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In May of 2007, I acquired a cat. I know this because of the power of blog. Despite my initial plans to aim for a better name, she wound up being named Ungrateful Bastard, which morphed into YouBee, a name which eventually had all the features worn off like a favorite stuffed toy until what was left at the end was Bins.

If you completely fail at foreshadowing, my cat died today and I buried her. )
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And now she's hiding under the house and won't come out. This is unusual. I can't get under the house to pull her out nor is she settled enough to approach if I could do that. If she does not want to be caught, she cannot be caught. I've set out food and water for her and there's no wind under the house. There's also a 4x8' sheet of inch thick blue insulation that she's sleeping on, which will keep her off the cold ground. I can see her eyes glowing in the flashlight, but... still.

She's going to die under the house and I am going to be wrecked.

Merry effing xmas.
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So I have a fella, whose name is Sam. He appears in passing here occasionally but only because he's not, like, a source of things-to-bitch-about. Sam's a good guy and I do not complain about him overmuch.

I am not complaining here. )

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