an essay in procrastination

Things I am doing instead of writing on my website:

  • Reading Steven King (Wolves of the Calla) – book 4 of 7
  • Realising that I am going to read a Harry Potter spoiler at some point
  • Buying Harry Potter
  • Reading Harry Potter
  • Reading Harry Potter at work
  • Working late (finishing Harry Potter)
  • Back to Wolves of the Calla
  • Trying to figure out if Facebook is worth the effort
  • Skiing on Mount Buller
  • Driving back from Mount Buller
  • Turning around and driving back to Yea to pick up friends whose car broke down
  • Hobbling around after skiing on agonisingly sore calves
  • Trying to recruit people to go skiing again next weekend
  • Eating
  • Drinking
  • Working
  • Watching the rugby
  • Walking the dog
  • Brushing the dog
  • Playing with the camera

cat update

This is a nest Mr. T found on the lawn under a tree. No birds, eggs or traces of any habitation remain. I doubt the cat got it down; maybe it just fell? It doesn’t look very stable.

Speaking of the cat, Mr. T had to go to Sydney for work so I stayed at the house to look after the dogs. The Black Dog is presently extremely high maintenance, requiring toilet sessions and patting and all manner of support the minute the lights go out. At one point he woke me up whining; he had wedged himself between the side of the bed and the wall, so I had to drag him out of there – except there’s a wardrobe along that wall, and he sort of got stuck and dragged the wardrobe sliding door open with his foot. He’s such a help. Anyway, I got up the next morning and organised the animals and went to work; when I got home the next night I heard the cat, so I opened the front door for him. He didn’t come. Whatever. Mr. T got home around 10pm and grunted about Sydney weather and went to bed, but then I heard him get up and open the front door: “I heard the cat…” he said. “I haven’t seen him all night, so he’s probably out there,” I said helpfully, not moving from my spot in front of the heater. He couldn’t see him so he closed the door and went back to bed. Whereupon he started calling for me to come into the bedroom… whereupon he opened the wardrobe door… whereupon the cat strolled out lazily, leaving behind the battered shoebox he had been using as a bed for the past 20 hours. Oops. He must have done that cat thing where they shoot like arrows into any partly opened door or cupboard, and due to my woeful eyesight and, you know, the fact it was DARK and the middle of the fucking night when I was dog wrangling, I hadn’t seen that; so I closed the wardrobe so the boogeyman wouldn’t get me and I went back to sleep. Since he routinely sleeps for 23 hours of the day he seemed quite pleased with his adventure.

To continue this theme, he has now taken to sleeping in the laundry. There’s an old bookcase in there for storing laundry detergent and rags and dog towels; I was pulling clothes out of the dryer when he sort of swam into focus and I realised the stack of dog towels on the middle shelf had EYES. So he sleeps in the bookcase now, on some dog towels. I don’t know where he will end up yet, but guesses include (a) the fireplace; (b) on top of the coffee maker; (c) in the third kitchen drawer, with the aluminium foil.