I’m not a cat person.

I don’t like them. I had one good cat, and he was so beyond cat that we couldn’t even name him - so he stayed KC (Kitty Cat) for about a decade before he died. I don’t currently have a picture of him, but one day I’ll post it. I never had a kitten because KC came to use an adult who drank bottled water and didn’t have any claws, and the one kitten I did have gave me ringworm, so we gave her back.

I digress.

This weekend, I planned to get some more futile practice on the back of Buddy, my chestnut Western nemesis, who would rather crush my legs into a metal pole than pretend to remember that I’m on his back. I didn’t get that far, though. I was stalled by something I didn’t think I’d care that much about.

What makes it more unbearable is that, not only do I not like cats - I loathe black and white cats. I just do. Cats can come in better colors.

Meet Alice, who has no sense of personal space, who hopped in my lap not two seconds after I entered the room, and who shot straight up my fishnet stockings on Sunday morning. I love her, she is the death of me.

And then there’s Jasper, and if his eager little purr doesn’t melt your heart, you’re a cold shrew.

Presumably, if they ever make it out of the house, they’ll be bloodthirsty barn cats, all too happy to rid the farm of ratty vermin.

If I don’t steal them from my mother.

On a less selfish note, I did do good things this weekend.

I finished the Sacred Selections quilt, and due to a country postal system, I sent it on with Larry. I hope it’ll make it to the fundraiser.

Speaking of which: go to it. It’ll be October 18th in Crosby, TX. There will be games, food, an auction, and a softball game thing. I wish I could go, but I’ll be in Edom (quickly becoming a favorite name).

The thing about quilts…

…is that I pretty much hate them, until they’re finished. Same with paintings. I’m too critical. But, I remind myself that I’m less critical than my mother, who took apart one of my skirts because a seam in the inside wasn’t lying flat. I’ve learned to let go of it because if I don’t, I’ll never finish. So, I set forth with a goal, meet the necessary requirements, and then when the quilt is lying on the floor and I’m seeing it from the viewpoint of, “I’m done, it’s over,” I love it and I don’t want to let it go.

So, go to the fundraiser and bid on my quilt. It’ll put a baby in a good home.

I thought I was getting sick this weekend, but it turns out that sore throat may just have been due to screeching this song for two hours as I drove to the franch on Friday. Then I screeched some more as I drove around the town on Saturday looking for a place from which to ship the SS quilt. I decided to lay off on the way home, and now I’m doing alright.

I listen to an exorbitant amount of classical music.
I wear a lot of blue jeans.
And I live in a big house that only grows more enormous at the passing of each day.
My weekends at the franch only make it harder to come back to the wretched big city.

ps. David Gray sounds like a sheep.