Lilith Saintcrow

When you try to get other people in the medieval studies or academics_anon communities to do your homework for you, prepare to bleed copiously from the snarkage. Oh, it was glorious–hopefully the mods won’t take it off. Kudos to the Selkie for pointing me toward the snark this morning, I sorely needed it. I especially adored the Chuck Norris jokes and the Rickrolling lyrics.

I have figured out that I can shoehorn at least three scenes into Weasel Boy. They will be weight-bearing scenes, achieving a number of objectives–not the least of which is explaining why the heroine did what she did. “Weasel Boy” is, for those of you just joining us, a romance with were-wolverines. Which is pretty awesome if I can pull it off.

A number of you have asked about the cat and the treadmill. The story runs thus: the treadmill is in the sunrooom, because the sunroom has a concrete floor and I don’t make the whole house shake when I’m running on it. The sunroom is also where the cat dishes are. So, when I close the sunroom door, there is always a cat sitting and staring longingly through the glass. They aren’t hungry, mind you. They’re just wanting to be on the other side of the door, just like the Rum Tum Tugger.

The cats are also fascinated by the treadmill. So, when I open it up and climb on in the morning, sometimes they jump up on it and have to investigate. The investigation stops when I threaten to turn it on.

Anyway, yesterday morning I stepped up on the treadmill. Tested the ol’ running shoes, decided I’d better tie one a little tighter. I hate blisters. Anyway, got the shoes all settled, opened up the Economist from last week (I’m behind) and bounced a little, then clipped the safety thing on and hit the quickstart button for the treadmill.

Cue up an amazing yowl, a splat, a sneeze and another splat, and another yowl.

You see, the most idiotic cat–the lemur-looking one the Princess loves, her special cat–had climbed up on the end of the treadmill. When I hit the start button, he startled. And streaked for the glass door and the safety of the rest of the house.

But I had closed the glass door, because I’d opened one of the French doors leading to the back yard. (I like a bit of fresh air while I’m running.) He ran right into the glass door.

The idiot was still scared out of his mind, so he sneezed and launched himself again. Hit the door again. (There are two, count ‘em, TWO distinct noseprints on the glass.) Then he sat on the step, shaking his head and complaining.

By this time I’d turned the treadmill off, because after the initial leaping out of my skin I was laughing too hard to breathe or walk. I probably got more benefit out of laughing my fool ass off over that cat than slogging on the treadmill for a half-hour.

I finally gathered myself and let the lemur-cat into the house. Would you believe the idiot animal then spent the entire half-hour on the other side of the glass door, staring into the sunroom and letting out pitiful moans? Like he couldn’t wait for round two against the Big Bad Machine. This morning, however, he saw me getting into my running shoes and freaked out. He’s currently hiding under the Princess’s bed.

As if the treadmill’s going to come GET him.

The Muffin often remarks that dogs are companions and cats are entertainment. Some days I can’t help but agree.

Related posts:

1. Squirrel!Matrix
2. The Battle of Pelennor Sunroom
3. Ballad of the Headless Squirrel

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 21st, 2008 at 11:14 am and is filed under Hilarity, Real Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.