Told him he was bad
Ivan the cat ran away last night.
The weather was nice, so I had the windows and patio door open, and both cats had been hanging out on the balcony like they like to do. Ivan had come in for a little bit, to find me cleaning the remnants a pee stain out of the closet floor and I told him, "This is your mess. You are bad!" He went back outside.
I woke up this morning, and he was gone.
Walking around the neighbor hood calling him, even armed with a bag of treats, hasn't produced a cat yet. Actually, it produced one cat, who was indeed a black cat with big green eyes (so I guess I was using the right flavor of treats), but it wasn't Ivan.
He's run away before, and he always came back, but that was when I wasn't packing up all his things, and hadn't called him Bad, and hadn't given him weight loss food he hated. It just makes me worry. I'm not a bad cat dad am I?
* * *
I also called my recruiter about the job in Vancouver. Six to eight weeks, is what they now think. It could be sooner, she says, because they're trying an angle of me as a technical resource rather than a management resource, but no promises.
I don't know what to do with myself for 6-8 weeks.
I'm mostly packed up. I've said goodbyes and ungoodbyes and goodbyes again to all my friends.
I'm not out of money yet, but it still stresses me out not having an income.
And I'm just ready.
* * *
Oh, and Mozilla ate all my bookmarks, which sucks a lot. I think this is probably the fourth time in my life I've found myself telling myself (heh, too many myselfs — about myself? on account of myself? for the benefit of myself? nevermind) that I should back those up every several weeks, but I never get around to it. Maybe I can set a reminder. Maybe I can stop thinking aloud. . . .
The weather was nice, so I had the windows and patio door open, and both cats had been hanging out on the balcony like they like to do. Ivan had come in for a little bit, to find me cleaning the remnants a pee stain out of the closet floor and I told him, "This is your mess. You are bad!" He went back outside.
I woke up this morning, and he was gone.
Walking around the neighbor hood calling him, even armed with a bag of treats, hasn't produced a cat yet. Actually, it produced one cat, who was indeed a black cat with big green eyes (so I guess I was using the right flavor of treats), but it wasn't Ivan.
He's run away before, and he always came back, but that was when I wasn't packing up all his things, and hadn't called him Bad, and hadn't given him weight loss food he hated. It just makes me worry. I'm not a bad cat dad am I?
* * *
I also called my recruiter about the job in Vancouver. Six to eight weeks, is what they now think. It could be sooner, she says, because they're trying an angle of me as a technical resource rather than a management resource, but no promises.
I don't know what to do with myself for 6-8 weeks.
I'm mostly packed up. I've said goodbyes and ungoodbyes and goodbyes again to all my friends.
I'm not out of money yet, but it still stresses me out not having an income.
And I'm just ready.
* * *
Oh, and Mozilla ate all my bookmarks, which sucks a lot. I think this is probably the fourth time in my life I've found myself telling myself (heh, too many myselfs — about myself? on account of myself? for the benefit of myself? nevermind) that I should back those up every several weeks, but I never get around to it. Maybe I can set a reminder. Maybe I can stop thinking aloud. . . .