COVID-19 Quarantine: Bored Cat Edition

>~.~< A photo essay >~.~<

For some reason that escapes me, my humans are home all the time now. I come and go as I please, as usual, but they remain inside. It is unnerving. They spend an inordinate amount of time staring into their large screens while moving their fingers across the keyboard massage devices. They seem to have lost their will to live. When I attempt to comfort them by occupying the spaces in front of them, they shoo me away saying something about “needing to work.”
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They do occasionally show their appreciation for my efforts by laying open a large papery object. They only only pretend to be interested in it. I know the real purpose of it is to serve as a temporary bed.
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The female insists on following me into the water room, which perturbs me greatly. I would never dream of accompanying the humans when they occupy the room. Well, maybe once or twice. A day. And only when the door to the room is shut, since this signals their need for companionship. As I stare into the window to the water floor, I see only myself. The human points her screen at me and records this moment. She is amused. I am not.
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When I attempt to signal my desire for the closet to be opened, my human ignores my request. She is either stupid or just plain cruel.
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From the vantage point of the dining room table I am able to observe the magpies and crows pecking small insects from the garden. Their exuberance annoys me. I will console myself by destroying the floral arrangement on the table.
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Alas, the flowers are not real. There is no meaning in this world.
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The human continues to mock me with her screen. I manage to successfully communicate my annoyance. Thankfully, my humans do understand ear language. I can no longer remain in this house of lies.
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I signal my desire for the door to be opened, and the human does so. I hesitate in the doorway for the customary five seconds before proceeding. Now I shall seek out foreign invaders and run them off the property. My humans appreciate my efforts in this capacity, often calling me a “good kitty.”

This pleases me. I am a good kitty.

>~.~< The End >~.~<

They say…

…and they are always right, aren’t they?

They say that when one resumes the “art” of writing, that the writer should be disciplined; that the writer should sit down once and day and grab some words, rearrange them into sentences which will inevitably form a paragraph which could potentially result in many paragraphs with the ideal goal of producing some sort of cogent essay or story. I was really hoping for a massively long run-on sentence and this should demonstrate exactly where my brain isn’t because I couldn’t even formulate that.

I crawled into my office this morning with a cup of coffee and a bit of grit and determination to make the words say something pretty or something repulsive. Nothing happened. I grew frustrated and started fidgeting around with WordPress which made me unpleasant and intolerable so I tried taking a nap.

Après failed nap, I waddled back into my office and resumed the exercise. Again, nothing happened.

I went downstairs, grabbed a handful of chocolate covered raisins, stuffed them in my foodhole, washed them down with water (which I always carry with me in some nalgene-ish bottle) and dragged myself back upstairs to my office. Nothing.

I turned on the tv and watched recorded episodes of The Gilmore Girls. Nothing.

I started thinking of my usual sources for inspiration but it’s a slow news day so I cannot get in touch with my inner hate. My husband and child aren’t home so I cannot start any fights with the husband and use him as a fire source. There aren’t even any annoying dogs barking in the neighborhood today. It’s just…quiet and pleasant. MEH.

In an attempt to avoid the dreaded and much feared writer’s block, I have started making notes of topics I’d like to explore further. So far, I have a few really solid ideas and a handful of 1/2-assed ones but I’m not even in the mood to work through those. These potential stories have meaning and I don’t want to water down the impact they may have because of my general ennui.

Yeah. So I just banged out 300+ words to sum up what Pinkie Pie says in one picture:

The Artists of the Visual Spectrum

We are the artists of
The Visual Spectrum.
We are the Universe
Observing its own
Full color creation.
We paint ourselves
With our eyes,
And create ourselves
With our own light.
Our own colors.

Things I’ve failed to do.

1. Floss. I promised the dentist I would but I only did for about a week after my last checkup. Why did I say I would? Now I’ve lied to a dentist and I feel really awful about it.

2. Get a Driver’s Licence. I did try pretty seriously at one point. Even took driver training classes. But I suck at it. I took the driver’s test three times and I failed it three times. At this point I’ve come to the conclusion that I just wasn’t meant to drive, especially now since my epilepsy diagnosis won’t allow me to drive anyway.

3. Ridden in a Limousine. Probably the only realistic opportunity to do this would have been on Prom Night, but I never went to my high school senior prom because I was a huge dork and most boys wouldn’t talk to me, let alone ask me to the prom.

4. Gotten Married. At my age that’s pretty pathetic. Then again, at my age, I really don’t see the point. My boyfriend and I have been living together for seven years and we’ve already done almost everything that married couples do, like buy furniture together and occasionally have sex.

5. Had Kids. Not from a lack of wanting or trying, though. Well, perhaps from a little lack of trying. I am woman with a functional reproductive system and my boyfriend is also fully functional, but I remain non-knocked up.

6. Go to the Gym. I really hate exercise. I mostly just watch TV in my free time, which currently makes up most of my time in these post laid off from work days. I very occasionally do other stuff, but laziness is my predominating characteristic.

Self Pity

No papers to grade.
No lessons to teach.
With summer just,
‘Round the corner,
And just within reach.
I’ve marked every test.
Even organized my desk.
Yet, I’m here.
Woe as me.
Getting paid,
To write poetry.

Famous Paintings Improved by Cats

The other day I was bored and asked my Facebook friends to help me occupy my brain. Very few of them picked up on the Ozzy reference, but I was directed to a post on the Ned Hardy site, which I must say, features some of the most chair falling off hilarious pictures I’ve ever seen. Here’s an example: