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Things are looking up- and not just at bare trees:) - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Things are looking up- and not just at bare trees:)
Our oldest cat has been doing much better this week. Whatever seemed to have Tazzer totally down for the count last week has seemingly passed.  Early this week, instead of just lying on his futon (formerly Em and Cameron's) and looking listless, he resumed his morning routine- of getting under my feet the minute I open his door, and meowing up a storm until and then after he's fed. He went from needing to be spoon-fed maybe an ounce of cat fud, to downing half a 3½ ounce can, to now being back to scarfing the whole can at each feeding.  He still seems thin, and he's still having mobility issues; Eleanor likened him to a Brit-style pantomine horse trundling down the hallway. Whether direct or indirect consequence of that, he's also coming close but not quite hitting the catbox at least daily, so there's a near-constant cleanup effort going.

The dog's also much improved. Eleanor replaced her Cone of Shame after Ebony managed to get it off and hide it in the back yard; the swelling is way down, and the wounds from her gnawing at the formerly swollen hind leg are largely healed, so we're only coning her now when we're out or when she seems suddenly interested in having a go at the leg.  (It's cruel to deprive a pet of the opportunity to lick her own crotch, dontcha know.)  She's still got a few days of antibiotics to cycle through, and the anti-inflammatory will be a daily deal even longer, I expect, but her appetite is back to normal, she's walking better (and daddy is walking her almost every late afternoon now), and I think the worst is over for her as well:)


Speaking of licking one's one crotch:

There was no confrontation or conflagration last night resulting from our neighbors' fire pit.  We'd originally planned to go out to the movies last night, but we each had shitty work days, plus I wanted to watch Game Three of the World Series.  So instead we went out to dinner at one of our favorite old-school Italian places, and got home to see the partay under way....

such as it was.  Not really a lot of people showed up. Maybe he's as charming to his friends as he is to his neighbors.

The more important thing, though: they did move the pit. Not to Code- it's actually much closer to their house now, but as they say, not my circus, not my flaming monkey- and they ran it with a lower flame setting and far enough from the bedroom window so as not to be a problem.  Then, well before the seventh-inning stretch, Eleanor noticed the fire was out- and that the relatively few cars on the street were beginning to pull away.  It was over- and if they stick with this configuration, it shouldn't be a problem for us again.

Did they respond to the letter I sent? No idea, still, if they even got it yet.  We've both been out and about this morning and the Not Our Monkeys didn't pelt us with flinging poo- yet.  Eleanor's take is that the guy, in the face of confrontation, is "all hat and no cattle." I'm not sure I even want to give him credit for the hat.


And the Mets won.  There are also a number of very sweet off-field stories about this series. One of them concerns a fairly long break the national telecast took in the middle innings for a cancer-fighting promotion called "I Stand For." Fans entering the stadium, and virtually all media and VIPs, were given placards to name the cancer fighter they wanted to support.  The cameras panned over numerous names from this effort, and one kept coming up that I recognised: Bill Webb.

I quickly confirmed it was who I thought it was, and posted this:

That's our Bill Webb- directing Mets broadcasts for all 10 years of SNY and going back to Lindsey, Bob and Ralph. He's also been Joe Buck's director on national broadcasts for 18 years. He's still fighting. Let's go fight for him, Mets.

Joe Buck, the FOX play-by-play voice, was especially shattered when he found that Bill would not be able to direct the broadcast this year.  In describing my feelings of the moment, I noted that sadness was entering the euphoria of the Mets' comeback win-in-progress, and that was a fitting combination, given who sang the National Anthem at the start of the night:

That's not the real title- it's "Summer Highland Falls," and he played it when Em and I saw him- but it encapsulated a day that had bits and bobs of both.

ETA. Anddddd..... throw in some aggravation into the calduron.

Dude just called. He got the letter. He was not happy about the letter.  He didn't like us going to the landlords over it. They already don't like us, he said, because they said that one other time, Eleanor talked with one of them, got upset about something with him and swore at him. (She has no idea what he's talking about. I believe her- not that she wouldn't have, but I'm sure she would've told me at the time if she had.) He said he checked, not with the fire department but with "that guy" who runs the Highway Department, who told him these types of fire pits aren't subject to the fire code regulations.  Always being one for the high road, I thanked him for making the effort that they did to move the thing and that if it stays in that place and at that fire setting, we should be fine.  He didn't care; we went about it all wrong, and he doesn't want to have any further communication with us and for us to stay off the property.

Yeah, Get off his lawn.

That's a perfectly happy ending for me, as long as it is the ending.
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