Oh, the things you don't know

This is a "this is my husband" meme that I want to do (stolen from GolfWidow), but the husband is, in fact, dead set against releasing any personal information to anyone (not just on this blog-- in real life). Therefore, I will confuse my husband's answers to these questions with the answers from the imaginary husband ("Mr. Food Lady") my cat has. I'll let you puzzle out man from cat.

He is watching TV. What is he watching?
Talking heads (maybe the band, maybe not).


You're out to eat. What kind of dressing does he get on his salad?
Friskies classic pate. Sometimes bleu cheese.


What's one food this person doesn't like?
Friskies classic pate. Not ever not bleu cheese.


You go out to the bar. He orders ...
With apologies to the Dutch, Manhattan.


Where did he go to high school?
Ms. Thingy's Academy of Hissing and Pantlessness in Tumwater.


What size shoe does he wear?
(6 - 18)*3.5 +/- the square root of 4ac.


If this person were to collect anything, it would be ...
Books and wives (or vice-versa).


What is his favorite type of sandwich?
The kind that comes with bread.


This person could eat ______ every day.
This person does eat every day. It's crazy!


Favorite cereal?
Hill's KD trail mix.


This person wouldn't be caught dead wearing ...
A vest. He would like to die in a cravat, though.


Favorite sports team?
All sports teams are classified as either Phlyds, Tbones or Newmans. Right now, he's rootin' for the 'bones.


Who will he vote for?

Anyone but Palin (unless it's Michael). Jesus, even an imaginary cat can see that bitch is crazy. Lord make a way, my ass.


What is his sign?
He has two:




What is something you do that he wishes you didn't?
Ruffle his fur and tell him how cute he is.

How many states/counties has this person lived in?
2 States/4 Counties.

What is his heritage?
Welsh, German and Tabby.

You bake him a cake for his birthday. What kind do you bake?
I don't bake, so... Ooh, someone else brought cake? Cake! Caaaaaaaake! Cake please!
Caaaaaaaaake!

Did he play sports in high school?
He played scratching post in the band.

This person could spend hours ...
Sleeping. Wait, that's me. So, sleeping with me!

He wants a new ...
Catbox.

The CD I would probably find in his vehicle is ...
Comedy

What can you do that will guarantee a laugh from him?
I can't comment on the allegation that we smoke catnip.

Does he get along well with his family?
Everybody loves him. Everybody.

If money wasn't an option, I would buy him ...
...a monkey (haven't you always wanted a monkey?)

Safeway sells crack

There exists in my sister's cookbook a recipe for what she calls "crack cookies". They are small sugar cookies with a taste that compels you to eat more of them. The secret, apparently, is cream of tartar.

Well, sorry K, I've found the real crack cookies: Mother's Iced Lemonade cookies.

Unlike the picture above, our local grocery establishments only carry the mini-crack cookie bags. This, like a big-8 in a glad bag, just makes them easier to traffic from kitchen to TV room. They are small enough to ferret away in your hoodie pocket or under your sweater vest, to be eaten in the bathroom, in the dark, after sweetly delivering two small circles of tart citrus crunch & munch to your simple and ignorant husband. Oh, there is so much they don't know.

But the crack cookie is a hard mistress. Once the bag is opened, the drive to go all Cookie Monster is impossible to restrain. In five minutes, you come to; a shredded bag of purple and red at your feet, crumbs stuck to your chin, mingling with the cat fust on your sweatshirt and hanging from your hair. And you will start to cry.

You can't say I didn't warn you.

A Clue

I was walking home from the library carrying a book about detecting and murder (The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher: A Shocking Murder and the Undoing of a Great Victorian Detective. So far? Excellent). It was the first time I'd been out of the house all weekend, as I am still harboring that crapulent cough that all the cool kids have been carrying around this season.

The library is only 5 blocks away from our house, and every time I go there I wonder why I don't get library books more often. Well, I've only just now shaken the habit of buying armfuls of books every trip to Powell's, and I prefer to zone out with the iPod on my daily Tri-met commute, so I know why. I just like the library because it makes me feel smart (because of all the books) and urban (because of the walking).

It hadn't started to rain yet, but it looked like it might at any time. The neighborhood was quiet, but not that I'd notice since I had my iPod set on "really fucking loud", as usual. I tend to walk with my head slightly down, so I can avoid eye contact if anyone walks or drives by. On the corner of my street and the street that leads to the library, I noticed a small piece of ripped-up blue paper.

"That looks an awful lot like a social security card," I thought. Seeing as the husband's wallet what was taken a few weeks ago contained his social security card, I investigated further. There was another piece, damp like the first one. And another. This was weird, I thought, but it can't be the husband's.

Oh, but it was! I found about 7 pieces, and the last one actually had part of his name on it.

So now we want to know: who tore it up? And why? Did the kids who took the wallet feel at least a little bad, and so they ripped it up to protect his identity? Probably not. Did they rip up the card after making note of the number, to get rid of evidence? Again, probably not. Did a good Samaritan find the card and, not knowing if the owner lived nearby, rip up the card to keep the number out of the hands of those with nefarious schemes? That's the most likely scenario.

Now I want to go detect some more. Grab me a big magnifying glass and comb the streets looking for bits of the husband's former paperwork. Unfortunately, it's raining pretty hard now, so whatever is left is probably down the grate and gone forever. I guess I'll have to go back to just reading about mysteries. Harrumph.

Phlyd update: now that I have stopped medicating him, he is eating and behaving like his old self. I even caught him last night crouching over Newman and growling in what we think is a dominance thing: a way of reminding Newman who's the top cat around here. We call it the neck thing, and although I find it creepy when Phlyd does it, I waited a little before swatting him off Newman's back. I figure, what with all he's been through, that Phlyd deserves a little macho show.

Well this is getting ridiculous

I woke up this morning to Phlyd staring expectantly at me. I got up and walked to the kitchen, with him close behind. I scooped out the food for Tbone and Newman, then put a small amount on Phlyd's plate.

And he dug right in. Having finished that bit in under 10 seconds, he looked up at me expectantly, then back down at the dish, then back up to me, even more expectantly.

I'm not sure how much more I can take of this. Lst night was the fourth time I've been certain I'd need to put him down, only to have him bounce back from the brink of death.

Don't get me wrong-- I'm ecstatic that he is doing better than last night. But I'm beginning to think he's toying with me just to get the cheap white-trashy cat food that he loves, apparently.

So, here we are:

Phlyd - eating and sleeping and being much more Phlyd than usual.

Me - a fucking basket case.

Not sleeping

I will not sleep at all tonight, because I'm going to be thinking of what I have to do tomorrow. Even though I know it's for the best-- he's not really himself any more. He's old and his entire body is failing. All the medicines have stopped working and he's so weak he hardly moves. Anything the vet could try to do won't keep him from starving.

I feel like I'll never stop crying.

Best friends

"JEERO WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH YOU and Domo. WHY? HE NEEDS YOU and Domo. JEERO THINKS LIFE IS SO COMPLICATED, SO HE SOMETIMES GOES TO THE PUBLIC LIBRARY TO RESEARCH THINGS. YOU MAY THINKS HE IS SMART. WELL HE'S NOT. WHAT TIME IS IT? JEERO HAS NO IDEA. HOW DO YOU GET HERE FROM THERE? DON'T ASK. WHERE'S DOMO? JEERO DOESN'T KNOW! JEERO JUST WANTS TO SIT ON THE COUCH WITH YOU AND EAT SOME SNACKS. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? JEERO DOESN'T KNOW MUCH, BUT HE DOES KNOW THAT IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO CANCEL YOUR PLANS AND HANG OUT WITH THE UGLYDOLLS."

I am a horrible person

...but I can't be too scared by weather they've named "Gustav".

With this attitude, I expect to be killed by hurricane "Skippy".