Just to keep you all updated on recent doings at Casa de dos quesos:
#2 son survived the triathlon. By an act of God.
About an hour before the event–
After we had gone out and bought a new bike helmet, because we were convinced we’d sent the old ones to Goodwill
(Because why the hell would we need one? We don’t bike)
And a new swim suit
(Because #2 is built like a pencil, and the suit he’s been wearing inflates like a balloon when he tries to submerge it, thus making him look like a pencil with a wad of bubblegum stuck to it)
Anyway. Before we could get in the car, the heavens opened up. And yeah verily, a great wind came and sucked the bug zapper off the porch, and knocked down some tree branches. And then, the rains came.
So. A big pass on driving into town to watch our son be killed by a severe thunderstorm.
Mohawk the cat, who was down to eight lives earlier this year, is now down to seven. On a routine trip to the vet, I had the tech shave some mats and burrs out of his coat. And she discovered that the knot on his tail was actually hiding a quarter inch deep welt, which we assume was caused by his getting his tail caught in a door.
But not a door slammed by any of us. It is a mystery. Mo’s not talking.
Mohawk was more annoyed by the shaving than he was by the welt. But after much veterinary panic, and the doctor announced to the tech “Shave his tail. Skin it!” And I went home with a bottle of antibiotics and a cat with a novelty lion’s tail: thin in the middle and tufted on the end.
I have become a master (or mistress) of stealth syringe drug delivery.
As usual, the cat is fine.
We are having a bad season for bugs. And apparently, this is bringing the things that eat bugs as well.
After a new roof and several years of quiet, bats are getting into the house, probably though the basement.
The last two, which the DH took down in flight and threw out, were not nearly as bad as tonight’s extremely feisty bat, which was doing low swoops around the dining room, and frightening the dog.
The DH sighed, and said, “Someone else get this. I got the last two.”
So I pointed to #2 and yelled. “Door. Door. Open…” and then I flapped my arms helplessly.
I am a natural leader. And cool under pressure. I have no idea why no one listens.
#2, (speaking slowly to his crazed mother): Which door.
#1 (calmly looking up from his computer): What?
Havoc: We’re all going to die.
The bat is now doing low swoops around the living room, just over our heads.
Me (with my laptop over my head like a folded newspaper): Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Gasp gasp. Flap flap flap.
It is like the beginning of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but without the drugs.
#1 dives for the floor and hugs the dog,
DH calmly opens and shuts doors, tracks the bat to the basement, and says: “Right. I’m going to the bathroom. Someone find a badminton racket.”
#2 gets sent to the master suite, where there is a racket behind my dresser.
I wish there were some scandalous story there, involving research for some Regency erotica. But not in this house. In this house, we have S & M tools in the bedroom, in case of bats.
DH and #2 go to the basement to stalk what turns out to be bats, plural. Two. Both hidden or escaped.
But they did find the bicycle helmets.
Better late than never.