out to be the most awesome kitten ever. Brian is kind of an asshole. Matilda let him nurse off her until the bitter end, partially because he demanded it. Secretly, Brian was always Matilda's favourite. Goblin was my favourite. Mysterious, aloof and black, Goblin has the spazziest meow I've ever heard and used to sleep curled up in my sweater.

So... Jax hates her and kept trying to eat her. Partially out of jealousy, mostly out of hunger. Jax craves the blood of kittens, but thankfully, Whiskas will do. ... For now.

Labels: Family, Nayture

Melissa dared me to go pantsless on the beach today and about ten seconds later I was standing next to a bevy of shells and washed up pebbles in my underwear, doing a slow run across the sand like David Hasselhoff in Baywatch, but not nearly as unbelievably handsome.

If a dare involves me removing pants, you DON'T HAVE TO ASK TWICE.

Luckily no one was around. Or ... or at least no one that I saw. Hmm.

Yesterday Melissa and I went to Port Clements for groceries, which was exciting mainly because the supermarket there carries President's Choice brand. President's Choice is a brand we would've avoided like the plague in the big city, but here, eating it is like eating a little bit of home ... except like, if home tasted vaguely like chemicals and paste.

Today we did a little bit of shopping, a little bit of pantsless running, devoured many gallons of espresso'ed coffee, and belted out every lyric of Landslide. ALSO, I had my first driving lesson.

We have a 4x4 Standard truck named "Pearl" and she is both amazing and ridiculously good looking. She's a large, manly truck. If she were a real woman she'd wear gym shorts and big burly flannel shirts that really accented her facial hair, or tshirts emblazoned with, "Strong enough for a man... but made for a woman." and she'd grunt a lot, both when answering questions and asking them. "Unnnghhh?" She'd say, and then laugh gruffly and answer her own question. "GHHG," and everyone would nod sagely, contemplating her wisdom. Usually her conversations would involve things like power tools and two by fours and close shave razors and she'd know all the words to the entire Michael Sembello catalogue.

I got behind the wheel, accidentally turned the brights on, stalled that beast about seven thousand times and drove along Cemetery Beach Road dodging trees and hapless pedestrians. I learned all about the clutch, and changed gears and yelled things like "SPRING BREAK!!" from the driver's seat while shooting my fist out the window in the manner of GIRLS GONE WILD ... BEHIND THE WHEEL!!

I'm still learning though so Melissa took over the rest of the ride. Braking still freaks me out and I'm positive I've broken the truck every time it stalls but... I drove standard!

Labels: Nayture, Travels

Because I'm a girl who passes out a lot of smiles.

Randomly, to cars driving by and mysterious forest cyclists (on a bike in the forest! You puzzle me, mysterious forest cyclist!) , to elderly men carrying giant planks of driftwood along the beach, to cats, to dogs, to giant bodies of water when I walk over the last sandy hill and make it to the ocean shore.

There is this walk right by our house that winds around a huge bog, through a road canopied with trees, past a little cemetery right onto the beach and I took a long walk around it today while listening to Agatha Christie's "Death On the Nile" on audio. I love those audio books. I think it has a lot to do with how Hercule Poirot says his name. Like, that is adorable. You're adorable, Hercule Poirot.

There have been a bevy of walks these past few days. Monday was uncharacteristically warm and sunny, so Melissa and I spent the majority of it outside. I went back to the little lake outside of Old Masset and lay in the grass by the bank reading High Fidelity, a copy of it which I bought in between drowning my sugar cravings in a giant Milky Way Latte at Dress for Less last Sunday.

After that me, Max and Melissa took the bog walk down to Cemetery Beach, stumbled across Phil and Keeper and then walked along the beach during low tide. The scenery around here is retarded.

And by "retarded" I mean, awesome. I mean so awesome it's almost mentally retarded. ... It makes sense if you think about it hard.

Labels: Nayture